“Don’t count on that,” Carbo said. “What do you think you might find?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, but somebody always drops something. I might find an indication of who did it or why it happened.”
“Do barbarians always need reasons for doing things?” he asked.
“Always,” I assured him. “It may not be something that we would understand but there has to be a reason.” The Gauls and the Druids and Titus Vinius. Somehow they were tied together by the gold in that chest and in some way it had led to these bizarre killings.
We rode back into the camp as gray light was staining the eastern horizon. As always, the legion was wide awake by this hour. The clatter and bustle was reassuring after the strange events of the night.
“Any activity from the barbarians last night?” I called up to a sentry on the gate.
“Not a sound from them,” he answered. “Doesn’t seem right, somehow.” Any break in routine seems ominous to soldiers, even a reduction in danger and harassment.
“I know it’s useless to tell your men to keep their mouths shut about this,” Carbo said as we dismounted. “Mine certainly won’t.
“We are all loyal to Rome!” Lovernius insisted.
“Of course. But things are chancy enough now without all our Gallic auxilia getting agitated. They’re not all educated men like you, and the Twins know our own soldiers are as superstitious as a bunch of old peasant women.” The trumpets sounded officer’s call. “Let’s go report to the legatus.” He turned and walked toward the praetorium. I gave my reins to Indiumix and started to follow, when Lovernius touched my arm. I stopped and faced him.
“Decius Caecilius, when you return from the praetorium, ride with us on our morning patrol.”
I was about to ask him what this was about, but I could see from his expression that he was turning over some painful thoughts. Clearly, he wanted to speak with me. It was quite as clear that he did not want to do it just here or just now. More than anything else, I wanted to get some answers from someone, anyone, who might hold another piece of the puzzle. I turned back to Indiumix.
“See that my horse is ready to ride out.” He nodded solemnly.
When we arrived at the meeting, Labienus had Carbo give a quick summary of the night’s events. The expressions of the other officers were incredulous. It was all just too far outside their experience.
“Any conclusions, Decius Caecilius?” Labienus asked.
I ruthlessly suppressed the urge to make a facetious request for a six thousand-man escort to go back and examine the site. “Just that I feel certain that this event and the murder of Titus Vinius are somehow connected.”
“You are grasping at anything to save your client,” Paterculus said. “Commander, in my twenty-five years of soldiering I have never seen so many strange things happen at once, but what has any of it to do with fighting a war? They can hang a Druid from every tree between here and the Northern Sea for all I care. It’s all just native doings and none of our concern. Let’s stick to matters that make sense and have a bearing on our situation.” A murmur among the assembled officers indicated a good deal of agreement.
“I’d say the same thing if we weren’t stuck out here all alone and dependent on our Gallic allies,” the legatus told him. “They may proclaim allegiance to Rome and execrate the Helvetii, but they’re as religion-besotted as so many Egyptians. They’ve been jumpy for days and something like this could trigger mass desertions. I hate to contemplate exemplary executions, but I won’t hesitate to order them. See that everyone knows this. Now, officer of the night watch, your report.”
After the meeting broke up, Labienus kept me for a private talk. “So you learned nothing, eh?” he said.
“I gathered a good deal of information from which to draw conclusions,” I said evasively. “And I expect to have some answers from a trusted informant by midday.” I thought this sounded impressive.
“You’d better. I am very tired of these matters and I want to see an end to them almost as much as I want to see Caesar arrive with those legions.”
From the praetorium I went to my tent to grab some break-fast before setting out on the morning patrol. Hermes was gone to his arms drill. Molon and Freda were likewise absent. Just when you want them, slaves always manage to duck out. Grumbling, I located the provisions and found some bread and cheese. This I choked down with plain water.
I was in a bad mood as I clumped toward the cavalry quarters. It seemed to me that the sleeplessness and poor diet of army life was probably calculated. The Gauls had better watch out when this lot was turned loose on them. Just a few days of it had put me in a murderous temper and these men lived this way for years at a time.
I found my little squadron of the ala mounted and ready for their patrol. The praetorian area was subdued and apprehensive, with men who were usually cheerful and boisterous speaking in low tones and frowning. Word of the Druid killings had spread. I could only imagine what the atmosphere must be like in the auxilia camp.
We rode out through the Porta Principalis Sinistra in the eastern wall of the camp. We rode until we were out of sight of both camp and rampart, then Lovernius called a halt near a small clump of trees.
“There will be no Helvetii to chase this morning,” he said, dismounting. “Let’s make ourselves comfortable.”
“That sounds good to me,” I said, feeling the accumulated soreness of the night’s activities as I heaved myself from the saddle. One of the men took our horses to picket them among the trees. We all sat in the shade. Lovernius had thoughtfully brought along a fat skin of native wine and we began passing it around our circle.
When it came to me, I leaned back against the bole of a tree and directed the pale stream into my mouth. For native stuff it was excellent, or else my tastes were coarsening. I didn’t try to rush things. The turf was springy and comfortable beneath me. Lovernius would tell me what he had to say when he was ready and I had run out of people to badger in the camp.
“I do not want you to think,” Lovernius said at last, “that we who are loyal to Rome are in any way in sympathy with these Helvetii.”
“I would never think it,” I assured him, not insincerely. In truth, while we Romans tended to lump all Gauls together, they had only the sketchiest sense of national kinship. In no way did they feel that they were taking sides with foreigners against their brothers. A member of another Gallic tribe was as foreign to them as a Syrian is to a Roman.
“We do not allow the Druids to dominate us,” he asserted. “Not as they do the Helvetii and others. But we still regard them with respect.”
“Quite understandable.” I took another pull at the wine. Not bad at all, really. I passed it to Lovernius, feeling that he needed a little more lubrication. He had almost worked himself up to saying what he had to say. He took a couple of sizable swallows and passed it on. Then he sat in silence for a while. Then, with an effort, he spoke.
“Titus Vinius was triple-slain.”
I knew, at last, I was onto something. “What does that mean?”
“You recall that you told me Vinius had been strangled, stabbed, and axed on the head?”
“More like clubbed on the head, but I recall telling you.” I also remembered the distressed reaction of his men. At the time he had said that they were upset at the defiling of a sacred pond.
“Well, that is a Druid thing. For some sacrifices, the victim is triple-slain; he or she may be hanged or throttled. In either case the noose is left around the neck. Then the victim may be stabbed or the throat cut, then smashed on the head, then thrown into a pond or sunk in a marsh. Sometimes only hanged and stabbed or axed, the drowning being the third death.”
I remembered now the triple-headed god on Badraig’s staff and the Gallic habit of doing things by threes. “You think the Druids killed Vinius as a sacrifice?”