Nobody Loves a Centurion (23 page)

“Keep this up and I might just manumit you when you’re too old to be useful,” I told him as I sat down and launched into the food. He poured me a cup of watered wine, which I hardly needed. “Where are Molon and Freda?”

“I haven’t seen them all day,” he said. “I thought maybe you’d sent them off on some errand.”

The news stole some of the pleasure from my lunch. Slaves are not supposed to roam around at will, even such eccentric specimens as those two. More and more, they were behaving like free persons and would have to be disabused of that notion.

“When did you last see them?”

“Molon was drunk behind the tent last night and I didn’t look in on him. I didn’t see either of them when your Gauls came for you last night, and when I got up this morning I didn’t see them, either, not that I was looking for them. They have to be around here somewhere. They wouldn’t dare set foot outside the camp.”

“That would be foolish,” I agreed, but I was not happy about this. One more concern when I already had far too many.

With lunch finished, I was temporarily at loose ends. I rose to go look for my errant slaves with Hermes dogging my steps. I badly wanted some sleep, but I knew that it would not come if I lay down in my tent. I had too much to think about. As we traversed the camp, I told Hermes the latest developments. He was far from a brilliant conversationalist, but I had long ago learned that talking to someone helped to sort out confusing matters.

“If Germans hanged the Druids, then there are Germans nearby, right?” Hermes said.

“Your grasp of logic is phenomenal,” I commended.

“No, I mean there are a
lot
of them, right? More than just those two you saw a few nights ago?”

“Not necessarily.” In fact, I had been brooding over that very question. The boy wasn’t really foolish. “Those were two huge, powerful warriors, and two of the Druids were elderly, and no Druid is trained to arms. Two such brutes as Eintzius
and Eramanzius could easily have overpowered these sacerdotal Gauls.”

“Still,” he said dubiously, “getting them all the way up that mountain, and building a bonfire and hauling them up into the trees: that sounds like a big job for two men.”

“Well, they proclaimed themselves to be of royal lineage. Doubtless they came here with companions. But a few dozen Germans are nothing to worry about.”

“Just as long as it’s not an army of them.” Hermes was getting to be like everybody else; jumping at every shadow, worried about our tiny numbers and exposed condition. Like everybody else, he had ample justification for his fears.

A thorough search of the forum and other more or less public areas failed to turn up Molon or Freda. The centuries were no more helpful. Even an encampment of six thousand men is a small community and Freda was the most noticeable creature for a hundred miles in all directions. An elephant could not have drawn more attention.

“Maybe they went to the camp of the auxilia,” Hermes said. “Slaves and foreigners go in and out through the gates pretty freely during daylight.”

“I don’t know what they’d be doing there but it’s worth a look,” I grumbled. So it was back out through the Sinistra gate I had ridden through that morning. Nobody on the gate remembered seeing them, but that watch had only been on duty for a short time.

The other camp was only two bowshots away, so that there was no dead ground between them where an enemy could be safe. Its defenses were much less elaborate, for in real danger the auxilia would simply move into the legionary camp, doubling
its manpower. Because a high proportion of the auxilia were cavalry, the camp sprawled over a greater area than that of the legionaries, and foraging parties went out every day with sickles to cut fodder for the animals.

I found Carbo drilling his spearmen just outside the camp while his scouts lounged around, trying to look too important for such drudgery.

“They don’t look too bad, for barbarians,” I commended.

“Gauls don’t take well to close-order drill,” he said, “but they’ll learn. Once they’ve seen how easily disciplined troops deal with howling, sword-brandishing savages, they’ll get the spirit.”

“If they don’t get massacred first,” I said.

He shrugged. “Not much you can do about overwhelming numbers. A single legion can deal with double the number of savages. Three legions together can handle ten times as many. Ten legions can defeat any number at all. The trick seems to be getting the legions here.”

“It is a problem. By the way, Cnaeus, have you happened to see my German girl today?”

He cocked an eyebrow toward me. “Don’t tell me you’ve misplaced her?”

“Haven’t seen her since, well, fairly late last night, before all the excitement. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had a chance to look for her. Molon is gone, too.”

“That one’s no loss. The girl, though—a prize like that doesn’t fall to every soldier’s lot. No, I haven’t seen her.” He questioned his men and they talked for a while among themselves, making lascivious faces and many hand gestures indicating the feminine form. Apparently Freda was as well known among the auxilia as among the legionaries.

“No, they haven’t seen her either,” Carbo said. “And believe me, they’d have noticed. You might try in the camp.”

“I intend to. By the way, I’ve come across some more information, but keep this to yourself for a while.” I gave him a brief summation of what Lovernius had told me.

“So now the Germans are in it, eh? Do you think the girl sprinted for the hills to join her kinsmen?”

“I can’t see why,” I told him. “She was just a slave among them to begin with, so why go back? No slave in the world has as easy a life as a Roman house slave. Why trade that for some filthy village where a flea-bitten chieftain’s wife will treat her worse than a dog?”

“That makes sense to me, but who knows how a barbarian’s mind works? She may prefer bad treatment in familiar surroundings.”

“Anyway, that doesn’t explain Molon. That rogue certainly knows whose boots taste better, since he’s licked such a variety of them. He’d never trade the soft billet he has with me for one on the other side of the Rhine. Besides, if he was going to run, why didn’t he run from Vinius? The vicious bastard beat him like a practice post.”

“Good question. I hope you locate her, Decius. If you’ve lost the one item in Gaul that everyone was panting after, you are going to be an even bigger figure of fun than you already are.”

“How true. The gods do not love me, Carbo. I leave you to your drill. Come along, Hermes.”

We went into the camp and began combing it. “I can tell you want to say something, Hermes,” I said as we walked along a street where I could hear at least three languages being spoken.

“You and your friend talk like you know all about slaves, considering you’ve never been slaves yourselves,” he said sullenly.

“Then I shall consult an expert. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

“That maybe they didn’t run over to the Germans and the Gauls. Maybe they went the other way, down the river.”

“Toward Massilia? Whatever for?”

He looked exasperated. “What for? Doesn’t it occur to you that every slave in this army knows that any day the Gauls may pour in and annihilate us? Those that aren’t killed in the slaughter will probably get sacrificed afterwards.”

“You’re making too much of the situation,” I chided him. “Roman armies are rarely exterminated by savages. At worst, we’ll make a fighting retreat downriver and hold Massilia until our reinforcements arrive.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring! I don’t have a lot of experience with armies, but I’ll bet when they’re on the run they don’t take along things like pack mules and baggage and slaves.”

“I can see that it would be a distressing prospect,” I admitted.

“I can guarantee that a lot of slaves here are getting ready to bolt.”

“I don’t suppose that you would be among that fainthearted crew,” I said.

“My loyalty to you is unshakable,” he said, in that straight-faced, sincere fashion that is the mark of a truly gifted liar.

“Excellent,” I commended. “What you say makes a certain amount of sense, but how could they escape?”

“Massilia is a pretty big place, and Molon can pass for a
native. Besides, it’s a port city. They could buy a passage to anywhere. Molon could steal passage money in a morning.”

“If that’s what they are thinking, they’re out of luck,” I told him. “The place is filling up with slavers. They always flock to wherever Roman armies are fighting. After a successful battle they can buy up all the prisoners dirt cheap. Those scavengers can spot a runaway on a moonless night.”

“Hadn’t thought of that,” he said. “But they might not have, either.”

“Molon would know.”

The truth was, I did not want to believe that they had run. I would not mourn the loss of Molon, and he would certainly seize any chance to better his lot. I was not about to deceive myself on that score. But Freda—I had thought we had reached some sort of understanding the night before, that in her brutish, untutored way she had conceived an affection for me.

Had it all been a cold-blooded ruse? Had Molon feigned drunkenness while Freda had taken it upon herself to exhaust me so that I would not wake when they made their stealthy escape? I did not want to believe it, but I recognized this as a purely visceral reaction. The rigorously logical part of my mind told me that this was exactly what they had done. The objections I had raised with Hermes were still valid, though. How did the two of them expect to better their condition with this act?

Our search of the auxilia camp failed to turn them up, as I had expected. I tried to look cheerful as we returned to the legionary camp, but I was more downcast than I had been since arriving in Gaul. It was the crowning catastrophe in an experience rife with disaster. If my luck kept holding like this, I would be executed along with Burrus and his friends.

“Are you going to post a notice that they’ve run?” Hermes asked when we returned to my tent.

“No, I’ve had enough humiliation to last me for a while. And don’t you say anything, either. It wouldn’t look right, making a fuss over a couple of runaways when the whole country is about to plunge into war.”

“If you say so,” he said doubtfully.

“That doesn’t mean I won’t turn out the guard if you should run, though. That would be different.”

“You don’t trust me!” he said indignantly.

“It’s just that I know you all too well.” I pushed the tent flap aside and went in, suddenly bone-tired. “I’m going to get some sleep. Wake me only for an emergency or if those two return.”

I got out of my armor and boots and lay back on the cot I had abandoned when the summons came to ride into the hills. Even through the haze of fatigue my mind kept turning over the latest bewildering developments. I could not put it out of my mind that Molon and Freda were still two of my suspects in Vinius’s murder. If they thought they were about to be found out, running was the most sensible course they could take. But if they had done it, why the Druidic mumbo-jumbo? And how did it tie in with the three hanged men? If, indeed, the two were tied together at all.

It was the most maddening situation of my by no means uneventful career. Whatever happened to politicians who murdered one another for perfectly sensible, understandable motives? Why did armies and barbarians of several sorts and priests with their disgusting sacrifices have to get involved?

I tossed restlessly, weary to my bones but unable to sleep. I knew that I would have to do something or I would know no
rest. In my long experience I knew that, when things reached this awful pass, there was only one action to take. I would have to do something colossally stupid.

I got up, rummaged around until I found a wax tablet, and opened the wooden leaves. With a stylus I scratched my message and called Hermes in.

“Run this over to Lovernius. Tell him to have one of his men deliver it to Captain Carbo at once.” He must have seen something in my face.

“What are you planning?”

“I’m going to go out tonight and maybe get killed. When you get back from your chore you’d better try to get some sleep, too. You’re going with me.”

I dropped back on my cot, suicidally at peace with myself. My mind made up at last, I was asleep as quickly as a lamp is extinguished.

When my eyes opened again, it was dark outside. I felt rested and invigorated, things I rarely feel upon first waking. Then I remembered what it was that I planned to do. It was simple fear that made me so lively. Hermes was on his pallet snoring gently and I prodded him awake. He went out to fetch a basin of water for me.

While he did this, I found my short sword and muffled its sheath with strips of cloth so that the suspension rings wouldn’t rattle. I added my dagger to the harness and belted it all on. I located a pair of civilian sandals and put them on. Not only do hobnails make a lot of noise, but they can strike sparks from stone, visible for great distances on a dark night. I rolled up a hooded cloak and slung it over my shoulder. The night would probably turn very cool and rains were frequent.

When Hermes got back with the basin, I instructed him
to fetch his cloak and give his sword the same treatment as mine. “We’re going out on a little reconnaissance,” I told him. He followed my instructions with the sort of excitement that only the young and foolish feel when danger is near. I was just finishing my ablutions when Carbo arrived, accompanied by Ionus to guide us.

“Here he is. Now what sort of lunacy are you planning, Decius?”

“I’m going back to that grove, Gnaeus. I want to look it over in daylight tomorrow.”

“I thought it had to be something that stupid. If you’re going to do it, why not go out with your cavalrymen?”

“What would be the use? It would only make us more visible. I wasn’t joking when I said I would feel safe only with the full legion along for security. Either we’ll remain unseen and be safe, or we’ll be detected and killed. Come on, Hermes.”

We walked toward the Porta Decumana and Hermes tried not to strut, his fingers flexing repeatedly on his sword hilt. He had had several lessons and now accounted himself a master swordsman. At the gate I informed the officer in charge that I was going out on a night mission. His jaw dropped at so outlandish an idea, but he had no authority to stop me.