“That’s enough,” I said. I had not expected my offer to be met with such ingratitude. But then, I have never understood professional soldiers. “Tomorrow, then, Optio.” I remounted and we rode away.
“I still want you to provide night patrols,” I told Lovernius. “They may be stiff-necked idiots, but they shouldn’t be put into such danger just because a man like Vinius got himself killed.”
“Whatever you say, Captain.”
That evening I settled down to the task of sorting through the goods left behind by the late First Spear. These were not great in bulk. A legion has to march great distances, and even a senior centurion is allowed no more than four or five pack mules for his personal use. The chest that had held his dress armor and decorations was now empty, since those items had been cremated with him. I wondered if the puddle of melted silver and gold would go into the urn along with his charred bones, to be buried beneath the tasteful gravestone being commissioned from one of Massilia’s more reputable monument firms.
There was a chest of clothing and another holding his field armor and weapons, which were almost identical to those of an ordinary legionary, but of higher quality. Another held preserved foods, pots of honey, and seasonings; the sort of little comforts and minor luxuries every campaigner takes along to ease the rigors of soldiering.
The smallest chest was heavy for its size. Its lid was fastened with a lock that appeared to be fairly elaborate. I could find no key among the miscellaneous belongings on the table.
“Molon!” I called.
“Here, sir,” he said, right at my elbow.
“Where did Vinius keep the key to this?”
“He never allowed me in the tent when he opened that chest, but I saw him reaching for a little pouch at his sword belt on the occasions when he ordered me out.”
Wonderful. Doubtless the key now rested among the other metallic debris in the ashes of Vinius’s funeral pyre.
“Then run to the smithy and fetch me a crowbar. Be quick about it.” He didn’t exactly run, but he went into a fast lurch. A short time later he was back with the tool. The box was even stouter than it looked and it took the two of us levering the bar to break the lid open. Inside were papyri and folded wooden tablets, some of them with dangling leaden seals.
“This looks more like something a banker would own than a soldier,” I commented. I picked up a tablet and opened it. It was a deed to an Italian estate in Tuscia.
“You’d think he’d keep his land deed in a temple closer to home,” I said. I opened another. This, too, was a deed, to an estate in Campania, purchased just a few months before. I noticed Molon studying it over my shoulder. I pointed to the other belongings.
“Stack these things over by the big tent and find something to cover them with.” He did not look happy but he set to the task. Quickly, I went through the documents. The bulk of them were deeds to sizable estates. It looked as if Titus Vinius had been determined to buy up Italy. I recognized the names of some of the sellers but that meant nothing. Many wealthy Romans owned lands they had never seen. They bought and sold them through intermediaries, as the wars and politics of the times caused values to rise and fall.
I glanced over the sums recorded for the various sales and made a quick estimate of the total, then I sat back, stunned. Titus Vinius had died a millionaire. Where had this money come from? Men from wealthy families did not make a career in the ranks. I knew that the Tenth had not been in on any of the great looting parties like the sack of Tigranocerta, Mithri-dates’ stronghold, which fell to the legions of Lucullus some eleven years earlier. It had been stationed in Gaul or Spain for at least the last ten years, with occasional visits to northern Italy. The total of his pay and bribes and loot could hardly have amounted to a tenth of the fortune recorded in these documents.
“Will there be . . . ?”
I snapped a deed shut at the sound of Molon’s voice. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” He hadn’t been sneaking, but I was so absorbed in this incredible revelation that I was oblivious to everything else.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, sir, your nerves are on edge. Shall I bring you some wine?”
“Do so.” Suddenly, I realized that my mouth was dry. How did these deeds tie in with his murder? I was sure that there had to be a connection. Titus Vinius had died under very peculiar circumstances. Titus Vinius was incredibly rich for a career soldier. Any man may have one great anomaly in his character or his history. I was not prepared to accept two unless they were bound together in some way.
Molon returned with a pitcher and a cup and I drank gratefully. I began to put the deeds back into the chest, and as I did so I shifted it slightly. It still seemed to be exceptionally heavy. I decided to wait and investigate this when there was no observer present.