Nobody Loves a Centurion(44)

“Molon, I am going to return to my tent. Carry this chest.”

“Excuse me, sir, aren’t you going to add these items to the inventory?” He indicated the scroll that lay open by my elbow, one end weighted with a dagger, the other with my helmet. I had completely forgotten it.

“I’ll finish up in the morning. It’s getting too dark to write. What business is it of yours, anyway?”

“Oh, none, none. Have a little more of this wine, sir.”

I did as he suggested. It soothed my agitation wonderfully. After all, what was there to get excited about? I couldn’t help it: things were not as expected and that was always upsetting in a hostile environment. I was getting almost soldierlike in my yearning for an orderly existence.

We trudged back to my tent and I kept Molon in front of me the whole time, making sure that he had no opportunity to peek into the chest. I could see that I was going to have a problem with the thing. I wanted nobody to know what I knew until I had some answers to my questions.

Hermes looked as uneasy as I felt when we arrived at my tent. I took his chin between my thumb and forefinger and turned his head for a better view of his face. He had a fine black eye developing.

“You’ve made Freda’s acquaintance, I see.”

“Why did you buy him?” Hermes demanded, looking sourly at Molon.

“I didn’t buy anybody. Caesar gave them to me.”

“It’s going to be crowded in this tent,” he complained.

“No, it isn’t. You and Molon can sleep out here under the awning. Spring is here and summer isn’t far off.”

“I’ll freeze!”

“I shall miss you,” I assured him.

The tent flap opened and Freda came out. Hermes’ peeved expression changed to one of worshipful awe. It was going to take more than a black eye to dampen his ardor.

“I have set your tent to order,” she reported. “You and the boy have been living like swine.”

“I suppose it takes a nomad to know how to keep a tent tidy,” I said. “Molon, take that chest inside and leave it under my bed.” He did as I told him, and I kept my eyes on him the whole time to make sure he didn’t look inside it. Then Hermes helped me out of my armor. I waved my arms around and flexed my stiff shoulders. I always felt as if I could fly when I was relieved of that weight.

“Hermes, fetch lamps and put them in the tent.”

“There’s already one in there,” he said, referring to the tiny clay lamp that provided a minimal glow.

“I want more lamps and bigger ones,” I told him. “Find me some.” He went off muttering and I sat down to absorb some wine before getting to the night’s major activity. Freda stood by the doorway, ignoring me while I spoke to Molon.

“Now that you belong to me, I need to know about you,” I began. “Tell me about your history.”

“Not much to tell,” he began, meaning that there was not much he was willing to tell me. “My father was a Greek merchant who lived in Massalia. My mother was a Gaul, a Boian woman from the north, so I learned both their languages as a child. I went with my father on trading expeditions up the river valleys all the way to the Northern Sea.” He said all this as if he were speaking of someone else, giving no indication whether it had been a happy time for him.

“I suppose I was about sixteen when we were captured by a party of German raiders. Ordinarily, Greek traders can pass through territory fought over by warring tribes in perfect safety. The Gauls never molest them. They value the foreign trade too highly. But these were Germans who had just come across the river and we were just more foreigners as far as they were concerned. They got into the wine we’d been trading and before long they were putting the men to death and having fun with the women slaves we’d bought. The next morning we were marched back toward Germany. My father was dead by that time, which was a great relief to him.”

“Why did they spare you?” I asked him.

“Later on, when I learned their language, I found out that they thought I resembled a forest sprite of theirs; a mischievous creature that lives beneath the roots of trees and plays tricks on people. They thought it might be bad luck to kill me, so they made me their slave. At first they used me for hard labor, but I proved I could be more valuable to them as an interpreter.”

“Why?” I asked. “There are German tribes that have lived next to Gauls for centuries. There should be no shortage of Germans fluent in both tongues. And they must have plenty of Gallic slaves.”

“Very true,” he nodded, “but these were a tribe from the deep forest, and they had little trust of the river-dwelling tribes, and none at all for Gauls, slave or free.”