privileged position as the property of the First Spear.”
“No need to be modest, Senator,” said the wretched Molon. “Pretty soon you’ll be fit to match against your slave boy there.” He nodded toward Hermes, who was gaping at the German slave girl with a lovestruck expression, utterly ignoring his master’s humiliation. I would have killed Molon, had I been able to raise my sword.
“And what gives you license to speak to a Senator in this fashion?”
“From what I hear, there are about six hundred of youSenators, and not many of you amount to much.”
That was damnably true. “But I am an exception.” What a liar I was. I hoped the German girl would be impressed, but I thought it unlikely that she knew what a Senator was.
He quirked a misshapen eyebrow at me. “Really? From one of the big families?”
“You mean you are unaware of the gens Caecilia?”
He shrugged his humped shoulders. “I’ve never been to Rome. But now I think of it, there’s been a Caecilius or two in charge here in Gaul.”
“There? You see?” It may seem odd that I should stand there, drowning in my own sweat, trading idle chitchat with a grotesque, insolent slave. I can only say that my situation had departed somewhat from the path of strict sanity and even this odd diversion was welcome. That, and the presence of the German girl.
“Romans,” she said, as if we were something amusing, incomprehensible, and slightly distasteful. To my disappointment she turned and sauntered away, doubtless to inspire erections wherever she passed. Molon stayed where he was. He looked around, then came closer to me.
“Look, Senator, would you happen to need a new slave?”
I was astounded. “You mean Freda? I doubt that I could afford her, and Vinius would surely never sell her to me!”
“Not her, me! Would you consider buying me?”
“Whatever for? Hermes gives me worry enough as it is.”
He nodded and assumed a crafty look. “Just so. I can keep an eye on him for you, beat him when he steals, things like that. You have the look of a master too softhearted to flog a slave.”
“I can see why that would make me attractive to you. Why should I want you?”
“I know this country, Senator. I know the land and all the tribes, I can speak the languages. The local people think the world of me, sir.”
“I could see in what high esteem those German envoys held you. If you are so valuable, how could Vinius bring himself to part with you?”
“Well, Senator, my master has plans that don’t include me, and I think he’d sell me cheap. You could use an intermediary if you don’t want to haggle with him.”
“Listen here, my man. You don’t fool me. I’ve seen every Latin and Greek comedy ever written, and I know that slaves as ugly as you are always conniving rogues. Go try to sell yourself elsewhere.”
He grinned slyly, but then all his expressions were sly. “Just think it over, Senator. I think you’ll realize what a bargain I am.” He turned and walked, or rather lurched, off.
“You’re not going to buy him, are you?” Hermes said, aghast.
“I might,” I warned him, “if you don’t make yourself more valuable.”
That night, after finishing my day’s work on Caesar’s reports, I sat in my folding chair and gave the matter some thought while I digested a frugal dinner, helped along by some heavily watered native wine. I found it surprisingly good. It was getting so that anything that didn’t taste like vinegar was agreeable.
Did Molon really expect me to buy him? If so, why? It was easy enough to imagine that he would not want to be the slave of a man like Titus Vinius. If the man treated his soldiers in such a fashion, what must the lives of his slaves be like? But did he expect Vinius to entertain an offer from me?
There was an obvious interpretation, of course: Vinius had put him up to it, wanting to plant a spy on me. I have always resisted such trains of thought. I have known too many men to
“No need to be modest, Senator,” said the wretched Molon. “Pretty soon you’ll be fit to match against your slave boy there.” He nodded toward Hermes, who was gaping at the German slave girl with a lovestruck expression, utterly ignoring his master’s humiliation. I would have killed Molon, had I been able to raise my sword.
“And what gives you license to speak to a Senator in this fashion?”
“From what I hear, there are about six hundred of youSenators, and not many of you amount to much.”
That was damnably true. “But I am an exception.” What a liar I was. I hoped the German girl would be impressed, but I thought it unlikely that she knew what a Senator was.
He quirked a misshapen eyebrow at me. “Really? From one of the big families?”
“You mean you are unaware of the gens Caecilia?”
He shrugged his humped shoulders. “I’ve never been to Rome. But now I think of it, there’s been a Caecilius or two in charge here in Gaul.”
“There? You see?” It may seem odd that I should stand there, drowning in my own sweat, trading idle chitchat with a grotesque, insolent slave. I can only say that my situation had departed somewhat from the path of strict sanity and even this odd diversion was welcome. That, and the presence of the German girl.
“Romans,” she said, as if we were something amusing, incomprehensible, and slightly distasteful. To my disappointment she turned and sauntered away, doubtless to inspire erections wherever she passed. Molon stayed where he was. He looked around, then came closer to me.
“Look, Senator, would you happen to need a new slave?”
I was astounded. “You mean Freda? I doubt that I could afford her, and Vinius would surely never sell her to me!”
“Not her, me! Would you consider buying me?”
“Whatever for? Hermes gives me worry enough as it is.”
He nodded and assumed a crafty look. “Just so. I can keep an eye on him for you, beat him when he steals, things like that. You have the look of a master too softhearted to flog a slave.”
“I can see why that would make me attractive to you. Why should I want you?”
“I know this country, Senator. I know the land and all the tribes, I can speak the languages. The local people think the world of me, sir.”
“I could see in what high esteem those German envoys held you. If you are so valuable, how could Vinius bring himself to part with you?”
“Well, Senator, my master has plans that don’t include me, and I think he’d sell me cheap. You could use an intermediary if you don’t want to haggle with him.”
“Listen here, my man. You don’t fool me. I’ve seen every Latin and Greek comedy ever written, and I know that slaves as ugly as you are always conniving rogues. Go try to sell yourself elsewhere.”
He grinned slyly, but then all his expressions were sly. “Just think it over, Senator. I think you’ll realize what a bargain I am.” He turned and walked, or rather lurched, off.
“You’re not going to buy him, are you?” Hermes said, aghast.
“I might,” I warned him, “if you don’t make yourself more valuable.”
That night, after finishing my day’s work on Caesar’s reports, I sat in my folding chair and gave the matter some thought while I digested a frugal dinner, helped along by some heavily watered native wine. I found it surprisingly good. It was getting so that anything that didn’t taste like vinegar was agreeable.
Did Molon really expect me to buy him? If so, why? It was easy enough to imagine that he would not want to be the slave of a man like Titus Vinius. If the man treated his soldiers in such a fashion, what must the lives of his slaves be like? But did he expect Vinius to entertain an offer from me?
There was an obvious interpretation, of course: Vinius had put him up to it, wanting to plant a spy on me. I have always resisted such trains of thought. I have known too many men to
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