One day after the negotiation on the banks of the Rhine, the carts, emptied of their agricultural implements and their hidden, lethal cargo of steel spathas, were now heavily burdened with the wealth of the frontier.
Valerius rode at the front. Tied to the rear of the wagons was a line of exactly twenty prime, northern cattle.
They were muscular beasts, far superior to the frail oxen typically utilized by Roman farmers.
Valerius had explicitly demanded them from Alaric the middleman, adhering strictly to Lucius’s precise logistical prerequisites for the impending agricultural expansion.
However, it was not the livestock that drew the terrified gaze of the estate’s inhabitants; it was the human capital walking silently behind the carts...
Fifteen Germanic slaves, captives from the vicious inter-tribal wars beyond the border, marched in a chained line.
They were tall, muscled men and women, clad in crude furs and possessing the hardened, battered physiques of individuals born into perpetual violence.
Nestled safely within a lockbox resting at Valerius’s feet was the final component of the trade: a staggering quantity of raw gold panned from the barbarian rivers.
Watching this illicit procession from the shaded portico of the main villa was Marcus, Lucius’s seventeen-year-old younger brother.
Marcus was a boy of poetry, literature, and rigid Roman traditionalism. When his eyes fell upon the towering Germanic slaves and the undeniable evidence of illicit border trading, a profound panic gripped his chest.
He did not walk; he sprinted through the corridors of the villa, bursting into his father’s private study.
"Father!" Marcus gasped. "You must come to the courtyard immediately! The caravan has returned, but they do not bring imperial silver. They bring barbarian slaves and unminted gold! Lucius... Lucius is trading weapons to the tribes!"
Cassius, who had been meticulously calculating the influx of silver denarii from the sale of their agricultural tools, froze.
The stylus slipped from his fingers, clattering onto his tablet.
The patriarch of the family rushed from his study, his patrician robes trailing behind him as he hurried to the courtyard.
When Cassius arrived, his eyes widened in horror. The sight of the Germanic slaves and the pouch of raw gold that Valerius presented to him confirmed his youngest son’s frantic accusations.
This was not clever patrician investing; this was high treason... Under the Lex Julia de maiestate, arming the enemies of Rome was a crime punishable by total eradication.
If the provincial magistrates discovered this, Cassius and his entire bloodline would be crucified along the primary highways of Gaul.
"By the gods..." Cassius whispered. "What has that boy done? He has doomed us all to the executioner’s cross."
Yet, as the blinding wave of Roman legal terror began to subside, a darker, more insidious emotion began to take root within Cassius’s aristocratic mind: greed.
The gold resting in his hands was heavier than any imperial silver he had ever possessed...
The fifteen slaves standing in his courtyard represented a massive influx of free labor that would cost a fortune at the legitimate Roman markets!
Cassius looked around, his mind frantically rationalizing the situation. The magistrates were oblivious.
The cover story of the agricultural tools had functioned flawlessly.
If they were caught, it was death. But if they were not caught... the wealth they could accumulate in mere weeks would rival the senators of Rome itself!
He decided he would let his son continue. Cassius reasoned that he could allow Lucius to trade with these barbarians for just a few more weeks to amass a mountain of raw gold and double their labor force.
Once they had secured an impenetrable fortune, Cassius planned to exercise his absolute rights as paterfamilias.
He would put a stop to this treason and force Lucius to sell the steel exclusively to the Roman legions.... They would be legitimate, and they would be rich beyond measure.
Completely oblivious to the fatalistic delusions of his father, Lucius descended the steps of the villa, walking toward the courtyard.
Lucius approached Valerius. "The extraction went smoothly, I presume?"
"Flawlessly, Dominus," Valerius grinned, revealing his yellowed teeth. "The middleman was furious, but he surrendered the gold, the slaves, and the cattle as demanded. However, Alaric issued an ultimatum. He refuses to hand over payment for the next shipment unless you personally attend the exchange at the river landing."
"We will cross that bridge when the logistics demand it," Lucius dismissed.
He turned toward Titus, the burly Mine Overseer, and Decimus, the Master Blacksmith, who had both rushed down from the eastern ridge to witness the caravan’s return.
"Titus," Lucius commanded. "Take ten of these new slaves. Assign them immediately to the deepest terraces of the hematite mine. You are to implement a third, nocturnal shift. The extraction of ore will no longer cease when the sun sets. We will mine twenty-four hours a day."
Titus nodded eagerly.
Lucius then turned to his blacksmith. "Decimus, take the remaining five slaves. You will use them to haul the refined charcoal and operate the manual lifting mechanisms for the steel molds. Relieve our core crew of the heavy lifting so they may focus entirely on the precise thermal management of the blast furnace."
With the labor force distributed, Lucius finally turned his attention to his father, who was still clutching the pouch of unminted gold.
"Father," Lucius stated. "Tomorrow morning, you will take a portion of that gold into the city and hire a team of master builders and carpenters. They will be constructing an undershot water mill along the river bordering the Julianus lands."
Cassius blinked. "A water mill? For grinding grain?"
"For grinding grain initially, yes," Lucius replied. "But more importantly, we begin the agricultural overhaul immediately. I want the fields gridded for the four-field crop rotation by the end of the week. We will use our new secondary iron yields to outfit these northern cattle with steel plows."
Lucius turned away.
...
As the sun dipped below the horizon and the estate transitioned into the shadows of the night, a quiet movement occurred on the western edge of the villa.
Marcus, the soft-hearted and traditional younger brother, stood near the boundary walls, cloaked in a mantle.
He looked back toward the eastern ridge. Tears streamed from Marcus’s eyes as his profound sense of Roman duty warred with his familial loyalty.
If he stayed, they would all die when the legions eventually discovered the truth.
He had to save them from themselves...
He had to find someone who could intervene before Lucius’s illicit syndicate grew too powerful to stop.
Taking a deep breath, Marcus pulled his hood over his head.
Without a single word of farewell, Marcus slipped through a small postern gate and vanished into the darkness of the Gallic night.