SPQR IX: The Princess and the Pirates Page 14
“Where is it shipped from these ports?”
“Some travels eastward to India and to lands known only in legend and lore, but most is taken north up the Red Sea. From the Sinai it is carried overland to Alexandria, whence it is shipped all over the world. My own family resides in the Greek Quarter of Alexandria, and our business is based there.”
“All of it goes to Alexandria?”
“Indeed. In the days of the Great King much went up the coast to Jerusalem and Susa and Babylon, but the first Ptolemy made the trade a personal monopoly of the Egyptian crown. Royal agents buy the gum at Sinai and sell it to trading firms like my family’s at a great yearly auction in Alexandria.”
“I take it that your trade routes are very old and established?”
“Oh, very much so,” he assured me. “The traffic in frankincense is one of the few things that never changes through the centuries, despite alterations of dynasty and empire.”
“How is this?” I asked him, fascinated as I often am by the words of a man who truly knows his business, especially when it is a subject about which I know all but nothing.
“Consider, sir. Frankincense is one of those rare commodities that is valued by all peoples. So is gold, but gold is stolen, hoarded, buried in Egyptian tombs, used to decorate monuments and wives. A great haul of gold, as when your General Lucullus sacked Tigranocerta, will depress the price of gold throughout the world.
“But frankincense is entirely consumed. That which is burned at a single ceremony must be replaced soon by the same amount. Where the amount of gold in circulation changes from year to year, that of frankincense remains almost constant. The trees are little affected by changes of rainfall; their number neither increases nor decreases. Only a freak storm on the Red Sea, sinking many ships of the incense fleet, is likely to alter the amount of the product delivered to Sinai. But the climate of the Red Sea and its winds at that time of year are almost as predictable as the rise and fall of the Nile.”
He gestured eloquently. “Consider jewels. Everyone values them highly, but nobody agrees which are the most valuable. The emerald, the ruby, and the sapphire are valued in most places, but traders from the Far East scorn them. They want coral and the green stone called jade. You Romans use the colored stones for amulets and seal rings, but prize pearls above all to adorn your women. Everyone esteems amber, but as much for its reputed medicinal qualities as for its beauty.
“But every god must have frankincense. It is burned before the altars of the Olympian deities, in the groves of Britannia, in the great Serapeum of Alexandria, before the images of the thousand gods of Egypt, and the many Baals of the East. Herodotus affirms that, each year at the great festival of Bel, the Assyrians burnt frankincense to the weight of one thousand talents before his altar. Think of it! Thirty tons transformed to smoke at a single ceremony! Of old the Arabians yielded a like amount to Darius as tribute. The nameless god of the Jews gets his share, and each year I set aside a large consignment for the Aphrodisia celebrated here. A goodly poundage will go up in the funeral pyre of our late Governor Silvanus, too.”
“Yours is a great and ancient trade,” I acknowledged. “But surely your ships are often preyed upon by pirates, and this must represent a hazard of the business.”
“Ah, but your General Pompey nearly eliminated that threat. And I understand that you, Senator, are here to put down the recent revival of that disreputable activity.”
“Still, it seems such a desirable cargo. I would think that nautical miscreants would single out ships bearing frankincense as their natural prey.”
He gestured eloquently, a combination shrug and spreading of palms that suggested a comfortable complacency. “As to that, sir, the two trades—one legitimate, the other felonious—came to an understanding many, many years ago.”
At last we were getting to the important part. “How so?”
“The pirates, you understand, are—were, I should say, organized, rather like a corporation, almost like a small state in fact.”
“Of course.”
“This being the case, it has been possible to treat with them: representatives, bargaining sessions, business arrangements, the whole panoply of diplomatic arrangements between states was possible between the frank-incense cartel and the pirates.”
“And I take it that the Ptolemies formed one side of this arrangement?”
“Not directly,” said the merchant. “After all, the frankincense is sold in Alexandria. Once at sea, what concern has the king what happens to it? The next year he will sell that year’s delivery as always.
“No, all merchants who handle frankincense in bulk belong to the Holy Society of Dionysus. Each year, on the eve of the auction, we hold a banquet in the Temple of Dionysus in Alexandria, where we honor our patron deity and make our arrangements for the coming year’s business. The society has envoys who handle all negotiations concerning the trade outside of Egypt. They deal with the authorities in the lands where we ship our cargoes, arrange for tithes, duties, and so forth. Among those they treat with are the pirates—were the pirates, I should say, since Rome has so beneficently driven that scourge from our sea after a fashion.”
“So now your cargoes ride the sea-lanes safely, as long as weather cooperates and the timbers don’t rot, eh?”
“Well, there is some slight danger of attack,” he admitted with another small gesture. “You understand, sailors are a conservative lot, and in some ways they have not changed since the days of Odysseus. Sailors are, to put it bluntly, a rascally lot at the best of times. A ship with a crew of fifteen, for instance, meets with a smaller ship with a crew of only seven. The men of the larger ship take a careful look around, determine that there are no other ships in sight, take their weapons from their sea chests, and the next thing you know, seven unfortunate sailors are on their way to meet Poseidon, soon to be followed by their scuttled vessel, and the larger ship goes on its way, riding somewhat deeper in the water.
“These men are not pirates in the sense of the old, organized fleets. They are just ordinary sailors who see that Hermes has sent them a fine opportunity and are not about to anger the god by scorning his gift. These men seek only goods they can dispose of easily and without suspicion. They do not deal in slaves or ransom captives because they must have no witnesses to their nefarious deeds.”
“This is most illuminating,” I told him, and indeed it was. “Is this sort of naughtiness more common of late?”
He nodded, sighing. “Assuredly, Senator. And, while I would never speak ill of the glorious Republic of Rome, which you so ably represent and which all the world beholds with awe and wonder, much of this is your fault.”
“How so?”
“In the old days the great fleets treated Poseidon’s broad domain as their personal property. They were like eagles or great falcons, and when they found petty rogues poaching upon the waters, they behaved as the noble birds do when they espy ravens and magpies snatching game from their hunting grounds. Their revenge was swift and terrible. They were a scourge to many ships and most certainly a scourge to small, undefended towns along the coastlines and in the islands; but to those who could afford to treat with them, they afforded a security that has fled since they were banished from the sea.”
“How unfortunate. And do you see in this latest outbreak of piracy a possible return to the security of the old days?”
“How is that possible, now that. Rome is in charge? In any case, these new villains do not amount to a patch on the sail of one of the old triremes. They are too petty to treat with the Holy Society of Dionysus.”
“Well, have no fear,” I said, rising. “Soon Rome will be in firm control of the entire sea and its coasts, and Roman courts will soon deal with these seagoing rascals. Then the sea-lanes will be safe for everyone.”
“I will sacrifice to Zeus, imploring him to speed the blessed day.” I thought I detected a trace of irony in his smile.
Before leaving I thanked him profusely and bou
ght a handful of frankincense, compounded with myrrh and benzoin, a very potent blend, to toss onto the funeral pyre of Silvanus.
Back at the home of the late governor, I found the statuary draped in black so that the sculptured figures could join in the mourning for their former owner. In Rome the figures of Silvanus’s ancestors in the atrium would be thus draped, but here in a foreign place this expedient had to serve. The wailing was less extravagant, probably because the slaves were getting hoarse. Hermes spotted me and ran up.
“Any word from the harbor?” I asked him.
“No, praise all the gods. Maybe we’ll have a reprieve.” He looked around sourly. “Not that this place is a great joy to inhabit. Why don’t we take lodgings somewhere else for a while?”
“No, just now I am exactly where I want to be. Where are Photinus and that Egyptian delegation?”
“I saw him in the garden awhile ago. What do you want him for?”
I walked past him. “Suddenly Egypt is in the air and on everyone’s lips. I want to find out why this should be.”
“If you say so.” He followed me.
Photinus was seated by the pool, deep in conversation with Cleopatra. That was all right with me. I wanted a word with her also.
“Good to see you, Senator,” said the eunuch, “even at such a sad time as this.”
“Any time is a good one to renew so happy an acquaintance,” I said with some jollity. Courtier and princess studied me with some wonder.
“You seem in a lighthearted mood today, Senator,” Cleopatra observed.
“Indeed. I am feeling scholarly, and this afternoon I have been adding to my store of knowledge. There are few more agreeable activities.”
“Are you well, Senator?” Photinus asked. “Try some of this date wine. It is mixed with ambergris and civet musk. Egyptians esteem it as the most fortifying drink in the world.”
I tried it. “Wonderful stuff,” I commended him. It tasted dreadful. “Photinus, my old and valued friend, I have been wondering about that pack of Roman merchants from Alexandria you’ve been shepherding about of late.”
“Yes, Senator?”
“Would any of them happen to be in the frankincense trade?” “I suppose some of them may have dealings in that particular business. Why do you ask?”
“He is asking,” Cleopatra said, “because Governor Silvanus choked to death on frankincense.” She eyed me warily.
“Princess, yesterday when we viewed the body of Silvanus and determined the extraordinary nature of his demise, you did not mention that your father owns a monopoly on the frankincense trade.”
“I saw no reason to mention it. That is only within Egyptian borders anyway. It is the custom everywhere, when a luxury good passes through a nation, for the king to own a monopoly on its trade. Once it is sold at Alexandria, its new owners take it wherever they will. My father has nothing to do with frankincense on Cyprus.”
“But, until quite recently, Cyprus was a Ptolemaic kingdom,” I pointed out.
“Really, Senator,” Photinus trilled, “you cannot think that the princess had anything to do with this awful murder.”
“I did not say so, I just find the connection intriguing, and I must observe that, historically, the Ptolemies have displayed a taste for the most peculiar forms of murder.”
“Are you trying to provoke me?” Cleopatra demanded. “I will remind you that I, too, am a guest in the house of Silvanus, and I am quite aware of the displeasure of the gods when the sacred bond of guest and host is broken by bloodshed.”
“If you will forgive me, Princess,” I said, “you Ptolemies have the most disgraceful record of incest, parricide, matricide, infanticide, and every other form of unnatural behavior in all the long, sorry history of royalty.”
“It isn’t easy being king,” she said, seeming neither angered nor embarrassed. “For centuries we have been Greek rulers in a foreign land. Not only that, everyone else envies us and would like to conquer us. Royalty are not like the common run of humanity and should not be judged as such.”
“Far be it from me to judge you,” I assured her. “But I have a suspicious nature, and when I investigate a crime I look for—how shall I express this?—I look for correspondences, things that two otherwise unrelated events, persons, or circumstances have in common. Especially unlikely, obscure things. To wit, Governor Silvanus is dead, choked on frankincense, a method of homicide unique in my experience.
“A bit of inquiry at the marketplace today reveals that all the frank-incense shipped over the sea comes through Egypt, where it is a royal monopoly. The princess of Egypt is a guest of the lamented Governor Silvanus. The First Eunuch of the court of King Ptolemy is a new arrival here, along with a delegation of Alexandrian merchants, some of whom may be aggrieved. I think you can understand why these things rouse my hunting-dog instincts.”
“This is a most intriguing philosophical concept,” she said seriously. “Were it not for the personal affront to myself, I should find it enthralling.”
“I think, Senator,” Photinus said frostily, “that you should confine your inquiries to the Alexandrian merchants. I shall be most happy to furnish introductions.”
“Excellent idea,” I said. “How soon can you get them together?” “It had better be soon,” he said. “Since the governor is dead, some of them are already making preparations to return to Alexandria.”
“They’ll do nothing of the sort until I am satisfied that none of them are involved. Call them together this evening after dinner.”
“No one conducts business after dinner,” he protested, scandalized. “As you have said, time grows short.”
SINCE THE HOUSE WAS IN MOURNING, I dined in my quarters. This was a relief because I needed time to myself. I had a great deal of information and experience through which to sort. In some investigations, the challenge is to find a likely suspect. In this one, it was to narrow down a field that was all too wide. I suffered from an over-abundance of suspicion. I had possible murderers vying with one another like so many charioteers in the Circus.
My two major suspects so far were Gabinius and Cleopatra. Gabinius was an exile, an ambitious general like too many Romans of his generation, desperate to get back to Rome and into the game of supreme power once more. True, he and Silvanus had been most friendly, but friendship is a notoriously elastic concept among politicians. He was here with a pack of thugs and was far too eager to seize control of affairs in Cyprus. A firm handling of the situation here might well raise his credit in Rome and speed his recall. And where was Silvanus’s deputy anyway?
Cleopatra had ample reason to hate Rome. Rome had restored her father to his throne, but at a humiliating price. Rome had taken Cyprus from Egypt and driven her apparently beloved uncle to suicide. There was the fact that she had been the guest of Silvanus, but she came of a family that was sometimes capable but never scrupulous. In any case they had long since adopted the Egyptian practice of royal deification, pretending to be living gods. Maybe she thought she could square things with the other gods later. And there was that business of the frankincense, whatever that implied.
But I did not want to suspect Cleopatra. I did not want this to turn into a major confrontation between Egypt and Rome. Our relations were tortured enough as it was and had been for centuries. Besides, I liked Cleopatra. She was an utterly unique woman, young though she was, and impossible to dislike unless she so desired it. Recognizing my own prejudice in her favor, I determined to be doubly suspicious of her.
And there were lesser suspects as well. The banker Sergius Nobilior and his salacious wife were playing a game of their own. The ever-elusive pirates might well have had cause to eliminate Silvanus. They always needed ports in which to dispose of their illegally gained cargoes and friendly officials to look the other way while they were doing it. Silvanus might well have indulged in such corrupt practices. Roman governors of that day were a venal lot. Despite what the First Citizen claims, they haven’t improved much since either.
Photinus came for me personally, after allowing me a decent time to digest.
“Senator, since this house is in mourning, the party would prefer not to meet here. The high priest of the Temple of Poseidon has consented to let us meet in the temple.” Once again he was all friendly courtesy. It is a courtier’s special skill.
I could not blame them for not wanting to meet in a house of mourning. It is a well-known bringer of bad luck. And people often meet in temples. Even the Senate sometimes meets in the Temple of Jupiter or that of Bellona. It is commonly believed that people are less likely to lie in a temple, and it means you don’t have to make a special trip if an oath must be sworn. Nevertheless, I put on my military belt with its sword and dagger. I had no special reason to fear treachery, but it would do no harm to remind these people of who I was. Hermes, as always in this place, was armed to the teeth.
We walked across the plaza before the mansion to the dignified old temple. The interior had been illuminated with lamps and folding chairs brought so we could all sit comfortably. To my surprise there were only four men waiting for us, and they seemed not to have brought any attendants. They all looked very different, but each wore the toga of a Roman citizen.
“I am Senator Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger,” I announced as I stepped within the sacred precincts. “I bear a commission from the Senate and People of Rome to stamp out piracy in these waters and am, at present, investigating the circumstances surrounding the death of Governor Silvanus.” I looked them over. “I had expected a larger group. Are all here?”