SPQR IX: The Princess and the Pirates Read online

  “Come along,” Hermes said, regarding Ariston with a certain admiration. Well, it had been quite a feat, even though it galled me that I had needed another man to save my neck.

  “And now, Senator,” Silvanus said, “we need to talk.” All I wanted was a hot bath and a good night’s sleep. The hot blood of combat had cooled, the wine I had drunk was causing my head to ache, and I was pretty certain that I had a cracked rib or two. But there was no help for it. Duty comes first for any servant of the Senate and People of Rome. I followed the two into Silvanus’s study.

  5

  IN THE STUDY GABINIUS AND SILVANUS waited while the household physician examined me. My right wrist and forearm throbbed worse than my head, but there was no break. A great bruise was already spreading over my right side, and the man’s probing fingers drew new pains from that vicinity.

  “There may be cracked ribs,” he reported, “but there is not enough movement to indicate complete fracture, so there should be no puncturing of organs. You will have to wear a tight bandage for a few days, but this should heal easily.” With an assistant’s help he wrapped me from hip-bones to chest with enough linen to keep a pharaoh safe for eternity, but at least he didn’t insist on packing it with foul-smelling poultices like many physicians. Thus wrapped I was uncomfortable, but the pain subsided markedly.

  “And now, Senator,” Silvanus began, “perhaps you could tell us of your evening’s activities.” Pointedly, he did not offer me any wine. For a change I was not in the mood for any.

  “First, let me make a few remarks. Silvanus, you are governor here and out of respect for your office I will cooperate with you. Aulus Gabinius, I am a Roman official on duty. You are an exile with no legal or political standing. Like all of Rome I am in awe of your distinguished career and your great military services to the state, but you have no say in my activities here.”

  His face clouded, but he had no basis for protest. “That is understood. I will take my place in the Curia once more. In the meantime, I help my friend Silvanus in his duties as governor of Cyprus.”

  “Very well. This is what happened.” And I gave them the story of the night’s events. Of course, I felt under no compulsion to give them all the details. For instance, I left out the business about the lady Flavia and her drinking companions. I wished now that I had paid more attention to the men and less to the woman. It was not unthinkable that some of them were among my attackers. I had no good reason to suspect her, but at this point I considered everyone suspect, including the two sitting across from me. In those days it was no unusual thing for senators to plot murder against one another if there were any political or monetary advantage to be had. I was in a completely unfamiliar situation, and only a fool assumes a stranger to be a friend without plenty of proof.

  “I’m no trained logician,” I said, wrapping up my story, “but I’ve spent many hours in conversation with Cicero and he’s taught me a bit about the subject, which is always helpful in legal cases. First, eliminate the most unlikely possibilities. It was not just a pack of thieves out for loot.”

  “Not likely,” Silvanus said. “There are plenty of wealthy merchants reeling home drunk every night. No idiot is going to attack a band with trained bodyguards for what might be in their purses.”

  “The whole city knows you’re here to crush the pirates,” Gabinius said. “Most likely that’s what they were—pirates who wanted to get you first.”

  “Or thugs who wanted to ingratiate themselves with the pirates,” Silvanus put in.

  “Or hirelings of some merchant who has been getting rich receiving pirate loot,” I said. “Yes, the list of possibilities is a long one. Political motives, anyone?”

  “Cleopatra wanting to do Rome a dirty turn?” Silvanus hazarded. “I’m still not clear on why she came here in the first place, and as her host I can’t very well ask probing questions.”

  “I think that very unlikely,” I said.

  Gabinius grinned maliciously. “She got you out into the street at night, didn’t she? None of this night’s little adventure was your idea, if we’re to believe you. She could’ve set the whole thing up.”

  That blow struck home. No man likes to admit he’s been manipulated, especially by a mere girl, however royal. “Apollodorus killed one of them,” I protested lamely.

  “The boy may not have been in on it,” Silvanus said. “In any case, he’ll automatically kill anyone who gets too close to his mistress in a situation like that.”

  “Or she may’ve told him to kill one just to take suspicion away from her,” Gabinius pointed out with some relish. “Maybe she figured seven would be plenty to deal with a half-drunk senator and his slave. She didn’t bargain on that ugly villain you hired. Nobody expected him to fight like a damned champion gladiator.”

  It was all too true. “Well, there’s plenty of suspicion to go around,” I admitted.

  “Feeling so keen about taking her out with you now, Senator?” Silvanus asked.

  “Absolutely,” I said, enjoying their perplexed expressions. “From now on I want her right where I can see her.”

  Gabinius laughed, that great Roman laugh that sounds like swords banging on shields. “You’re Caesar’s friend, all right! That’s the way he thinks. I hear he keeps the sons of Gallic chiefs he’s killed in his bodyguard.”

  “Senator,” Silvanus said, “I know you need rest and you must be at your ships early, but bear with me a moment and let me explain a few things about the situation here.”

  “Please do.”

  “When we annexed Cyprus it was partly to sort out the usual dynastic bungling of the Ptolemies, but partly, also, to tighten the Roman hold over Egypt. It has not yet been decided what to do with Cyprus. We may wish to keep it. As a naval base, it would give us effective control of the whole eastern seaboard. Or we may decide, graciously, to give it back to Ptolemy. Or, perhaps, to his son, in recognition of certain treaty clauses and concessions.”

  “I understand all that,” I said. “We’ve been propping up weak kings in Egypt for generations.”

  “I say conquer the place, make a province of it, and be done with it,” Gabinius growled.

  “You would,” Silvanus observed. “If you were to, as you almost did a short time ago, how long before Caesar and Pompey dropped everything, pooled their strength, and marched against you?”

  “About a day, maybe two.”

  Egypt was so rich that no Roman general would stand by to see another take the place. The man who conquered Egypt would immediately be the richest, most powerful man in the world, richer than Crassus. It was bad enough when Sertorius set himself up as independent ruler of Spain. At least he was no great threat there. A general with his legions based in Egypt could aspire to conquer Rome and become, for all practical purposes, the ruler of the whole world.

  “So you see, Senator Metellus, my position here is not just that of Roman governor over a mixed pack of Greeks and Phoenicians. There is a balancing act going on here. Future relations between Rome and Egypt are in that balance.”

  “I spoke with Cato before I came here,” I said. “He said he set things in order with no trouble.”

  “That’s Cato,” Gabinius said. “And he had little concern save the local population and local affairs. He gave them a taste of the Roman whip and, as usual, they settled down. That was while I was busy putting old Ptolemy Auletes’ fat rump back on his throne. Now things are different.”

  “When Caesar finishes in Gaul,” Silvanus said, “all of Rome’s attention will be turned eastward. There are matters to settle with Parthia, and something will have to be done about those squabbling Jewish princes. They’re disrupting trade and foreign relations in a crucial part of the world. We’ll want Ptolemy’s support in those operations: supplies, auxiliaries, garrison troops—he has them all to spare. So please try not to get his favorite daughter killed, even if she did conspire to have you murdered.”

  Gabinius clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve accomplis
hed plenty of work with men who’ve tried to kill me, every Roman of any stature has. I hear you even cooperated with Clodius on an occasion or two. Just do the work, never trust him or turn your back on him. If you can do that with a bloody lunatic like Clodius, surely you can hold your own with a girl playing at war.”

  The grizzled old centurion came in. “No luck. We found the man in an alley, dead. He’d bled out from that arm cut. Severed the big vessel. I’m amazed he got as far as he did.”

  “How about the other one?” I asked.

  “Died before they got him to the lockup.”

  “Well, so much for that.” Silvanus said disgustedly. “Senator, I think we’ve kept you long enough, and I hope you’ll keep what we’ve said in mind.”

  “Gentlemen,” I said, lurching to my feet, “rest assured that I shall give your words my closest attention. And now, I bid you good night.”

  I walked back to my quarters as steadily as I could and found Hermes waiting up for me, sitting with his sword across his knees.

  “Sleep across the doorway tonight,” I told him, “and keep your weapons handy. From here on in, we trust nobody.”

  “You mean we were trusting someone before?”

  AS SOON AS THE SUN CAME UP, MY MEN put their shoulders to the hulls and pushed them into the water. They floated prettily, spruced up and repainted, ready to go out and ravage the enemies of Rome. The sailors swam out to them and worked them under oars to the long wharf, where the marines boarded and supplies were loaded.

  Cleopatra’s ship already floated out in the harbor, and to judge by her royal banner she was aboard already. The enthusiasms of the young are irrepressible.

  “A message for Senator Metellus!” shouted someone. I turned from my supply tally to see a boy running down the wharf, holding aloft a bronze message carrier. “Harbormaster Orchus sends you this, Senator.” I took the polished tube from his hand and twisted off the cap. Inside was a slip of papyrus.

  To the Commodore of the Roman Fleet, I read, smiling at the grandiose salutation. The grain ship Hapi has just put in on its way from Egypt to Piraeus. Its master reports that yesterday he passed a devastated village on the island of Salia.

  “Brief and to the point,” I remarked. “Ion, how far is this place?” “Half a day’s sailing if the winds are favorable, which this time of year they won’t be. But they’ve been there and gone. Won’t do any good to look at burned houses and dead bodies.”

  “Still, it’s a starting place. We may be able to quiz witnesses, and, in any case, with so many new men we need a shakedown cruise and plenty of drill before I’ll feel ready to take them into a fight. This is as good an excuse as any.”

  He shrugged. “You’re the one with the commission.” It was about as sincere a gesture of respect as I was likely to get from him.

  I dispatched a sailor to Cleopatra’s ship Serapis with a message giving our destination. As soon as the last jar was loaded we pushed off and rowed to the harbor mouth. Once in clear water, all ships hoisted sail. The wind was favorable for getting us around the island of Cyprus, but after that we would probably have to row. That suited me well enough because the men needed exercise and I wouldn’t have to pull an oar myself.

  Once we were under way, Ariston walked up to me. Since he was shipping as a marine he had no duties at the moment. Like many of the sailors, he had lowered his tunic from his shoulders and wore it knotted about his waist. From arsenal stores he had chosen a close-fitting iron cap and a small, round shield of hippopotamus hide as his sole military equipment. I could not guess how that last item had found its way into the arsenal at Paphos, since it must have originated in Nubia. For weaponry, he stuck with his big knife.

  “That man I cut last night,” he began, “did they catch him?” “They did. Bled to death within the hour. The big blood vessel was severed.” I caught the look that crossed his face. “What’s wrong?”

  “I said dead by morning, and that’s what I meant. I cut him here.” He drew a ragged-nailed finger from the bulging triceps on the back of his upper arm across the equally bulging biceps in front. “Cut him hard and all the way to the bone—I felt my blade scrape it—but no deeper than that. I’ve seen plenty of men die in battle and duels and brawls from arm cuts. That big bleeder’s on the inside of the arm, right next to the bone. I don’t think my blade could’ve touched it.”

  “Well, well,” I said, “why does this fail to surprise me? Keep this to yourself, Ariston.”

  “Whatever you say, Senator.”

  “Why didn’t you draw armor and a better helmet? The men will take you for one of the sailors.”

  He smiled crookedly. “Wear a bronze shell that’ll drag me straight to the waiting arms of Poseidon if I go overboard? Not buggering likely. If I have to swim for it, I want nothing on me I can’t get rid of before I hit the water.”

  “At least a decent shield then,” I suggested.

  “This is the best combination for a deck fight: a little shield and a dagger or short sword. Anything bigger just gets in the way.”

  “You’ll want a bigger shield when we come under arrow fire,” I insisted, nettled by his confident expertise.

  “Don’t you know how to avoid arrows in a fight?” he grinned. “How?”

  “Just get behind someone else.”

  I gave up. “You’re the pirate.” This made me remember why I’d hired him. “How do they fight when they take a ship?”

  “I wouldn’t call it fighting. More like a sheep killing. But just in case, they’re ready for one. Tangling with a fighting crew like this, they’d start with a few arrows—not many good archers among them—then javelins when the ships are in range.”

  “Will they grapple?”

  “Not with us. They’ll be trying to get away, remember? No loot to be had on these ships, just a bunch of them killed if they win and the survivors crucified if they lose—no incentive to come to grips in that prospect. If they have to fight, most will be armed like me. If any wear armor, it’ll just be a piece of hide hung from the neck to cover the chest and belly, maybe a plain helmet that gives them plenty of air and vision, not the bronze buckets some of your marines wear. If we grapple them, they’ll try to board first, and they’ll fight like the Furies,” he made a gesture to avert the evil one may expect from speaking that dread word, “because that’s the only way they’ll come out of it alive.”

  “And if we catch them on land?”

  “For a shore raid they may use heavier weapons and armor. Some of them have fought in the armies and know how to do it right. But on shore, if it looks like they’re losing, they’ll think maybe they can run and hide. They may not fight as desperately.”

  “What real advantages do they have?”

  He thought for a moment. “First off, numbers. You have four Liburnians. They have six to ten most times. And, ship-for-ship, their numbers are still superior because every man aboard’s a fighting man. Rowers and sailors are all armed, and all fight when boarding time comes. Your corvus and Roman boarding tactics may tip the balance, but maybe not.”

  “Because their leader is a Roman and knows what to expect.” He nodded. “Spurius. He’d’ve made a good skipper in the old days when we were a floating nation.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  “I’ll tell you what I know, but it’s not all that much. I wasn’t close to him, not even in the same ship. I saw him on shore from time to time and sat in on the councils. Pirates aren’t organized like a navy, you know.” He spread his nostrils and took a deep breath of the sea air. “It’s a band of equals and everyone has a say. The leaders are just the toughest fighters, the best sailors, or the ones who are smartest about finding prey and getting safely away with the loot.”

  “Which of those was Spurius?” I asked, fascinated by this look into a life so foreign from anything I was used to.

  “Well, he’s no great seaman, as you might expect, being a Roman. But as a fighter he’s qualified to go up against the best of t
hem, toe-to-toe, and come out with his enemy’s blood on his sword and none of his own on the ground.”

  “That’s praise, coming from your mouth.”

  He smiled with satisfaction. “I was taught young, and I was taught right. Anyway, some say Spurius was a Roman deserter who threw in with Spartacus and got away before the end came. I don’t know about that.”

  “How old would you judge him?”

  “About forty would be my guess.”

  I thought about it. “The Slave War began in the consulship of Clodi-anus and Gellius twenty-one years ago and ended two years later. It’s conceivable, if he deserted as a young recruit. Anyway, go on. Tell me what he looks like.”

  “Tall for a Roman, about your height, but wider built. Strong as an ox and quick as a cat. He wears a full beard and lets his hair grow long. Maybe he doesn’t want to look like a Roman, with your clean-shaven faces and short hair.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d know how to distinguish our regional accents? It might help to know if he’s from Rome itself or some other part of Latium.”

  He shook his blocky head. “Never heard him speak Latin anyway, just Greek and some Aramaic.”

  “Aramaic? Did you go ashore in Syria or Judea?”

  “We went there to sell loot once. I think that’s where I heard him speak it. Greek will get you by almost anywhere, but Aramaic is handy to know in the eastern parts.”

  “Did he speak it well?”

  “Better than me. Sounded as fluent as he is in Greek, and he speaks Greek like an Athenian. Why?”

  I gazed off across the calm water. My weather luck was holding. “I’m just trying to build a picture of the man. I don’t want to be fighting a total stranger when we’ve drawn swords on one another. Many commanders just assume things about their enemies and leave it at that. They tend to die with looks of great astonishment on their faces.”

  “That’s shrewd.”

  “What is he like as a planner?”

  “The best. He knows the trade routes, he keeps up on whose fleet is where, he knows the value of everything, and when, say, a load of fine glassware will fetch a better price in Berytus than in Jaffa. He’s been called a small-minded merchant for it, but never to his face.”