The King's Gambit (11 page)

Cato interrupted these musings. "Master, there is a woman to see you. She won't state her business."

I thought it might be one of the nuisance visits every public official dreads, but I needed some sort of distraction. "I will see her in my reading-room."

I put on my toga and went to sit behind my desk, which was stacked with enough parchment to make me look very busy, indeed. In truth, these were mostly personal papers and letters, since I left all my official writings in the Archives, where there were public slaves to keep track of them. A few minutes later Cato showed in a young woman who looked vaguely familiar. Then I remembered. It was Claudia's serving-maid, the wiry little Greek girl.

"Chrysis, isn't it?" I said coolly. Ordinarily, slaves do not call upon public officials, save to deliver messages from the freeborn. Cato would never have let her in had he known her status. But then, when they don't dress like slaves, how is one to tell?

"I am Chrysis." Her face was widest at the cheekbones, tapering to a small, pointed chin. With her cool green eyes and russet hair, she resembled a malicious little vixen. She moved as if her limbs had multiple joints.

"Why did you not identify yourself as Claudia's slave to my man?"

"Because I'm not a slave," she said. Her name was Greek, but her accent was not. I couldn't place it, but I had heard its like recently. My fixation with her mistress was doing terrible things to my memory.

"Then what are you to Claudia?"

"Her companion." She used the Greek word, probably to avoid the Latin equivalent, which also means "prostitute" when applied to a woman.

"Well, Claudia is an unconventional woman. What did you wish to see me about?"

Her lips quirked up at the corners. "My Lady Claudia wishes to see you." This was what I both hoped and feared she would say.

"When last we spoke, Claudia did not seem to want to see me again, ever."

Still wearing her enigmatic smile, the strange little woman walked around my desk. Hands demurely behind her back, she made her hips move as fluidly as a python's spine. Somehow she invested the simple act of walking with an indescribable lewdness. Standing now beside me, hands still behind her back, she bent until her face was inches from mine.

"But my lady often speaks from anger, rather than from her heart. She finds you a very pretty gentleman. She burns for you and cannot sleep."

At least it was clear why she did not wish to commit such a message to writing. Why she should entrust it to this astonishing little slut was less so. Of course, I had doubts whether the message was sincere, but it so mirrored my own feelings that I tried to convince myself that it was.

"Well, we can't very well let your mistress go sleepless, can we? How does she propose to resolve this dilemma?"

"She wishes you to come to her tonight, to a house she owns not far from here. She will go there after dark, and I will come here to guide you to her."

"Very well," I said, my mouth strangely dry, restraining myself from wiping sweaty palms on my toga. The combination of my unresolved feelings for Claudia and the aura of sensuality exuded by this rank little animal reduced me to feigning a dignified indifference. I doubt strongly that I fooled Chrysis.

"Until tonight, then," she said. She swayed out of my reading-room as soundlessly as a ghost. So silently that I suspected that she was barefoot, although only a person of uncommon fortitude would brave the Roman streets without sandals.

I released a long-pent breath. There were still many hours before dark, and I needed something with which to occupy myself. For a change, I had no official business to transact, so I decided to draft some letters. I began one, but could not get past the salutation. Finishing that, I had forgotten to whom I was writing it. After the fourth try, I threw my stylus against the wall in disgust. It was a gesture of pique entirely uncharacteristic of me.

I think better walking than sitting, so I left my house and began to ramble aimlessly. It was folly to think of Claudia, so I dragged my thoughts back to the case at hand. I had so many facts, and so many hints, but nothing with which to tie them all together, as the rods of punishment are tied around the ax of execution in the Roman fasces.

I walked through the ancient streets, amid the familiar sights and sounds and smells of Rome, and I pondered upon what I might be missing. What did I have? Two dead men, the unfortunate Paramedes of Antioch and the wretched Sinistrus. A great fire that might have burned the city to the ground, had the wind been from the south that night. I had Publius Claudius and his sister, and a mysterious farm overseer near Baiae named H. Ager. I had the foreign prince, Tigranes, and I had the mighty but absent General Lucullus and King Mithridates, the latter now enjoying the hospitality of the Elder Tigranes. I might even throw in the late General Sertorius, whose rebellion in Spain had brought him to a bad end. I stopped in mid-step.

What, I thought, had been the connection between Sertorius and Mithridates? They were separated by the entire width of the Mediterranean. They were united only by a dislike for Rome. One may make a distinction in the case of Sertorius, of course. He was only on the outs with the then-current government in Rome, the anti-Marian party. He had claimed to
be
the legitimate government of Rome, in exile, and had even cobbled together his own Senate, made up of out-of-favor malcontents.

So how had these two enemies of Rome carried on their intrigue? Why, through the only other naval power in the Mediterranean besides Rome. To wit, the pirates. To the astonishment of passersby, I stood there and cursed myself for a besotted fool. Only a few days before, young Titus Milo had mentioned his days in the navy, pirate-chasing. Had my mind been working properly, that alone should have started it working in the right direction, had it not been occupied with lubricious thoughts of Claudia. It is also the nature of young men to blame their own shortcomings on women.

Once Carthage had been the premier naval power on the sea. We had destroyed her fleet. Rather, Carthage had destroyed several Roman fleets, but we kept building new ones and sending them out until Carthage was eliminated as a naval threat. Having done that, we neglected our navy, concentrating as always on our preeminence as land soldiers.

Into this naval vacuum had slipped the pirates. They had always been there. In some coastal areas, piracy was still regarded as an honorable profession, as it was in ancient times. After all, had not Ulysses and Achilles blithely raided unoffending coastal villages as they made their way to and from Troy?

The fact was, these pirates operated freely in what we liked to call "our sea." No shipping was safe, but shipping was not the chief victim of the pirates. Mainly, they raided coastal districts for slaves. The great pirate haven on the island of Delos had become the pivotal slave market for the whole Mediterranean world. Those nations that were not clients of Rome got no protection from the pirates. Those that were clients got very little protection anyway.

During the Servile War, Spartacus had contracted with the pirates to ferry his army of slaves and deserters from Messina to freedom somewhere, probably out at the far end of the Black Sea. Crassus had got wind of it and bribed the pirates to betray Spartacus, otherwise that splendid villain might have got away clean. We hated to admit it, but the pirates of the Mediterranean formed a sort of mobile nation, richer and more powerful than most land-based kingdoms.

I looked about me, and found that I was in the warehouse district near the Tiber. Each of us is given, at birth, a
genius
, and in that odd way that these guardian and guiding spirits have, mine had led my steps while my conscious mind was otherwise occupied, and had brought me to the site of the beginning of all my problems. Nearby rose the immense bulk of the Circus Maximus. Before me, construction was well advanced on the new warehouse that was to replace the one owned by Paramedes and destroyed by fire.

It came to me that my
genius
was behaving even more subtly than usual, because this was not merely the Circus and warehouse district. It was also the district where lived Rome's small but wealthy and flourishing Oriental community. Here were to be found the Asiatics, the Bithynians, the Syrians, Armenians, Arabians, Judaeans and the occasional Egyptian. This, I suddenly realized was exactly where I wanted to be. Here, if anywhere in Rome, I would be able to pry loose some information about the pirates.

I walked another couple of streets, until only one block of tenements and storehouses separated me from the Circus. From each shop front and storehouse came the fragrances of the whole Mediterranean world. Incense and spices were stored here, and rare, fragrant woods. The odors of fresh-sawn cedar from the Levant and pulverized pepper from even farther east mingled with those of frankincense from Egypt and oranges from Spain. It smelled like Empire.

The shop of Zabbai, a merchant from Arabia Felix, stood open, recessed beneath the arches of a shady arcade. Zabbai was an importer of the most precious commodity in the world: silk. So short is human memory that even now men will tell you that Romans first saw silk when the Parthians unfurled their silken banners before the army of Crassus at Carrhae, but this is nonsense. It is true that Romans had never seen silk in such quantity or so brilliantly dyed before beholding those banners, but the cloth had been sold in Rome for at least a hundred years before that, although much adulterated and mixed with threads of lesser fabric.

Zabbai was a typical eastern merchant, rich and polite and oily as an old lamp. Arabia Felix owed its happy title to its geographical location, a place where the land routes from the far East met the Red Sea, with all its African coastal trade, at the spot most convenient for transshipment of goods to the nearby Mediterranean coast.

His clerk rose from a little table and bowed deeply when I entered. "How may I serve you, master?" He didn't know me by sight, but he knew an official when he saw one.

"Summon Zabbai," I instructed him. Minutes later, the man himself emerged from a curtained back room, grinning and clasping his hands together. He wore flowing robes of splendid material and a silken headcloth. His beard was long and drawn to a sharp point. He was an exotic creature, but it was a relief to see an easterner who was not trying to be a Greek.

"My friend Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger, what honor you do me, how your presence brightens my day, how I rejoice..." and so on, for quite some time. Oriental effusiveness is a bore to a Roman, but I daresay easterners consider us churlish and uncultured in our direct bluntness.

"My esteemed friend Zabbai," I said when he paused for breath, "I come today not on business, but on a matter of state."

"Ah, politics! Do you stand for the quaestorship?"

"No, I won't be eligible for another six years. This is not a matter of domestic politics, but of foreign policy. With your wide travels and far-flung contacts, and most especially your constant dealings with ships and shipping, I thought you the best man to consult."

He was vastly flattered, or pretended to be. Flinging his arms wide, he said, "Anything! Anything to be of service to the Senate and People of Rome! How may I serve? No, but first, let us be comfortable. Please, follow me."

We ducked through the curtain and passed through a storeroom in which thin sticks of incense burned constantly to protect the bales of precious silk from the damage of dampness or insects. Beyond that, we emerged into a beautiful courtyard. It was laid out in the traditional Roman manner, with a fountained pool at the center, but with the eastern addition of flower boxes, which sported a few winter blossoms. Arabs come from a desert country, and they love water and growing things even more than do Italians.

Near the pool stood a low table of precious wood with a colorful tiled top, where we seated ourselves on cushions stuffed with feathers and spices. Only an Oriental would think of a luxurious touch like that. Servants brought us dishes of nuts and dried fruits and candied flower petals, along with an excellent wine that had been heavily watered, as befitted the early hour.

When I had partaken enough of his hospitality to satisfy politeness, I got down to business. "Now, Zabbai, my friend, I would like for you to share your knowledge of the pirates who infest our sea."

Zabbai stroked his beard. "Ah, the pirates. I deal with those difficult businessmen many times in a year. What do you wish to know of them?"

"First, some general knowledge. How do you go about your yearly transactions with these romantic fortune-seekers?"

"Like most merchants whose goods move by sea, I find it most convenient to pay a yearly tribute, rather than have to negotiate separately over each seized cargo or factor to be ransomed."

"Yet you say you must deal with them many times each year. How is that?"

"While the greater fleets cooperate, and in most cases a single payment made at Delos is sufficient to buy them all off, yet there are small, independent fleets that obey no master. These are a special nuisance in the western sea, especially near the Pillars of Hercules, the coast of southern Spain and the northern African coast near Old Carthage. These rogues will take my cargoes and agents, then give me a certain time in which to ransom them. Failing that, they will be taken to Delos and sold. It is a great nuisance."

"Spain, you say?" I mused, speaking half to myself.

"Truly, most of the sea west of Sicily. This is a mere nuisance, since the great bulk of all trade and shipping, perhaps as much as ninety percent, is to the east of Rome. After all, what great cities exist in the West since the destruction of Carthage? Only Rome. To the east, there are many great cities and rich islands, all in relatively close proximity. There you will find Antioch, Alexandria, Pergamum, Ephesus, Chalcedon, Crete and Cyprus, Rhodes and all the other islands. That is where the commerce is, and so therefore that is where the pirates are most numerous and best organized."

"But to the west," I persisted, "there are independent fleets. Are these numerous or powerful?"