The Princess and the Pirates (12 page)

“You’re right. Best to be cautious. Order it so, and tell them to be on the lookout for survivors. There are always survivors in my experience, and I’d like to question any such.”

While the ship went about its mission, I walked through the village, Hermes close by me. A brief survey confirmed my first impression: all the dead were old, crippled, or looked like they had tried, pathetically, to put up a fight.

“They made off with all the good slave material,” Hermes observed. “Raiders usually do,” I affirmed. I saw Ariston looking bemusedly at the ruined temple and called him over.

“Is this how they commonly behave?” I asked him.

He shook his head vehemently. “Never saw anything like it. It makes no sense. You don’t kill sheep you don’t intend to eat. You shear them.”

“Exactly. They took everything of any use to them: food, wool, women, the young to sell, and able-bodied men who showed no fight. Then they went through this unnecessary butchery and burning. It merits some thought.”

A short while later
Triton
returned and reported no ships lurking about and no survivors visible from offshore. I had everyone, sailors and marines, assembled where I could address them.

“I want this island scoured,” I told them. “Bring me anyone you find alive. These unfortunate people,” I waved an arm, taking in the ruined village and its late inhabitants, “must be given burial and funeral rites, lest their shades follow our ships and bring us bad luck.” Actually, I rather doubted the power of the dead to do mischief to the living, but it is the custom and would make me feel better at any rate. “Get to it!”

There wasn’t enough wood left on the island to make a decent funeral pyre, so the men scraped a shallow grave in the sandy ground and the bodies were placed in it and covered over. Atop the grave a small cairn was built, and with Cleopatra’s assistance I performed a burial rite and poured offerings of flour, wine, and oil over the cairn.

The princess was sickened by the stench, but the sight of all the carnage did not terrify her as I might have expected. I commented upon this.

“The women of my house are schooled in controlling their emotions. Among the descendants of Alexander, great rage is the only emotion that may be displayed on public occasions.” The founder of her line, Ptolemy Soter, had married a sister of Alexander. Her name, not coincidentally, had been Cleopatra.

“Is this what war looks like?” she asked.

“Sometimes,” I said. “But this is very extreme. Sometimes we Romans destroy a town as thoroughly, but only to make an example, as when people who have accepted our terms treacherously repudiate a treaty and attack us.”

“Clearly, that was not the case here.”

“No, and I intend to learn why this was done.” The search party returned; and as I had expected, they brought in survivors: Three women and two men, all of them too stunned to feel
terror. They did not look like Greeks but rather like some archaic survival of an earlier age, dark of skin with ink black hair that fell in snakelike locks to the shoulders of the men, to the waists of the women. Their clothes were filthy and ragged, their skins bruised and scratched. They had broad faces and might have been handsome had it not been for the brutish stupefaction of their expressions.

“What happened here?” They said nothing, did not indicate that they so much as heard my words. A marine began to handle them roughly, but I put a stop to it. “No. They’ve suffered enough. Let them rest. Give them food and drink; let them know they will come to no harm. No further harm anyway. I’ll question them later. Ion.”

“Yes, Senator?”

“It’s too late to return to Cyprus. We’d be overtaken by nightfall. We’ll stay here the night and go back at first light.”

Soon cooking fires were burning and sails were turned into tents for the men. The sights of the day had turned everyone somber, and there was little of the usual chatter. The sailors, who had worked the hardest, ate in silence, then turned in and slept like exhausted dogs. The marines, charged with security, sat up longer and conversed in low voices.

Cleopatra had brought her own tent, naturally, complete with all its furnishings. It was ringed with guards who stood at attention, spears erect as if this were a parade ground in Alexandria.

“Come join me, Senator,” she said, and I was nothing loath. Before the tent a fly was stretched and beneath this I sank into a folding chair with a seat and back of leopard skin. Cleopatra reclined luxuriously on a couch that was furnished with plump cushions. From what I could see, the tent was furnished with equal lavishness, and under it all were splendid carpets. I accepted a cup of wine from one of her slave girls. The cup was solid gold; I could tell by the weight.

“To hold all this,” I commented, “Your ship must be bigger on the inside than on the outside.”

She smiled. “It’s all in knowing how to pack.” She turned serious. “So have you come to any conclusions about this?”

“I am entertaining some possibilities. I would like to talk with those survivors before I try any conclusions.”

“Join me in some dinner. Maybe soon they’ll be recovered enough to tell us what happened.”

Cleopatra’s larder was decidedly superior to anything available on a Roman warship. It was not opulent, but everything was of the highest quality, and it included items such as honeyed figs and dates, fine seedcakes, and ducks brought that day from Cyprus and prepared by her amazingly efficient cooks.

“Take some of this over to those poor people,” she ordered a slave. The man loaded a tray with delicacies and disappeared.

“They’ll eat better than they have in their lives,” I said, “but it is a dear-bought meal.”

“How lost they must be,” she said. “Their whole world was destroyed.” When our dinner was finished, it was fully dark. Cleopatra and I rose and went to where the survivors sat at a little fire. Four of them were eating, but from the look in their eyes it was an automatic action. They did not even know what they were doing. Ion and a couple of the marines stood by watching. The shipmaster pointed to the woman who was not eating. She sat a little apart.

“A little while back that one went down to the shore and washed her face and arms. She must be coming out of it.”

With her face scrubbed clean of soot, dirt, and tear streaks, I could see that the woman had vertical lines tattooed from her lower lip to her chin, and a circle within a circle in the center of her forehead.

“Woman, can you understand me?” I asked, as gently as I could. Romans are not trained in gentle speech, but after what she had been through I was unlikely to terrify her. She looked up at me, so at least she was aware of her surroundings. She spoke a few words in a language unlike anything I had ever heard.

“Ion, do you think any of the men might know this language?” I asked. He frowned. “I have sailors from all over, but an earthquake wouldn’t wake them, what with the way you worked them today.”

“I can understand her,” Cleopatra said.

I turned to gape at her. “Princess, your linguistic skills are renowned, but I’ll wager the tongue this woman speaks is unique to this island.”

“It’s spoken all over the world,” she said. “It’s Greek. But it is the most archaic dialect I have ever heard spoken. This tongue was ancient when Homer composed his poems. I think it’s a variant of the Cycladic language, dead for a thousand years. I’ve only seen it written in some very ancient texts, and those copied from earlier writings.”

Cleopatra could always surprise you.

“Ask her to describe what happened.”

Very slowly, considering each word carefully and with many repetitions at the woman’s puzzled expressions, she got the question across. The woman began to speak in a gush of words but Cleopatra, by gestures, managed to slow her down. Finally she turned to me.

“Her name is Chryse. The village has no name and she knows no place but this island. The day before yesterday, five ships appeared offshore in the late morning. The people thought they wanted to trade for fish and wool so they rushed to the shore. But the strangers came ashore armed and began herding them together, tying the women and children with ropes, binding some of the younger men, killing others, and cutting down all the old people. With some others, she ran to the interior. She hid under a rock overhang she knew about. She does not know how these others managed to conceal themselves. She does not know what became of her man and her children.”

“Ask her about the attitude of these raiders.”

She looked at me. “What do you mean?”

“Were they angry, as if these islanders had done them some harm? Were they joyous, laughing as they killed, raping and having a good time? How did they look and sound?”

Once again Cleopatra managed to get her meaning across, and the woman answered, having to repeat herself many times for full comprehension.

“She says that they were grim, but they showed no anger, as if they were doing a job. ‘Like men gutting fish for dinner’ is how she put it. She saw no rape.”

“Did she see their leader?”

Once more the byplay, which was growing quicker. “She saw a big man by the shore, with long hair and a beard, and the others seemed to defer to him. But he scarcely glanced toward the islanders, and she was too terrified to notice much beyond that.”

“Can she describe their ships?”

Cleopatra asked. “Like yours, but the same color as the sea.” “Thank her. Tell her we will take her and the others to Cyprus and find a place for them. They will not suffer further.”

The woman spoke and Cleopatra turned to me. “She does not want to go to Cyprus. She does not think the others will either. This island is all they know.”

“But there is nothing left for them here. Tell her that even if they find food to eat, they will die here alone in time.”

Cleopatra tried. “She wants to stay.”

We went back to Cleopatra’s tent.

“Ready for some conclusions now?” she asked, handing me another cup.

“This was an example,” I said. “It’s the only explanation. Those raiders were ordered to devastate this place utterly. That is why they went about it so methodically. It was just a task—a disagreeable one, perhaps, but a task to be carried out nevertheless.”

“For whom was this example intended?” she asked. “For you?” “You can’t intimidate a Roman with slaughter, and this Spurius knows it. No, this was intended to let everyone in the eastern sea know what will happen to anyone who cooperates with us. Word of this butchery will be all over Cyprus when we return, and that means it will be all over the eastern sea in days. It’s a very efficient system of communication.”

“That means this Spurius knows you are here and hunting him.” “He struck this place two days ago. He must have heard of my arrival and my mission as soon as I set foot on Cyprus. I would like to know how that happened.”

The next morning we set sail from the blighted island. None of the survivors would come with us, despite our fervent urging. We left them there, relics of a lost world. It was sad, but the world is full of sadness.

I
T WAS LATE AFTERNOON WHEN WE GOT
back to Paphos. Ariston came up to me just as we pulled into the naval harbor.

“They’ll strike very soon now,” he said. “They may be hitting someplace this very hour. When word of what we saw on that island spreads, you can expect little cooperation even from the people you are trying to help.”

“Where?” I asked him.

“Anywhere they want to go,” he assured me. I could have tried swearing everyone to silence, but I knew the futility of that. Several hundred men cannot keep a secret, even if they are all Romans and honor the same gods. Here I had the sweepings of the whole sea, not to mention Cleopatra’s Egyptians and her gaggle of servants. Even to try such a thing would start rumors far worse than the truth.

A small crowd of citizens, sailors, and dockside idlers had come to view our return; but the little throng quickly dispersed when it was clear we were coming back without pirate heads, freed captives, and heaps of loot. It was a little early for that. An elaborate litter remained on the wharf
as I stepped off the gangplank, its liveried bearers squatting patiently by its poles. A delicate, multiply ringed hand drew its curtain aside.

“Senator! Did you have a pleasant voyage?” It was Flavia. She wore an expensive but relatively modest gown, and the elaborately dressed blond wig was back in place. She looked every inch the noble Roman lady, and it was hard to believe that I had seen so many more inches just two nights previously.

“It was a tolerable outing, no more than a shakedown cruise really.” “Did you see any pirates?”

“No, but we saw where they’d been. It was instructive.” She slid over to one side of the litter. “Please join me, Senator. I am sure that your labors have given you an appetite. An early dinner at my home will do you a world of good.” She caught my raised eyebrow and smiled. “My husband would like very much to talk with you.”

“Then if you will allow me to make a few arrangements here, I will be most honored.”

“Go right ahead. I like to watch sailors at their work.”

I told Hermes to haul our gear back to our quarters at the house of Silvanus and wait for me there. He didn’t like it but knew better than to argue. I left orders with my captains to be with their ships and crews at dawn, ready to sail at my orders. Out in the harbor, I could see Cleopatra’s gilded barge carrying her to the commercial wharf. I left word with Harmodias where I would be for the next few hours should I be needed.

Then I crawled into the litter beside Flavia, and she dropped the curtain. Immediately I was enveloped in a cloud of her perfume. I was not unaffected. Of course a man of my station should properly be repelled by a noble woman who wallows with the lowest dregs of society, but then I have never been very proper. And there is something undeniably exciting about such a concentration of raw, animal appetites and energies.

But, to my credit, I retained my distance. Bitter experience had taught me that many of my personal catastrophes had been brought about through my weakness for very bad women. And I had known some of the worst. Clodia, for instance. And then there was that German princess, Freda. She wasn’t really evil, just a savage like all her race, but fearsome for all that. I had encountered the younger Fulvia and a score of less famous but equally shameless women, and I had been involved with some of them and attracted by all. A bronze founder had
once explained to me that glowing metal was beautiful, mysterious, and exciting; but one should never touch it with bare hands. It was sound advice.