The Princess and the Pirates (17 page)

“Then perhaps it was merely a reflection of my own worries and the goddess had nothing to do with it,” I said, almost relieved.

“No, what you saw was a true vision. I know this. Her appeararance as sea foam means she was Aphrodite of Paphos and no other.”

“But what can it mean?”

“Do you have your purse with you, Senator?” she asked.

“I do.”

“Then take out the smallest coin you have.”

Mystified, I took the
marsupium
from beneath my tunic and rummaged through it. I drew forth a copper coin, the smallest minted in Rome. It bore the image of an augur from a previous generation, indifferently struck. I handed it to her, and she weighed it in her palm.

“What do you call the metal this coin is made of?”

“The Latin word is
aes,
” I answered.

“And what is it called in Greek?”

I thought for a moment.
“Kyprios.
” Then I made the connection. “It means ‘Cyprian,’ doesn’t it?” And then it struck me that, in poems, Aphrodite is often called “the Cyprian.”

“Exactly. Copper has been mined on this island since the days of the pharaohs. The copper mines of Cyprus have been the wealth of the island, as the silver mines of Laurium were the wealth of Athens. What the goddess showed you in your dream is the result of more than two thousand years of copper mining. The land is ravaged, its soil destroyed by digging and erosion, its timber harvested for wood to smelt the ore.”

“How much of the island is ruined?” I asked her.

“Most of it,” she said sadly. “What seems so fair from offshore is a wasteland just a short walk inland. This island has enriched pharaohs and Great Kings and Macedonian conquerors and now, it seems, it is to enrich Rome. But I do not think that if Aphrodite were to choose a home now, she would pick Cyprus.”

I was shocked and saddened. If there is one thing that is sure to enrage an Italian, it is the destruction of productive land. We treat other people with great brutality at times, but we always respect and honor land. At heart we are all still small landholders, tending our few acres of field and orchard.

“Why did she reveal this to me?” I asked. “Surely there is nothing I can do about the ruination of her home.”

“Someday you may be able to,” she said. You are Roman, of a great family, and destined to hold high office. People say that Romans can do anything—that you divert rivers to serve your purposes, drain swamps to make new farmland, create harbors where there is only exposed shoreline. Perhaps such a people can restore Cyprus to the garden it once was.”

“We admit to few limitations,” I agreed. “It would be an intriguing project.” I would never admit to her that anything lay beyond the powers
of Roman genius. “When I return to Rome I will speak to the College of Pontifices. Caesar is
Pontifex Maximus,
and he is fond of undertaking projects in the name of Venus, since she is the ancestress of his house. Venus, or Aphrodite, was the mother of the Trojan hero Aeneas, who fled the burning city and settled in Italy. The Julian gens trace their descent from his son, Julus.”

“I see. He is busy in Gaul, is he not?”

“Yes, but soon he will return to Rome. He will be incomparably rich and ready to undertake all sorts of extravagant things. That is his style. My wife is his niece.”

“Ah, then there was good reason for Aphrodite to make her wishes known to you. Rome is the new master of Cyprus, you have a great future ahead of you as a Roman statesman, and you are related by marriage to the most glorious Roman of the age, who, it seems, is her many times great grandchild.”

It always annoyed me when people spoke as if Caesar were the greatest man in Rome, but that was how he publicized himself so I suppose it was excusable.

I took my leave of lone with many thanks and a gift for the temple. I fully intended to carry out my promise to approach the pontifices, whose pronouncements the Senate would follow, as soon as I returned to Rome.

It is not every day a goddess visits you and makes her wishes known.

B
Y MID AFTERNOON THE TOWN WAS IN
full uproar for Silvanus’s funeral. The house slaves were out in the plaza between the governor’s mansion and the Temple of Poseidon, wailing fit to terrify an invading army. With military thoroughness, Gabinius had organized the whole affair. Carpenters were hammering away, erecting temporary stands for the local notables, men were roping off an area for the common spectators, women were bringing in heaps of flowers, and a funeral pyre of expensive, fragrant woods was being stacked in the center of the open area.

I thought it was clever of Gabinius to make such a show of it. Surely, whatever the state of anti-Roman sentiment, nobody would start a riot amid such solemnities. Everyone loves a good funeral. Just in case, though, Gabinius’s hard-bitten veterans were everywhere to be seen. I even spotted a few on the roof of the temple. It pays to be cautious, but I couldn’t catch even the sound of anti-Roman grumbling, and I’ve been in enough newly conquered cities to develop sharp ears for that sort of talk.

Seeing that everything appeared well in hand, I walked down to the market. The place was as busy as always and there was lively conversation
about the demise of Silvanus, but the mood was not ugly and nobody cast evil looks in my direction.

I passed the stalls of the silk merchants, the glass sellers, the cutlery mongers, the sellers of bronze ware, and the rest. My nose led me to a section devoted to such things as perfumes, spices, medicines, and, naturally, incense.

The largest such stall was owned by a fat Greek who clearly did not share his countrymen’s passion for athleticism.

“How may I help you, Senator? I am Demades, and I sell incense of all kinds and in all quantities. I can sell you a pinch to burn before your household gods or a year’s supply for the largest temple in Rome. I have cedar incense from Lebanon, subtle cardamom incense from India, fir gum incense from Iberia, balm incense from Judea. I even have the rarest of all, an incense compounded with oil of sandalwood. It comes from trees that grow on an island far east of India. From another island of that sea I have incomparable benzoin, as useful for embalming as for burning before the gods. I have incense of myrrh from Ethiopia, famed for its healing properties. What is your pleasure?”

“Tell me about frankincense.”

“Ahh, frankincense. The noblest of all the fragrances, and the most pleasing to all the gods. How much do you want?”

“Actually, I want to know about its history and where it is harvested and how it gets from its place of origin to places such as—well, here, for instance.”

“You are a scholar?” he asked, somewhat puzzled.

“Of sorts. Immensely curious, in any case. And whenever I desire to learn about a subject, I always go to the one likely to know the most about it. When I inquired about frankincense, I was told that Demades was the very man I needed.” Flattery costs nothing and often yields handsome results.

He beamed. “You were informed correctly. My family has engaged in the frankincense trade for many generations. There is no aspect of the traffic with which I am unacquainted.” At his hospitable gesture, I took a chair at the rear of the booth, and he sat on a large, fragrant bale. He sent a slave boy off to fetch us refreshments.

“First off, I know that it comes from Arabia Felix, but I am a little hazy concerning the geography of that part of the world.”

“Arabia Felix takes its name from its near-monopoly on the frankincense trade,” he said. “If I had that monopoly, I would be happy, too.”

“You said ‘near-monopoly’?”

“Yes. The greater part of the frankincense gum is harvested in a small district near the southern coast of Arabia, but the shrub also grows in a small area of Ethiopia bordering the Red Sea. The greater quantity is harvested in Arabia, but the Ethiopian gum is of higher quality, almost white in color. It burns with a brilliant flame and leaves less ash residue. In both areas, local tribesmen harvest the gum, scratching the bark of the shrubs, letting the sap bleed forth and harden. These droplets, called ‘tears,’ are then scraped off, bagged, and carried on camels to the ports. The tribesmen are jealous of their harvesting grounds and trade routes. They fight fiercely to defend them.”

“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.