The Princess and the Pirates (25 page)

“Agreed, then?” Milo said.

It was a little disconcerting to have these two gang up on me. Usually they were on opposite sides. “All right.”

“Excellent. While I’m at it, I’m going to wring some answers out of this man Harmodias, the one in charge of the base and its stores.”

“I don’t doubt he’s turned a few sesterces peddling government property while nobody was looking,” I said, “but I’ve never met a low-level official who didn’t. Or a high-level one either, for that matter.”

“Nonetheless, he has a few things to answer for. That damned paint, for instance.”

“What? Unlike the ships, the rations, and almost all the arms and supplies, the paint is the one thing that’s
there!
”

But Milo would say no more on the subject.

W
E BEGAN AT THE TEMPLE OF
Aphrodite. I had left my little fleet to the fearsome attentions of Titus Milo and well might they tremble. His reputation had spread even to these eastern waters.

Julia wanted to see the temple and told me that all the most important people on the island would be there this near festival time, but I knew that she had another reason for being so anxious to attend. The Caesars were a famously infertile family, bearing few children, most of whom died at birth or in infancy. The children who lived were mostly girls. Years later it was for this reason that, needing an heir, Caesar was reduced to adopting his sister’s grandson.

Julia had yet to conceive, and this worried her endlessly. I had long since assured her that I would never divorce her on grounds of infertility. There were far too many Metelli as it was, and men of my class adopted sons more readily than they bred them. Nonetheless, she felt that her failure to conceive diminished her. Patrician women had a nasty habit of snobbing each other over the number and health of their children. Julia
hoped that attending the annual ritual of Aphrodite would bestow fertility upon her. My dream vision had reinforced this hope.

The resident and visiting notables were out in force, as were the expected local peddlers, beggars, and idlers, most of the latter offering themselves as guides. Having already had the tour, I was able to show her everything myself.

“It
is
a rather strange statue,” she said, when she got a look at the cult image.

“At least this way,” I told her, “you don’t have hawkers constantly trying to sell you miniature copies of it, the way they do at every other famed temple site of my experience.”

“I suppose. But it is very moving nonetheless.” We emerged from the dim interior, and I took her to see the golden nets. In the garden I pointed out lone, who was speaking with a group of very well-dressed people.

“Oh, what a lovely woman!” She all but clapped her hands with delight. “Come and introduce me.” The little crowd parted for her, as crowds always seemed to do before members of her family. She made a grave bow before lone, and the priestess took her hand.

“I see the senator’s wife has arrived.” I made introductions and the rest of the group, sensing that lone wished to give a private interview, drew off a little way.

“I am deeply honored,” Julia said. “I aspire to become a priestess of Venus in time.”

“But surely you hold that position already. Is there not a family connection?”

“Our family is devoted to the aspect of Venus named Genetrix. The priestesses of Venus Genetrix are patrician, and they must have at least one living child.” She paused. “It is concerning this that I wished to speak with you.”

Ione smiled, still holding Julia’s hand. “Come with me, my dear.” She led her farther into the garden, and they were soon all but invisible beneath the shade of the beautiful trees.

“Do you realize,” said a voice next to me, “that you and your wife are receiving more personal attention from the high priestess than visiting kings and queens? There are several here, you know.”

“Good day, Flavia.” She was dressed as before in her priestess’s gown and blonde wig. “I suppose we must just be interesting people,
nothing more. And Romans are the new power here. The authorities of temples are generally careful to stay on good terms with the people in power.”

“When Silvanus came here she did no more than greet him. She has shunned Gabinius entirely. When Cato was administrator, she avoided him despite the fine gifts he brought. And Cato is a genuinely pious man.”

“He is that. He is also one of the most unpleasant, insufferable men in existence. I, on the other hand, am intensely likeable; and Julia, besides her many other charms, bears that magic name.”

“I heard she arrived yesterday with the grain fleet. I also heard that the famous Titus Milo was on the same ship.”

“Your sources of information are impeccable as usual. Titus is one of my oldest friends. He’s come here to assist me in my naval duties.”

“Really? I hope this means he is returning to Rome’s good graces. It was so unjust to banish him just for killing an evil wretch like Clodius.”

“Actually, Titus didn’t kill him. There was a brawl between their supporters, and Clodius just sort of, well—he ended up dead.” This was not something I wished to discuss. “But I am confident Milo will be back in the thick of it soon. I will personally agitate for his recall. I’ll be standing for next year’s praetorship you know.”

“So I understand. My husband has quite a large clientele, and he always takes them up to Rome for the elections. Who are you supporting for the quaestorships? We always want to have an agreeable grain quaestor at Ostia.” Now we were back on a sound, familiar footing: the old game of votes and favors. Here we were, on a foreign island pursuing vastly differing purposes, and we were dickering over the next elections. That is how it was back when we had a genuine republic.

In time Julia returned, her face glowing. Whatever lone had told her, it agreed with Julia.

“My dear, this is Flavia, wife of Sergius Nobilior of Ostia and a priestess of Venus assisting here at the temple. Flavia, my wife, Julia Minor, daughter of Lucius Julius Caesar, granddaughter of Caius Julius Caesar, and so on back to Aeneas.”

Julia beamed. “I am so glad to meet you, Flavia. Pay no attention to my husband’s sarcasm. He has no gift for it. But he has told me so much about you.”

“He has?” Flavia was nonplussed but covered it well. “We’ve been so looking forward to your arrival.”

“I wish I could invite you to our house, but my husband has us living in a
barracks,
if you can believe that. I simply can’t have people of quality in to visit.”

“Nonsense! You’ve just arrived, and we’ve been here for ages. You must have dinner with us this evening. I know that Sergius has already invited the archon of Paphos, and a visiting Ethiopian prince, whose name I can’t pronounce. Cleopatra will be there, too, if she doesn’t have to go off chasing pirates with your husband.”

“Oh, it would be so unfair to ask you to have us over at the last minute like this. I am sure your couches are already full.”

“Not at all! If they are, we will just bring in more couches! This isn’t Rome after all.”

“Then we will be delighted.”

“Wonderful!” Flavia fairly glowed. Julia was right. This shameless female reprobate was flattered at attention from a patrician. She turned to me. “Senator, please ask your friend Milo to come as well. Having the three of you in my house will make me the envy of Paphos.” Such are the demands of social life in the provinces. As for Milo, I felt no apprehension about introducing him to the voracious Flavia. He was a match for anything save the massed hostility of the Senate.

“Now,” Julia said, as we walked back toward the center of the town, “we must hire a litter to take us to their house this evening, if there’s one to be had in this town.”

“There won’t be one for hire, not with every snob in the eastern sea come to visit. I’ll talk to Doson, Silvanus’s majordomo. He’ll lend us one for a small bribe. The household staff have nothing much to do now anyway.”

“Good idea. Then you must take me to see Cleopatra.”

“Yes, dear.” I was not being timidly compliant. It was just that Julia, besides being single-minded, was fearsomely competent at this sort of operation.

Our litter-arranging mission accomplished, we found Cleopatra aboard her ship. In fact her golden boat was waiting for us at the dock. “She stationed a slave to ambush us as soon as we came in sight,” Julia commented. “Wasn’t that thoughtful of her?” She seated herself amid the colorful, scented cushions. I remained standing, trying to project the image of the salty naval commander, and actually managed to retain my feet all the way to the spectacular ship.

“Julia!” Cleopatra cried, as my wife was lifted aboard expertly by a team of solicitous slaves. “How wonderful to see you again!” Julia tried to bow, but Cleopatra swept her up in a sisterly embrace.

“Princess, you overwhelm me. You can scarcely remember me. You were just a little girl, and my husband was a mere assistant to the Roman envoy.” I was a bit nettled, but Julia always knew how to do the proper thing in situations like this. I clambered up the ladder after her and held my tongue.

“I remember you wonderfully well, don’t speak nonsense. You and your friend Fausta were the first Roman ladies I ever met, and you made a profound impression on me.”

I’ll bet Fausta did, I thought. I said nothing. She seated us at a table on the fantail beneath a striped canopy, fanned by slaves equipped with palm-fiber fans. These are far more efficient than the beautiful but ineffective ostrich-feather fans affected so much by those who wish to ape Oriental standards of luxury.

“You flatter me, Princess.” I noted that Julia was ever so slightly deferential. She was Roman aristocracy, but Cleopatra was Greek-Egyptian royalty.

“Not the least. I’ve lived most of my life among the royal and noble ladies of my part of the world. Most are as silent, cowed, and ignorant as peasant women, only far sillier. Roman ladies are so much more intelligent and assertive. I long to visit Rome and be introduced to your society. I will feel that at last I am among equals.” The woman’s grasp of flattery was phenomenal.

“I would ask you to stay with us while you are in Rome,” Julia told her sadly, “but our house is far too humble. My father’s house is far finer, but you really must stay in my uncle’s house. When he is in Rome he lives in the great
Domus Publica.
It is actually owned by the State, but as Pontifex Maximus it is his for life and he always puts it at the disposal of visiting dignitaries and royalty.”

“Ah, yes. The great Julius Caesar is your uncle, is he not? You really must tell me all about him. The whole world is fascinated by Caesar.” There went the hook.

I gave half an ear to their talk while a wonderful lunch was set before us. As I munched on the delicacies, I looked out to the open sea past the harbor mole. Out there, Milo was drilling my crews. He had them rowing in dashes, and once I could have sworn I saw a ship leap clear of the
water under oar power, like a fish chased by a shark. And I thought
Vd
had them rowing well.

As always, when seeing such a thing, I wondered how one man can inspire such obedience while another, I for instance, could not. How did a long-haired dwarf like Alexander get men to follow him all the way to India? How did Hannibal, scion of a nation of merchants, weld a polyglot horde of Gauls, Spaniards, Africans, and others, all armed differently and none of them knowing a word of Punic, into an army that consistently defeated larger Roman forces? And how did he keep them together and fighting for twenty years without a whiff of mutiny? How did Caesar do what he was doing, which I had seen firsthand and still was at a loss to describe? I could never put a finger on it. But Titus Milo, in his own way, was a man as unique as Caesar, and men did his bidding almost joyously, breaking their backs and hearts for him. He was one of those men who could inspire fear and love at the same time.

Whatever it was, I was not going to argue with it. Just having Milo there with me was an enormous relief. It meant that I could leave the naval duties to one of the few people in the world I trusted utterly. It meant I could devote my attention to finding out who had murdered Silvanus. And I was certain that that, in turn, would tell me who was profiting from this little upsurge of piracy in the East.

T
HE LITTER WAS A BIT LARGER THAN THE
ones common in Rome. This was because most Roman streets were so narrow that comfortably wide conveyances were impracticable. The litter slaves knew their job and the trip to the house of Nobilior was a pleasant one, though slowed by the throngs in the streets. Julia and I had taken an afternoon nap after Cleopatra’s reception and were now ready for an evening of entertainment and intrigue.

Julia had sounded Cleopatra out about Flavia, whom the princess had described as “a dreadful woman but great fun.” She had also learned a great deal about Cleopatra’s mission on Cyprus. It turned out that Ptolemy had narrowly survived an attempted coup, was conducting a ruthless purge of his guards and nobles, and wanted his beloved daughter to be well out of it.

“I commiserated with her about Berenice,” Julia said, meaning Cleopatra’s ill-fated older sister. “I truly liked her, silly woman though
she was. Do you know what Cleopatra said? ‘The duties of royalty are terrible.’ She insisted that her father grieved for the daughter he had to execute as deeply as she did herself. I suppose it must be true.”

“Ah, well,” I said, “we always have old Brutus. He ordered the execution of his own sons for the good of the State. Inconsolable afterward, so they say.”

We climbed from the litter, and the carrying slaves squatted beside it patiently. I had no fear that they would sneak off and get drunk because I had not come alone. Having been attacked once and knowing that I had a superfluity of local enemies, I had brought along twenty of my marines as an escort. I had left Hermes to keep an eye on the naval station. I wanted no more acts of sabotage, and I didn’t trust my men as fully as I pretended.

“Senator! Julia! Welcome to our house!” Flavia was turned out in her usual Coan gown, expensive cosmetics, and several pounds of gold, pearls, and jewels. Crowning her was a blonde wig dressed in a towering basketwork of interwoven locks, threaded through with strings of seed pearls and powdered with gold dust. She peered past us. “Was your friend Milo not able to come?”