“My enemies, yes. But not my peers, you low collection of absolute scum!” he would say.
At which point everybody would fall about laughing, loving the way he insulted them with such affectionate good humor.
And then one afternoon as he dined with Polygonus, the pirate chieftain sighed.
“I’ll be sorry to lose you, Caesar.”
“Ah! The ransom has been found.”
“It will arrive with your freedman tomorrow.”
“How do you arrange that? I must presume he will be guided here, since you say the place cannot be found.”
“Oh, he has had some of my men with him the whole time. When the last talent was in the last bag, I received a message. They’ll be here tomorrow about noon.”
“And then I can go?”
“Yes.”
“What about my hired ship?”
“It too.”
“The captain? His sailors?”
“They’ll be on board. You’ll sail at dusk, westward.”
“So you included my hired ship in your price.”
“Certainly not!” said Polygonus, astonished. “The captain raised ten talents to buy back his ship and crew.”
“Ah!” breathed Caesar. “Another debt I must in honor pay.”
As predicted, Burgundus arrived at noon the following day, the fortieth of Caesar’s imprisonment.
“Cardixa will allow me to continue being the father of her sons,” said Burgundus, wiping the tears from his eyes. “You look very well, Caesar.”
“They were considerate hosts. Who raised the ransom?”
“Patara half, Xanthus half. They weren’t happy, but they didn’t dare refuse. Not so soon after Vatia.”
“They’ll get their money back, and sooner than they think.”
*
The whole pirate town turned out to see Caesar off, some of the women openly weeping. As did Polygonus.
“I’ll never have another captive like you!” he sighed.
“That’s very true,” said Caesar, smiling. “Your career as a pirate is over, my friend. I’ll be back before the spring.”
As always, Polygonus found this exquisitely funny, and was still sniggering as he stood on the sandy little beach to watch the captain of Caesar’s hired ship maneuver its bow into the west. Of light there was little.
“Don’t stop, Captain!” the pirate leader shouted. “If you do, you’ll have my escort up your arse!”
And out from behind the mountain flank to the east it came, a hemiolia capable of keeping up with any craft that sailed.
But by dawn it wasn’t there, and the river upon which stood Patara lay ahead.
“Now to soothe some financial fears,” said Caesar. He looked at the captain. “By the way, I will repay you the ten talents you had to outlay to ransom your ship and crew.”
Obviously the captain didn’t believe it lay in Caesar’s power to do this. “An unfortunate voyage!” he mourned.
“I predict that when it’s over you’ll sail back to Byzantium a very happy man,” said Caesar. “Now get me ashore.”
His visit was very quickly over, he was back and waiting to leave on the following day before all the horses and mules had been loaded aboard. With him was the rest of his entourage. He looked brisk. “Come, Captain, hustle yourself!”
“To Rhodus?”
“To Rhodus, of course.”
That voyage took three days, calling at Telmessus on the first night and Caunus on the second. Caesar refused to allow his animals to be off—loaded in either place.
“I’m in too big a hurry—they’ll survive,” he said. “Oh, my luck! Favored by Fortune as always! Thanks to my career as a raiser of fleets, I know exactly where to go and whom to see when we reach Rhodus!”
He did indeed, with the result that he had collected the men he wanted to see not two hours after his ship had tied up.
“I need a fleet of ten triremes and about five hundred good men,” he said to the group of Rhodians congregated in the offices of the harbormaster.
“For what reason?” asked the young admiral Lysander.
“To accompany me back to the headquarters of the pirate chief Polygonus. I intend to capture the place.”
“Polygonus? You’ll never find his lair!”
“I’ll find it,” said Caesar. “Come, let me have the fleet! There will be some rich pickings for Rhodes.”
Neither his enthusiasm nor his confidence persuaded the men of Rhodes to agree to this wild scheme; it was Caesar’s authority that earned him his ten triremes and five hundred soldiers. They knew him of old, and some of Vatia’s clout still clung to him. Though King Zenicetes had burned his eyrie on top of Mount Termessus when Vatia arrived to capture it, Rhodian respect for Vatia had grown a thousandfold; unperturbed at what seemed the loss of untold plunder, Vatia had simply waited for the ashes to cool, then sieved the lot, and so retrieved the melted precious metals. If Vatia could do that, then his erstwhile legate, Caesar, might be likely to have some of Vatia’s style. Therefore, the men of Rhodes concluded, Caesar was worth a bet.
At the mouth of Patara’s river the fleet moored on the last night before the search for Polygonus’s lair would begin; Caesar went into the city and commandeered every empty merchantman to follow in the Rhodian wake. And all the next day he stood on the poop of his hired ship, eyes riveted on the cove—scalloped coast sliding by for hour after hour.
“You see,” he said to his captain, “before Polygonus left Patara I knew enough from listening to the pirates talk to have an idea what the coves were going to look like. So in my mind I set a definition of what I was going to call a cove, and what I would not. Then I simply counted every cove.”
“I was looking for landmarks—rocks in the sea shaped like this or that, an oddly shaped mountain—that sort of thing,” said the captain, and sighed. “I am lost already!”
“Landmarks are deceptive, a man’s memory of them treacherous. Give me numbers any day,” said Caesar, smiling.
“What if you’ve missed your count?”
“I haven’t.”
Nor had he. The cove wherein the five hundred soldiers from Rhodes landed looked exactly like every other. The fleet had lain all night to the west of it, undetected, though as it turned out Polygonus had set no watches. All four of his war galleys were drawn up inside the hidden bowl; he deemed himself safe. But the sun had scarcely risen before he and his men were standing in the chains they had used to confine their slaves.
“You can’t say I didn’t warn you,” said Caesar to Polygonus, wearing a stout set of manacles.
“I’m not crucified yet, Roman!”
“You will be. You will be!”
“How did you find this place?”
“Arithmetic. I counted every cove between Patara and here.” Caesar turned, beckoning to the Rhodian admiral Lysander. “Come, let’s see what sort of fortune Polygonus has salted away.”
Many fortunes, as it turned out. Not only were the granaries almost full, but of other foodstuffs there were enough to feed all of Xanthus and Patara for the rest of that winter and spring. One big building was crammed with priceless fabrics and purples, with citrus—wood tables of rarest grain, with golden couches and the finest of chairs. Another building contained chest after chest of coins and jewelry. Much of the jewelry was Egyptian in make, rich with faience, beryl, carnelian, sard, onyx, lapis lazuli and turquoise. One small chest when opened revealed several thousand ocean pearls, some of them as big as pigeon’s eggs, others in rare colors.
“I’m not truly surprised,” said Lysander. “Polygonus has been raiding these sea—lanes for twenty years, and he’s a well-known hoarder. What I didn’t realize was that he must also have been raiding the shipping between Cyprus and Egypt.”
“Because of the ocean pearls and the jewelry?’’
“One doesn’t see such stuff elsewhere.”
“And the Alexandrians on Cyprus had the gall to tell me that their shipping was safe!�
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“They dislike outsiders knowing their weaknesses, Caesar.”
“That, I soon understood.” Caesar huffed, pleased. “Well, Lysander, let’s divide the spoils.”
“Strictly speaking, Caesar, we are your agents. Provided you pay us for the hire of men and ships, the spoils belong to you,” said Lysander.
“Some but by no means all, my friend. I want no questions asked of me in the House that I cannot answer with an unmistakable ring of truth. So I will take a thousand talents in coin for the Treasury of Rome, five hundred talents more in coin for myself, and a handful of these pearls if I may choose whichever ones I fancy. I suggest that the few remaining coins and all the jewelry go to Rhodes as her share. The warehouse of furniture and fabrics you can sell, but I would like the sum realized used to build a temple in Rhodus to honor my ancestress, Aphrodite.”
Lysander blinked. “Most generous, Caesar! Why not take the whole chest of pearls for yourself? It would keep you free from money worries for the rest of your life.”
“No, Lysander, I’ll take just one handful. I like wealth as much as the next man, but too much might turn me into a miser.” Caesar bent to run his hands through the pearls, picking out this one and that: twenty the dark and iridescent colors of the scum on the Palus Asphaltites in Palestina; a pearl the size of a strawberry that was the same color and shape as a strawberry; a dozen the color of the harvest moon; one giant with purple in it; and six perfect silver—cream ones. “There! I can’t sell them, you know, without all of Rome wondering where they came from. But I can give them away to certain women when I need to.”
“Your fame will spread, to be so unavaricious.”
“I want no word of it spoken, Lysander, and I do mean that! My continence has absolutely nothing to do with lack of avarice. It has to do with my reputation in Rome, and with a vow I made that I would never lay myself open to charges of extortion or the theft of Rome’s property.” He shrugged. “Besides, the more money I have, the faster I’ll throw it away.”
“And Patara and Xanthus?”
“Receive the women and children to sell into slavery, plus all the food stored here. They should get back far more than they had to find to ransom me from the slave sales, and the food is a bonus. But with your permission I will take ten more talents for the captain of my ship. He too had to pay a ransom.” One hand on Lysander’s shoulder, Caesar guided him out of the building. ‘ The ships from Xanthus and Patara will be here by dusk. May I suggest that you put Rhodus’s share on board your galleys before they arrive? I’ll have my clerks catalogue everything. Send the money for Rome to Rome under escort.”
“What do you want done with the pirate men?”
“Load them on board Pataran or Xanthian ships, and give them to me to take to Pergamum. I’m not a curule magistrate, so I have not the power to execute in the provinces. That means I must take the men to the governor in Pergamum and ask him for permission to do what I promised I would do—crucify them.”
“Then I’ll put Rome’s share on board my own galleys. It’s a small enough cargo. The moment the seas are safe—early summer, perhaps—I’ll send the money to Rome from Rhodus.” Lysander thought of something else. “I’ll send four of my ships with you to Pergamum as an escort. You’ve brought Rhodes so much wealth that Rhodes will be delighted to oblige you in everything.”
“Just remember that I did! Who knows? One day I may need to call in the favor,” said Caesar.
The pirates were being led off toward the beach; Polygonus, last in the endless line, gave Caesar a grave salute.
“What luxury—loving fellows they were,” said Caesar, shaking his head. “I had always thought of pirates as dirty, unschooled and in love with fighting. But these men were soft.”
“Of course,” said Lysander. “Their savagery is overrated. How often do they need to fight for what they pillage, Caesar? Rarely. When they do fight it is under the supervision of their own admirals, who are remarkably skilled. The smaller pirates like Polygonus don’t attack convoys. They prey on unescorted merchantmen. The pirates who sail in fleets are mostly to be found around Crete. But when you live behind the walls of the Solyma like Polygonus, you tend to regard yourself as permanently secure—literally an independent kingdom.”
“Rhodes could do more than it does to arrest the pirate menace,” said Caesar.
But Lysander shook his head, chuckled. “Blame Rome for that! It was Rome insisted we reduce the size of our fleets when Rome took on the burden of ruling the eastern end of our great sea. She thought she could police everything, including the shipping lanes. But she’s too parsimonious to spend the necessary money. Rhodes is under her direction these days. So we do as we are bidden. If we were to strike out independently with sufficient naval power to eradicate the pirates, Rome would begin to think that she was hatching her own Mithridates.”
And that, reflected Caesar, was inarguable.
*
Marcus Junius Juncus was not in Pergamum when Caesar reached the river Caicus and moored in the city port; it was nearing the end of March by Roman reckoning, which meant that winter was not yet over, though the voyage up the coast had been uneventful. The city of Pergamum looked magnificent upon its lofty perch, but even from the lowlands of the river traces of snow and ice could be seen upon temple roofs and palace eaves.
“Where is the governor? In Ephesus?” asked Caesar when he found the proquaestor, Quintus Pompeius (closer by blood to the branch Rufus than to Pompey’s branch).
“No, he’s in Nicomedia,” said Pompeius curtly. “I was just on my way to join him, actually. You’re lucky to catch any of us here, we’ve been so busy in Bithynia. I came back to fetch some cooler clothes for the governor—we didn’t expect Nicomedia to be warmer than Pergamum.”
“Oh, it always is,” said Caesar gravely, and managed to refrain from asking the proquaestor of Asia Province did he not have more urgent things to do than fetch cooler clothing for Juncus? “Well, Quintus Pompeius,” he went on affably, “if you like, I’ll carry the governor’s clothing. I’m giving you a little work to do before you can leave. See those ships there?”
“I see them,” said Pompeius, none too pleased at being told by a younger man that he would have to do this, and not do that.
“There are some five hundred pirates on board who need to be incarcerated somewhere for a few days. I’m off to Bithynia to obtain formal permission from Marcus Junius to crucify them.”
“Pirates? Crucify?”
“That’s right. I captured a pirate stronghold in Lycia—with the aid of ten ships of the Rhodian navy, I hasten to add.”
“Then you can stay here and look after your own wretched prisoners!” snapped Pompeius. “I’ll ask the governor!”
“I’m very sorry, Quintus Pompeius, but that’s not the way it’s done,” said Caesar gently. “I am a privatus, and I was a privatus when I captured the men. I must see the governor in person. Lycia is a part of his province, so I must explain the circumstances myself. That is the law.”
The tussle of wills was prolonged a few moments more, but there was never any doubt as to who would win; off went Caesar in a fast Rhodian galley to Nicomedia, leaving Pompeius behind to deal with the pirate prisoners.
And, thought Caesar sadly as he cooled his heels in a small palace anteroom until the busy Marcus Junius Juncus had time to see him, things had already changed almost beyond recognition. The gilding was still there, the frescoes and other objects of art which could not be removed without leaving obvious damage behind, but certain familiar and beloved statues were gone from hallways and chambers, as were several paintings.
The light was fading when Juncus flounced into the room; evidently he had paused to eat dinner before releasing a fellow senator from his long wait.
“Caesar! How good to see you! What is it?” the governor asked, holding out his hand.
“Ave, Marcus Junius. You’ve been busy.”
“That’s right, you know this palace lik
e the look of your hand, don’t you?” The words were smooth enough, but the inference was plain.
“Since it was I sent you word when King Nicomedes died, you must know that.”
“But you didn’t have the courtesy to wait here for me.”
“I am a privatus, Marcus Junius, I would only have been in your way. A governor is best left to his own devices when he has a task to do as important as incorporating a new province into Rome’s flock,” said Caesar.
“Then what are you doing here now?” Juncus eyed his visitor with intense dislike, remembering their little exchanges in the Murder Court—and who had mostly won them.
“I was captured by pirates off Pharmacussa two months ago.”
“Well, that happens to many. I presume that you managed to ransom yourself, since you’re standing before me. But there’s nothing I can do to help you recover the ransom, Caesar. However, if you insist I will have my staff enter a complaint with the Senate in Rome.”
“I am able to do that myself,” said Caesar pleasantly. “I am not here to complain, Marcus Junius. I’m here to request your permission to crucify five hundred captured pirates.”
Juncus stared. “What?”
“As you so perceptively perceived, I ransomed myself. Then in Rhodus I requisitioned a small fleet and some soldiers, went back to the pirate stronghold, and captured it.”
“You had no right to do that! I am the governor, it was my job!” snapped Juncus.
“By the time I had sent word to Pergamum—I have just come from Pergamum, where I left my prisoners—and a message had been forwarded to you here in Nicomedia, Marcus Junius, the winter would have been over, and Polygonus the pirate vanished from his base to do his campaigning. I may be a privatus, but I acted as all members of the Senate of Rome are expected to—I proceeded to ensure that Rome’s enemies did not escape Rome’s retribution.”
This swift retort gave Juncus pause; he had to search for the proper answer. “Then you are to be commended, Caesar.”
“So I think.”
“And you’re asking me for permission to crucify five hundred good strong men? I can’t do that! Your captives are now mine. I shall sell them into slavery.”
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