Complete Works of Talbot Mundy

by Talbot Mundy

  “Does Charmion love Cassius?” Esias asked. “I have heard he sours all women with his mean smile. Does she wish to see Arsinoe Queen of Egypt? Do you mean to tell me that Charmion has turned against Cleopatra?”

  “She has never even seen Cassius,” Tros answered. “Charmion wishes first and foremost to convict Arsinoe of treason, for future reference. She hates Arsinoe, because Arsinoe once drove Cleopatra from the throne. She also hates a Jew as utterly as she detests me. You Jews — and to this the Queen agrees, as does half Alexandria — are too rich, too powerful, becoming too ambitious. Your corn can cost the Queen nothing. No matter what becomes of it, the Queen’s treasury has received the money. It would not break her heart to see you and your syndicate bankrupt.”

  Esias nodded. “Her estimate,” he remarked, “is lacking in imagination. Does the Queen not fear Cassius?”

  “It might serve the Queen’s purpose,” Tros continued, “if Cassius should get possession of the corn. Cassius may be the coming man. She doubts it. She hates him. He slew her Caesar. But Cassius may be the coming ruler of Rome. She would like to be able to have in hand some sort of evidence that she intended the corn for Cassius, just in case Cassius should turn out to be stronger than she believes. But should Cassius fail, as she hopes and believes he will, she will now be in position to blame Arsinoe for having tried to misdirect the corn into Cassius’s hands.”

  “Cat-and-mousing while Rome starves!” Esias commented. “Rome must not starve! That is the one thing that must not be allowed to happen! Are these women and their courtiers demented? There will come a Roman fleet to Alexandria to subject Egypt to the fate of Gaul, Pontus, Carthage, Syria, Palestine! Don’t they know that Romans, like the wolves, are merciless when famished?”

  “Aye, they know it. So the corn fleet lies in the harbor of Salamis. And the Queen sends me, with a fleet of ten vessels, to fetch it away.”

  “Ten vessels, Tros? Where are they?”

  “God knows, Esias. Somewhere between here and Cyprus, unless they have already joined the other fleet and have followed them to Sidon. Or unless they have met with pirates, who are out in fleets again, and growing bold, since Caesar’s death. Did you hear that a fleet of them gutted a Roman trireme off the south of Sicily a month ago? Or they may have run from Ahenobarbus. If he were short of provisions Ahenobarbus would fight an Egyptian fleet for its crew’s rations!”

  “Are the ten ships to be under your command?” Esias asked.

  “No. I am to cooperate, particularly against pirates. There is no profit to the Queen in feeding pirates. To destroy pirates at sea, could hardly be interpreted as challenging the Romans’ claim to rule the sea. Rome, Esias, is at civil war and none can guess the outcome. But sooner or later someone will prevail. There will be a new dictator of Rome, with an empty treasury. Cleopatra can’t afford to give that Roman an excuse for making war on Egypt.”

  “Well? Then what?”

  “I am to deliver the corn to the highest bidder.”

  Esias answered calmly: “It is my corn — our corn — my syndicate’s. It is consigned to my agent in Rome, who is to sell it to the Roman corn commissioners. They await it. They expect it. They need it, to prevent the Roman mob from taking law into its own hands.”

  “The bids,” said Tros, “are to be in terms of good will, not money. The Queen does not need money. She needs the friendship of the strongest Roman. The corn has been seized by Serapion, on behalf of Arsinoe, who has disclaimed allegiance to Egypt and is not a recognized ally of Rome. Neither is Cyprus any longer a Roman province. Therefore, any Roman commander who can seize the corn will claim it, unless someone out-thinks him.”

  “Think me your thoughts aloud, Lord Tros. I listen,” said Esias.

  Tros, with a gnarled forefinger, drew an invisible map on the oaken table.

  “There is Lepidus,” he began, striking the palm of his hand on the western end of the imagined map, “said to be strong in Gaul, with many legions and perhaps some money, but few provisions, and with vanity and luck in place of brains. Lepidus is aging and is probably not dangerous, but needs to be borne in mind.

  “There is Pompey’s young son Sextus, said to command a fleet of pirates, ravaging Roman shipping. Out for himself. A very dangerous young man. After Caesar defeated him at Munda and destroyed his army, he became a bandit in Spain. Now that Caesar is dead, Sextus reckons himself any Roman’s equal. Sextus has nothing to lose and all to gain by almost any act of daring, and he is rumored to have seized some shipping, and to be cutting off Rome’s supply of corn from Africa, Spain and Gaul.

  “Then there is Cassius in Syria, with seven legions. A mean man. A murderer. Like Brutus, he would rather injure other men than win. He has his hands fairly full. He has ravished and plundered Syria, which is up in arms against him and swarming with bandits. Brutus wants him to march northward. But Cassius would like to invade Egypt.

  “Brutus is in Macedonia. He is scavenging the land for corn and money, talking about high principles and honor, but burning cities and selling well-born people into slavery. Brutus knows he will have to fight whatever combination results from the civil war in Italy. He will have to fight either Antony or Octavian, and possibly even both of them if they can only come to terms with each other. So Brutus makes a great show of friendship for Cassius, whom he needs, detests, mistrusts and would like to restrain from invading Egypt, partly because he is jealous and partly because he needs the six or seven legions that Cassius would have to induce to march southward across the desert in order to invade Egypt with any chance of success. Is that clear?

  “Meanwhile in Italy, Mark Antony and Octavian are at each other’s throats. Incompatibles, loathing each other, but big men. Mark me: they two are the big ones. Antony is rumored to be having the worst of it. He is said to have won a battle but to have retreated northward. There is no knowing what has happened. The Queen secretly favors Antony, because he was Julius Caesar’s friend, and because he dared to denounce Caesar’s murderers.”

  “She has sent him money,” said Esias. “She sent him a tenth of a year’s revenue of all Egypt. She sent it within six weeks of Caesar’s death — within a week of her return from Rome.”

  “And if I know Antony,” said Tros, “he threw away the half of it on wine and women. Nevertheless, the man has something more than a mere appetite. He has faculties, courage, imagination, health, high spirits. He is a great cavalryman. But he is no Julius Caesar. Antony needs a master. Perhaps the Queen thinks she can master him.”

  “Well? And you — what do you do?” Esias asked.

  “I go to sea. Now.”

  “At your own cost?”

  “Aye. Should I accept her wages and become her catspaw? Or should she pay me and become responsible for whatever I do? In a certain sense, Esias, my predicament and hers are as well matched as the Heavenly Twins.”

  “I perceive what she perhaps — eh, perhaps — perhaps can gain,” said Esias. “But, Lord Tros, what can you gain?”

  “My men! She has taken hostages — my Northmen, who have stood by me in many a hard fight. The Queen wanted them for her bodyguard, but they and I said no to it. So Charmion snatched an opportunity to score off me. She had them sentenced for breaking the heads of the Roman officers of those two legions that Caesar left here to keep the Queen on her throne. A true charge, but a false reason.”

  “I was told of it,” said Esias. “But it was said they were Gauls.”

  “My Northmen. The best seamen on earth — battle-ax men — stubborn, superstitious, hard drinking, grumbling, loyal-to-the-last-breath comrades-in-arms. The Queen was glad enough to have those arrogant Roman cockerels humiliated. They have served her purpose. They cost more than their insolence justifies. She would be glad to be rid of them. She even joked me about the thrashing my men gave them. The flowers that she sent to the injured roman officers were arranged in the shape of a Northman’s ax. But Charmion saw a chance to clip my wings; she and the Queen had second thought
s. Northmen are heavy drinkers. It was no trick to arrange a trap and then a tosspot quarrel with a company of soldiers. And so now I may have my Northmen back if I succeed on this venture.”

  “And your Basques?” asked Esias. “Those saucy rogues who obliged me to double the guard over my slave-girls’ quarters?”

  Tros scowled. “They went on a raid of that kind once too often. But that wasn’t Charmion’s doing. My Basques conceived a passion for the wrong man’s slaves. They were fortunate not to be sent to the mines. They were conscripted for the Berenice Coast Patrol. There are few women and fewer wine-shops on the Red Sea littoral, but I imagine they are finding ways of making trouble for their Greek officers.”

  “So you go to sea short-handed?”

  “Short for a sea-fight, yes. I have a good crew — good rowers — good men for the catapults. But if I meet Ahenobarbus I shall sorely lack men for such a battle as he will bring on. If he can catch me, you understand. I can out-sail and out-row any Roman ship afloat, except for a few of their liburnians that are too lightly armed to be dangerous. There is going to be thick weather, and that is all in my favor.”

  “April? Thick weather in April?”

  “Yes. I can smell it coming. And mark me, Esias, there is always dirty weather when the world’s thrones are toppling and men’s minds are a turbulent sea. Nay, I know not why. Shake your head as you please. I say it is so. And if I find that corn fleet, I shall have to escort fifty laden ships as slow as logs, in vile weather.”

  “Egyptian sailors are good,” said Esias.

  “Good, yes. They can stand hardship. But they scatter and run like thieves. If I should bully them, they’d surrender to the first Roman in sight and accuse me of being a pirate.”

  “Which you are!” said Esias. “If you have no Queen’s commission, then you are a pirate. And this Etruscan with the letters in his luggage?”

  “Lars Tarquinius is supposed to be a passenger for any Roman port where I can deliver him. He is supposed to be a spy, acting in behalf of Sostratus, the Queen’s secretary. But he owes his appointment to Charmion, so I haven’t a doubt he has been put on board to spy on me. Tarquinius is a man with a woman’s malice and lack of scruples. He is like a camel, with incalculable treachery at both ends. He would betray even himself for sufficient reward. I suspect him of having warned Ahenobarbus to look out for that corn fleet and for me also.”

  “Can he swim?” asked Esias. “Could he swim in armor?”

  “I may find a better use for him. And now about money. Esias, I shall need money.”

  “Lord Tros! Lord Tros!” Esias threw up his hands — beautiful old hands, as finely lined as Tros’s fists were gnarled and hugely strong. “There has been no market for your British pearls. They are too big and too good to be thrown on a market that groans with the loot from Rome’s wars and with the unsold eastern merchandise that gluts the warehouses. We must wait for more prosperous times. But no need to worry about them. They are safe. They are well cared for. My slave-girl Mariamne, at the proper intervals, cherishes them on her breast to preserve their life and lustre.”

  “I have no fear on that score,” said Tros. “But do you think such a ship as mine, with all my men, costs nothing?”

  “I can lend you a little.”

  “Nay, nay. I could have had a loan from the Queen, were I so minded. A borrower, Esias, borrows more than he gets, and pays more than he owes.”

  “Lord Tros,” Esias leaned toward him pointing a finger. “Should as much as four-fifths of that corn reach my agent through your doing, so that he can sell it instead of its being stolen by a Roman fleet; or if you yourself can sell it, for four-fifths of its value — one-fifth of the money is yours. My word on it. I allow a fifth for spoilage, sinkage, shipwreck, accident or loss from any cause whatever.”

  “Your word is good, Esias.”

  “And in writing better.” Esias produced a small roll of parchment. “Pen! Ink!”

  Tros groped in a box and passed them to him. Esias wrote in Greek, and then the same in Latin, on the one parchment.

  “There — from Esias, Jew of Alexandria, to the Lord Tros of Samothrace and of the trireme Liafail — authority to sell the corn and to receive the money.”

  “How much money?”

  “It is written on the parchment — price, quantity, cost of loading, cost of freight per day from date of sailing, tax on export, harbor charges, interest per day — it is all written plainly. And now, Lord Tros, none can call you a pirate. You are an accredited agent.”

  “A Roman officer will call me anything he pleases, given a short enough range and a big enough prize!” Tros answered. “I will do my best: But the seas are wide in which to lose a fleet of fifty ships, and it is easier to bargain with Apennine wolves than with famished Romans making war on one another. Should I fail, Esias, I shall still need money, aye, and likely need it worse. I must sell pearls. I have no other resource against future need.”

  He got up and manipulated the cumbrous lock of a bronze-bound chest. He produced a small gold box, engraved with a barbaric design. He pushed the box along the table toward Esias.

  Esias glanced at him for permission and then opened the box. He gasped. He held it to the light from the port behind him. He poked with his forefinger. He stuck his tongue between his lips and made peculiar sounds with his nose. His old eyes glittered. He glanced at Tros and then again stared, fascinated by the contents of the box.

  “Lord Tros, I believed you had reached the end of your treasure of pearls.”

  “These are the end.”

  Esias poured eleven pearls into the palm of his hand. Two were as large as pigeon’s eggs. One, that was almost as big, was as dark as the sunlit breast of an Ethiopian.

  “How many lives, Lord Tros? How many lives have these cost?”

  “None that I heard of,” Tros answered. “I had the other pearls from the druids. These were a gift to me from Fflur, the wife of Caswallon, the king of a corner of Britain. He and she and I were friends and we upheld each other. There were twelve pearls in that lot. I spent the smallest on sending my homesick Britons back to their fog-bound island. Britons are good slaves but bad freedmen, and not Poseidon himself could make sailors of them.”

  “Lord Tros, who could buy these? There is only one possible purchaser.”

  “Take those two largest, Esias, and sell them to her, for the highest price you can imagine and your skill collect.”

  “Hey-hey-hey! Who shall appraise these?”

  “Caesar made war on Britain because he had heard of them,” said Tros. “But Caesar never saw them. Take those two big ones and sell them to Cleopatra.”

  “Be advised by me, Tros. Give them to her! Sell the others.”

  “Nay, nay, Esias. I have had my fill of that mistake. I have given her pearls, to my sorrow. Such gifts excite greed that devours the giver. She would think I am an oyster than can vomit pearls whenever ill-used.”

  “She could smother herself in the pearls she already has,” said Esias. “Pearls and emeralds.”

  “Nevertheless, she would cat-and-mouse me for my last one; and with the last would be gone a boughten tolerance such as ill suits my temper. Gifts are no way to a woman’s confidence, not if it be worth having. As it is, she sets a value on me myself. And when I have my men again, she shall either keep Caesar’s promise and let me re-dig and widen and deepen that canal that her ancestor dug from the Nile to the Red Sea, and that the other Ptolemies let perish of neglect — or I will sail away westward.”

  “Through the Gates of Hercules again? To prove that the world is round?” Esias asked. Even he smiled. It was one of Alexandria’s standing jokes, but Tros had no appreciation for the jest.

  “Aye!” he answered, glaring. “I would have gone on that voyage long ago, but for befriending her, and so first one thing, then another. It is my life’s goal, and she knows it. But she knows, too, I will not sail away and leave my Northmen. Sell her those pearls, Esias. Enter the amoun
t, less your percentage, to my credit. Pay me when I return. If Ahenobarbus or some other Roman sinks me, and I return not, then the money is yours. But remember my Northmen. Remember my Basques. They are all my freedmen — prisoners of war, to whom I gave their freedom. They are good men. They have stood by me better in foul than fair weather, better in war than in peace, as good men ever will. See that they are not sold into slavery. Bribe — intrigue — use influence — set them at liberty. Send the Basques home in some trading vessel at the first chance. Buy the Northmen a ship and let them find their own way to the land they came from.”

  “I will do it. You may depend I will do it. And now one word—”