by Talbot Mundy
Conops’s voice, going his rounds: “All well, master.”
“Tell your story,” said Tros, and Hero began speaking in a voice that had found the middle of the note since Tros first spoke with her in Cyprus.
“Last night, about two hours after dark, we — that is I and my four slaves — were upset in the surf, not far from here. There was a village. I found a horse. I sent this slave, Taia, who is Egyptian and knows the district well, to find Sigurdsen and bring him. I planned to wait on the beach until daylight, and then to watch for your sail, for you had told me you would come by sea to find your men. I waited close by where Pompey was murdered. My three slaves were trying to haul the upset boat on to the beach when some men came, who I thought in the dark were robbers. My slaves tried to protect me. They were slain and I was seized. Then I recognized Lars Tarquinius. He had a squad of sailors with him.”
Tarquinius interrupted: “Yes. And if you had told me Tros was coming, I would have known what to do. I owed Tros a favor for his treatment of me in Cyprus. Tell him the truth: how did I treat you?”
“Impudently,” said Hero. “I remember I called you a mangey jackal, which is less than the truth, and you marched me away to this ship, with my hands tied, and you and Cassius discussed me like a slave for sale. The only man who was polite to me was Herod.”
Herod smiled: “Unscrupulous politeness at the feet of beauty! I am the only rogue in the cabin.”
Hero continued: “From then, until you came, Lord Captain, I have been continually questioned, insulted and threatened with torture. I have told them nothing. The proconsul Cassius sent a messenger to the fort, and it was only about an hour before you arrived that Pausanias came, and then Leander. Cassius had to send his secretary, his ship’s captain and his commander of the troops to the fort, as hostages for Pausanias. Pausanias wouldn’t believe who I am, although he admitted I far more resemble Arsinoe’s portrait than does the prisoner whom he holds in the dungeon. But Leander knew me. Pausanias and Leander quarreled, because Pausanias has refused to turn over the command of the fort to Leander, and Leander with a hundred men has had to stay outside the city. The proconsul Cassius was very angry. He accused Pausanias of having accepted a bribe to surrender the fort, and now of demanding a further payment of more than twice as much money. Herod kept urging Cassius to pay.”
“Such honesty as theirs inflamed my generosity,” said Herod.
Cassius glared at him. “Silence! Do you hear me? You ungrateful vagabond!”
Hero continued: “The whole plot came out because Alexis objected I was overhearing too much. But Cassius said it didn’t matter because I was to be killed in any event unless I would tell all I know. Herod said it would be a pity to kill me; he would rather have me than Cleopatra. Then Cassius complained that the Arab cavalry were late, and Herod said that was probably because Cassius hadn’t paid them what he promised. They snarled at each other—”
“Did I snarl?” asked Herod.
“Until it came out that the plan was to occupy Pelusium, unite with some of Cleopatra’s mutinous regiments, march on Alexandria and marry Herod to Cleopatra, thus making Herod King of Egypt, and Egypt Cassius’s ally.”
“My cousin Cleopatra,” said Herod, “is used to being married to a man who had at least one other Wife.”
“Shut up!” snapped Cassius. “What do you want, Tros? Are you Cleopatra’s envoy? According to my latest information she has proscribed you.”
Tros nodded to Hero to continue.
“They were all quarreling, except Leander, and except that Herod was making fun of them; he kept insisting he couldn’t wait to take Cleopatra in his arms. But he offered to accept me instead, or in addition. Alexis kept on urging Cassius to have me killed, for fear the story might get out that there is a false me on the throne of Cyprus, and another false me in the’ dungeon. I dared Cassius to be brave and to kill me himself while my hands were tied. I said it would be much safer than murdering Caesar, who had a pen to defend himself with. It was then that Alexis gagged me with a towel. He pulled out his dagger and offered to cut my throat; he said he didn’t mind doing it because Cleopatra would be so pleased and it would make it safe for him to return to Alexandria and be forgiven. Then you came, and your trumpet sounded, and there was a panic, and the lictors fled into the cabin, and Leander shut the door and held it, because he said it wasn’t safe for Cassius to go on deck, and then someone fastened the door on the outside. Alexis would have killed me there and then, but Leander—”
“Leander,” said Herod, “appreciates beautiful eyes. He behaved with romantic ferocity. I shall always be glad it wasn’t Leander who slew Alexis. He would have slain me next for having looked at her.”
Tros looked at Leander. Then he glanced at Hero. Hero nodded.
“Continue,” said Tros.
“It was Lars Tarquinius who thought of the plan to hold a dagger at my throat. Cassius agreed and bade Alexis do it. That is all,” said Hero.
“A very masterly skein of lies!” said Cassius. “I deny that this girl is who she says she is, and I deny each and every one of her statements.”
“I have not once told you who I am,” she retorted. “Tarquinius and Alexis told you. I say I am Hero. I am the great Lord Captain’s—”
Cassius interrupted: “Concubine, eh? Well, Tros, you have her. Now what else do you want?”
“I will take what I want,” Tros answered.
Herod chuckled.
“The money,” remarked Tarquinius, “is in a chest beneath that cot, Lord Captain Tros.”
Tros looked straight at Pausanias:
“How much has Cassius paid you?”
Pausanias was silent.
“At any rate, you have not surrendered the fort?”
Pausanias, looking very uncomfortable and avoiding Cassius’s eyes, stroked his black beard and answered:
“Tros, you and I have known each other well since Caesar’s day. You know me to be loyal to the Queen.”
“Then you will obey her order to make over the command to Leander?”
“Has he his warrant?”
Leander flourished a parchment warrant, bearing the royal seal. He pushed it under Pausanias’s nose. Pausanias made a show of reading it.
“Very well,” he said sourly. “Why did you send me an insolent verbal message, instead of sending in the warrant for my proper information?”
“Because a warrant in the hand is worth two in your fire,” said Leander. “Do I take over?”
“Yes.”
Leander looked alertly at Tros. Neither man smiled. “There is a woman prisoner in the dungeon,” said Tros. Leander nodded.
“After you have satisfied yourself that she is a slave belonging to this lady,” he laid his hand on Hero’s shoulder, “and that she was arrested by mistake, will you be good enough to send her out to this ship?”
“Certainly.” Leander stood up. He saluted. He smiled. “The Queen told me,” said Tros, “that she thought you not worth the amount of your debts. I differ. There is a chest under the cot. You may take it. Give half of the money to Sigurdsen, to be distributed to my crew.”
Cassius snarled and struck the table with his fist:
“See here, Tros—”
Tros’s hand touched the sword on the table and Cassius closed his thin lips, glaring.
“Yes,” said Tros, “I don’t doubt there are documents! You may have your sword, Leander. So may you, Pausanias.” Sigurdsen returned their swords.
“Cassius’s officers,” said Tros, “will go with you, Leander, to be held as additional hostages. Open the chest and give me all the documents it contains.”
Cassius writhed, but there was nothing he could do. Leander dragged out a bronze chest. It was heavy. He stood waiting for the key. Tros laid a hand palm upward on the table and looked straight at Cassius.
“You want the key?” asked Cassius. “My secretary has it. He is in Pelusium. Have a care, Tros! This is—”
“Take th
e chest on deck and break it open!” Tros commanded. “Bring all documents to me. Send Conops.” Sigurdsen and Leander carried out the chest. Leander motioning to all Cassius’s officers to precede him to the deck. Conops came in and saluted:
“Nothing moving, master. Cavalry on both banks dismounted and standing easy. The crowd at the ford is looting dead men’s armor.”
“Excepting this officer who came under flag of truce, and excepting the proconsul Cassius and Lars Tarquinius, you will send all the Roman officer prisoners, including centurions, to the fort with Captain Leander. Send them ashore in one of our flotilla boats and lay in arrow-engines to protect their landing.”
“Aye, aye, master.”
Somewhere on the deck the bronze chest clamored beneath a seaman’s hammer. Cassius set his teeth. Sigurdsen returned with a very neat docket of papers, which he laid on the table.
“There is a lot of money,” he remarked.
“See that Leander gets only half of it. Keep the rest for the crew.”
Sigurdsen went out again and shut the door. Tros, fingering the papers, stared at Pausanias.
“If I should send these to the Queen,” he said, “there might be one more head upon the gibbets by the eastern gate. What say you?”
“We have been friends, you and I,” Pausanias answered. Tros nodded. “I will put your friendship to a test, Pausanias. Go to the Queen. Go swiftly. You may tell her that Pelusium is still hers. And say this:” he tapped the documents, “Memorize my words well. Say to her: ‘Lord Captain Tros of Samothrace awaits a letter from her, in her own hand, thanking him for having saved Pelusium and conferring upon him the freedom of the port of Alexandria with her personal, solemn guarantee of immunity for himself, for his wife Hero, and for all his men.’ You are to add: ‘the Lord Captain Tros is impatient to determine what to do with Cassius and with a fleet of warships.’”
“Fleet?” asked Herod.
Tros ignored him. “If such a letter from the Queen, Pausanias, is in my hands by daybreak, the day after tomorrow, she shall never see these documents nor know from me which of her commanders may have been in secret correspondence with Cassius. But if not, let her look to her throne; and look you to your head! You may go ashore with Leander. Ride Swiftly, Pausanias, and may my friendship ride with you.”
Pausanias hesitated, stroking his beard.
“It is a difficult mission, Tros.”
“So? Hint to a few ministers and generals that I hold their correspondence, and then see how swiftly they will hurry to the Queen to plead your suit!”
Pausanias nodded. He saluted Tros. He bowed to Herod and to Hero. He even made a gesture to Tarquinius. Then he walked out, ignoring Cassius.
Cassius stared at Herod. “I would like to speak with Captain Tros alone,” he said tartly.
“You, Prince Herod?” Tros asked. “Shall I send you back to Idumaea with your Arabs?”
“In the names of their curious gods, no!” Herod looked startled, even almost serious. “They would accuse me of having inveigled them into a profitless trap. I would prefer almost anything. As a matter of fact, I wish to go to Rome. Cassius and I have discovered a mutual disrespect that is bad for his stomach and makes my skin creep. He would crucify you, of course, if the situation were reversed. But I am afraid you won’t kill him. But as long as you won’t let him kill me, I would like to stay and see what you will do.”
“You shall be a witness whether I kill him or not,” Tros answered. He stared at Cassius, who glowered back and snarled:
“You pirate, name your demands!”
Tros addressed the Arab chieftain and the red-haired Roman officer beside him:
“You two may go. The proconsul has no use for you, nor I a quarrel with you. Be on the march eastward within an hour and there shall be no pursuit from Pelusium, I guarantee that.”
He turned to Lars Tarquinius. “And now you, you viper. I have sailed all known seas. Never — north, south, east, or west have I known such a treacherous scavenger of shame as you are! Four times have I neglected the duty to slay you — on my trireme, in Cyprus, near Memphis, and again now! Stand up!”
Tarquinius stood, very soldierly. He jerked his head, businesslike, at Hero:
“But for me, she would be dead. I slew Alexis. You can’t overlook that.”
“Why did you throw your dagger through the port?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I was afraid. I wasn’t sure I hadn’t made a mistake. I had to think quickly. I wasn’t sure Cassius hadn’t a surprise up his sleeve, he lay so quiet. If the cat had jumped the wrong way, I intended to accuse Herod of having killed him.”
“Why flatter me?” asked Herod.
“I have never pretended to you, Captain Tros, to be anything else than a needy fellow looking for a profit. Why don’t you employ me?”
“If I ever catch you,” said Cassius, “you shall die on a tree, Tarquinius.”
“Your life is yours,” said Tros, “for service rendered. Dismiss. If you wish employment, report to Conops.”
“To that knifing Cyclops?”
“Aye — or else swim for the shore.”
Herod punched Cassius’s pillow and adjusted it so that he could lean in the corner in comfort. He proposed to enjoy what was coming. Herod had seen Tros fight in the arena in Rome, in the days when Tros was Caesar’s enemy and Caesars’s friends had condemned Tros to what they imagined would be his death. Herod knew Tros wasn’t likely to flatter the pale prisoner who faced him. Tros’s tone of voice surprised him, however. There was nothing pugnacious about it. Firm. Cold. Calm. Deliberate.
“And now you, Cassius!”
“Look here, Tros, hadn’t you better be sensible. You have been lucky. Is it wise to overplay your hand? You are a pirate remember — proscribed by Rome and Egypt. You know you can’t last long at that trade. You could hold me for ransom. You would be paid, no matter how much you demand. But remember: pirates once held Caesar for ransom. He was no more popular in Rome than I am, but he raised the money. What happened to the pirates later? Crucified, to the last man.”
“You compare yourself to Caesar?” Tros asked.
“Caesar in those days was an unimportant youngster. I am proconsul of Syria. Convey me to Gaza, set me ashore, and I will forgive this outrage — these insults — this piracy. I will name you the ally of Rome and—”
Tros laughed. “Cassius, I saw you kill your benefactor, to whom you had sworn allegiance.”
“Well? What of it? Didn’t you once do your best to kill him?”
“Aye — and he me — openly, in fair war. When I became his friend, I stood by him, and he by me. You became his friend, and treacherously slew him. I will make no bargain with you. You wouldn’t keep it.”
“Have a care, Tros! It isn’t lucky for a pirate to offend a Roman proconsul! Your outrageous treatment of Roman lictors is enough to—”
Tros interrupted: “Cassius, that was personal, from me to you. A Roman lictor has no business on foreign soil. It is against the Roman law. You know it. You are caught red-handed in a treacherous attempt to steal a throne that you didn’t dare to fight for.”
“Are you Egypt’s divine protector?” Cassius sneered.
“I am your captor. I repeat — if you prefer to take your own life, I will give you a weapon and watch you do it.”
“Don’t be presumptuous! Name your terms, you ruffian!”
“Conops!”
“Coming, master!”
Livid, his eyes burning, his hands clutching the table to keep them from trembling, Cassius stood up. Conops entered.
“Find the proconsul a cabin, Conops. Let him have his slave to wait on him, but remove the cabin door and put a Northman to watch him. Change the guard every two hours, day and night.”
“No need for that,” said Cassius. “I will pledge my—”
“Take him away, Conops.”
“Aye, aye, master.”
“And now you, Prince Herod.”
Hero
d rose to his feet, looking crafty in his Idumaean headdress, but cavalierly at ease. His eyes laughed into Hero’s. He hardly looked at Tros:
“For the sake of a lovely woman,” he remarked, “I, too, am capable of madness — be she lovely, mind you! Am I prisoner or guest? I make no promises, so I won’t break any. Tros, may I visit Pelusium? May I use your rowboat? May I have an escort? May I have some money? I might find something fit to eat and drink. I might even find an amusing woman. I might even pick up information.”
Tros nodded, summoned Sigurdsen and gave the necessary order. Herod went out, smiling. Tros took hold of Hero’s hag-slave by the neck and pitched her through the cabin door. He slammed it — bolted it.
“Well, girl?”
“Lover! Tros, you’re perfect!”
CHAPTER XXXIII. “He was kind to me. He tried to seduce me.”
They who laugh at a commander’s failure, usually lack ability or will to understand the nature of his problem. Detail, detail, detail, each dependent on another’s or a hundred others’ loyalty, devotion, skill, intelligence, obedience and health. One sick man, fretting faithfully to do his stint, unknowingly, unknown, may wreck a well-imagined strategy before its details unfold. I have heard self-styled critics speak — aye, and I have read the books of some historians who write, as if a warship can put to sea without a thousand cares first well attended. And, if a ship, what of a fleet? What of an army? It is a pity, for their foes’ sake, that some critics are not taken at their own evaluation and entrusted with command.
— From the Log of Lord Captain Tros of Samothrace
Tros’s first care was to make his position reasonably safe. Having challenged Cleopatra, he had no intention of being caught off-guard, and no man in the world had had more experience than he of her genius for springing surprises. She and Charmion believed themselves incapable of treachery, but praised it with an almost religious zeal. Between them, they where quite capable of turning the tables. That was one reason why he had given the Queen the irreducible minimum of time in which to comply with the terms of his ultimatum.