SPQR IX: The Princess and the Pirates

by John Maddox Roberts

  I found him squatting beneath one of the hulls, inspecting a plank that appeared to be nearing the end of its serviceable life.

  “Why aren’t you using the naval harbor facilities?” I queried. “That’s for bigger ships, and the sheds are for bad weather. If you want a good look at your ship, there’s nothing like a good, sandy beach that won’t scrape the bottom and bright sunlight to see by. I’d not have spotted the rot in this plank in the shade.”

  “Well, I won’t advise you concerning your own work.”

  “Good. You’ll need to buy pitch. All three hulls need treating.” “I see you didn’t bother to go to the naval stores for it.” “Why bother? I haven’t seen any naval stores in the last two years east of Piraeus. We need some cordage, and you might as well pick up some paint. It always makes the men feel better to start a cruise with the ships looking good.”

  “At least we have paint. Go to the naval yard and take all you need.”

  “Well, there’s a miracle. Weapons?”

  “Enough to take on another hundred marines and provide at least light weapons for extra rowers. We’ll be looking over the available manpower tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll be there. Don’t expect much.”

  “I’ve lived too long to expect much,” I assured him, “but I want the best of what there is to be had in this place.”

  I spent an hour looking over the vessels and the men as if I knew what I was doing, a talent much needed by a man involved with politics. A Roman official is expected to be proficient in law, public speaking, administration, priestcraft, agriculture, and warfare. In reality, proficiency in law and rhetoric are sufficient. The rest can be handled by competent subordinates.

  “Somebody’s coming,” Hermes said, pointing toward the water. A golden skiff manned by twenty rowers sped our way, oars flashing in perfect unison. When I say golden, I don’t mean it was touched up here and there with gilding. The whole thing was gilded, a truly Ptolemaic affectation. It looked like a piece of the sun detached and come down to visit. In the prow stood a man in white livery trimmed with golden embroidery.

  When the keel touched the beach, the rowers leapt over the bulwarks, grasped the boat, and lifted it onto the sand. They were a matched set, tall, long limbed, with skins just a little darker than the sand. Their hair was dressed like the square-cut Egyptian wig, and they wore the traditional linen kilt of that land—white as a candidate’s toga. When there was no danger of getting his sandals wet, the man in the white tunic hopped ashore.

  “Princess Cleopatra, daughter of King Ptolemy, sends greetings to the distinguished senator Decius Caecilius Metellus and invites him to join her aboard the royal galley Serapis.” He had the high, fluting voice of a court eunuch. This did not mean that he was a gelding though. Sometimes court functionaries pitched their voices falsetto in order to sound like eunuchs, who enjoy special status at the Egyptian court. Greeks are unfathomable people to begin with, and the ones who run Egypt are stranger than most.

  I climbed aboard, curious to see what sort of craft Cleopatra might consider a proper royal yacht. During my stay in Egypt I had seen the incredible river barges the Ptolemies amused themselves with: virtual palaces set atop two vast hulls, propelled upstream by thousands of rowers, like something the gods would travel in on their occasional forays to the world of mortals. Only logical, I suppose, when you consider that the Ptolemies, like the old pharaohs, tried to fob themselves off as second-rate gods. Divine or mortal, those barges impressed the common folk no end, and since most of the population of Egypt lives within sight of the Nile, they all got to see their resident god as he drifted past in splendor.

  But I had paid little attention to the Egyptian navy. They own the greatest port in the world, but the Egyptians are not a seagoing people. Ships from every land that borders the sea and even those that lie on the ocean beyond the Pillars of Hercules send their ships to Alexandria to carry away grain and other goods, but few Egyptian ships ply the waters. I had always considered Egypt a naval nonentity.

  The rowers set briskly to their oars, and we fairly flew out to the waiting vessel. As we drew nearer I saw that Serapis was a bireme of conventional design but higher of sides and wider of beam than most: neither as lean as a typical warship nor as tubby as a merchantman. Its ram was in the shape of a cobra’s head, and the hull was painted crimson, trimmed with gilding. Along the rails I saw some serious-looking ballistas.

  Cleopatra awaited me at the rail as a ladder was lowered to the boat. I scrambled aboard with little loss of dignity, closely followed by Hermes.

  “Welcome aboard, Senator!” Cleopatra cried, as a little band of musicians shrilled on pipes, rattled sistra, and plucked harps. Slaves whirled small vessels of burning incense on golden chains, filling the air with fragrant smoke. A slave girl draped my neck with a wreath of lotus blossoms. Where they came from I have no idea.

  “This beats anything the Roman navy has to offer,” I told the princess. She wore a plain gown of white linen, almost as short as a hunting tunic and belted with a golden cord beneath which was tucked a small dagger with a golden hilt and sheath. On her feet were plain sandals of plaited straw.

  “Would you like to inspect the newest vessel in your fleet?” she asked.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Lead on.”

  She led me along the narrow deck that ran the length of the vessel. To each side the heads of the upper-bank rowers poked above deck level. They sat at their oars perfectly still but sweating profusely. No wonder, considering the pace she had set tham that morning. They were powerfully muscled men with typically Egyptian faces, their heads shaven but protected from the sun by head scarves of white linen.

  “Egyptians live on the river,” Cleopatra said, “so we have an abundance of skilled rowers. These were chosen from the best, matched as to height and length of arm.”

  The deck beneath my feet was beautifully polished. All the workmanship I could see was far superior to what I normally saw on Roman ships. We climbed three steps to the forecastle, a small but crucial area of the ship where the ballistas were concentrated. Here stood about forty armed men in two ranks to each side.

  “These are my marines. Their commander is Epimanondas. They are all Macedonians, chosen from my father’s guard.”

  Macedonians, although they speak a dialect of Greek, are not to be confused with true Greeks, who are a degenerate and effeminate people. The Macedonians are primitive, ferocious, and probably much like our own Roman ancestors. These wore old-fashioned armor of bronze and layered linen and open-faced helmets of bronze, looking more like Homer’s heroes than modern legionaries. This made sense, as a Roman mail shirt would quickly rust under seagoing conditions. They carried small, circular shields and held half-pikes at their sides. Their captain was a scar-faced veteran whose arms were a bit fancier than the rest but were still eminently serviceable.

  “A fine pack of villains,” I said approvingly. These men, at least, I was going to be glad to have with me on my pirate hunt.

  “When do we commence operations?” Cleopatra asked. “I’m eager to begin.” I had to remind myself that this queenly young woman was still little more than a girl. Only the very young or very stupid are anxious to go out and court death.

  “I’ve alerted the harbor master to inform me the moment report of a pirate action comes to him.”

  “Well, you are the admiral, but it seems to me that the place to look for pirates is not where they’ve just been but where they are going to strike next.”

  “You are very perceptive,” I commended her. “But we have to start somewhere. I hope that a pattern will eventually reveal itself and give us something to go on. In the meantime we will begin cruising. If nothing else, it will demonstrate Roman presence in these waters and drill our sailors in combined operations.”

  She smiled. “I’m ready now!”

  “I can see that, but your rowers aren’t. If you race chariots, you don’t race the same team twice in th
e same day. Besides, tomorrow I plan to hire sailors and marines to fill out my crews. You are already splendidly manned. I suggest you rest your men tomorrow. We begin cruising the day after.”

  4

  I ARRIVED AT THE NAVAL HARBOR EARLY, wide awake and clear-eyed. The night before, mercifully, Silvanus had decided to spend at the villa of Gabinius, allowing me to excuse myself from the evening revels without giving offense. I dined lightly in my chambers and rolled into bed early, all too aware of the rigors to come.

  In the little plaza before the house of Harmodias, that worthy sat behind a wooden table with a scroll, ink, and reed pens before him. Beside him sat Ion. All around the plaza sat, leaned, or otherwise lounged a pack of nautical-looking men, perhaps two hundred of them. Some wore the brief tunics and caps of sailors, others had the sturdy physiques and multiple scars of professional soldiers. Some of the latter had arrived bearing their own arms and armor, and from the look of them they had deserted from every army in the known world.

  “By Jupiter Best and Greatest!” I said to the two behind the table. “These look worse than the lot I already have!”

  “Senator,” said Harmodias, “if you’re looking for schoolboys, we have an academy of decent repute right here in Paphos. Go over there and you’ll find plenty of well-bred lads who can quote Pindar for you all day long.”

  “No need to be sarcastic,” I admonished him. “I’m just expressing my disgust with the material, as has been customary with every recruiting officer since Agamemnon. All right, let’s divide the labor. You two know sailors, so pick out what we need. I’ll interview the marines. First, I’ll address this pack and acquaint them with the situation.”

  I walked around in front of the table and looked over the assembled scum, letting them know how little pleased I was. They, in turn, looked less than impressed with me. I reached to one side, and Hermes slapped a sealed tablet into my palm. I held this aloft and proclaimed: “I am Senator Decius Caecilius Metellus! This is my commission from the Senate and People of Rome to scour these waters of the pirates that infest them! The job is pirate hunting; the pay is what every sailor in Roman service receives.” The sour looks got sourer.

  “On the other hand, I have wide powers of discretion concerning any loot obtained during this operation. I have drawn up a table of shares for every man who serves with me. What this means is that if you serve diligently, at the share-out—when we have bagged these pirates and their loot—each of you may depart with more money than you have ever seen.” This was more like it. Grins began to appear on the villainous faces.

  “All right!” Hermes announced. “I’m sure you’ve all done this before, so line up in front of this table, sailors to the left, soldiers to the right. Be ready to give your name and prior service, and no lies!” He sat and took his writing materials from his satchel.

  The men shuffled into line and the first soldier appeared before me. He was typical of the lot: Macedonian helmet, Iberian cuirass, Gallic shield, Roman short sword, Greek tunic, Egyptian sandals. Physically, he looked like an African ape recently shaved.

  “Name?”

  “Leacus, sir. I’m from Thrace, most recently a light auxiliary in the army of General Gabinius.” At least his speech was commendably military.

  “Strip and let’s have a look at you,” I ordered.

  “You’re not buying a slave!” he said indignantly.

  “No, but neither do I want to hire a cripple or a convict. Strip. To the skin.”

  He muttered, but he obeyed. It was only what every recruiter does if he has no one to vouch for a man. I was not really looking for the stripes of a runaway slave. Such men often as not make good soldiers. I was more interested in brands, notches, and other marks of the convicted felon, which are splendidly concealed by helmets and armor.

  Unclothed, the Thracian even more resembled an ape, but I saw no incriminating marks, just battle scars on every unarmored surface. “You’ll do. Next.” Several men were already walking back toward the city, knowing that proof of their criminal proclivities would be exposed.

  By midmorning I had picked nearly a hundred tough specimens. Before the naval base’s small altar to Neptune, I administered the awesome oath of service to them and paid each the symbolic silver denarius. For the duration of their service they were immune from prosecution for past indiscretions, and any who attacked them were to suffer the punishment due to any foolish enough to take up arms against Rome.

  Those who had no arms of their own were issued weapons from the arsenal, then we marched the lot, soldiers and sailors, to the beached ships. Men were assigned to each vessel; the sailors immediately set to the tarring and scraping, while I lectured the marines.

  “If you are accustomed to normal naval operations, forget them. We won’t be trying to sink our enemy’s ships. Sunken ships can’t be sold, and drowned pirates can’t tell us where their base is. Keep that in mind. All the chasing around, looking for a few wretched raiders, has one real aim: we want to find out where their base is. That will be where they have whatever loot they haven’t disposed of already. It’s also where they’ll have the captives they’re holding for ransom. Some of these will be Roman citizens, and Rome wants them back.

  “Finding the ships and catching them is up to the sailors. Once we’re alongside, it will be up to you marines to capture them. Instead of the ram, we’ll be using the corvus. Are you all familiar with this elementary device?” Most signaled they were, but I explained anyway because men tend not to admit to ignorance. “The corvus is a plank hinged to our ship at one end, with a big spike at the other. When we’re close enough, we drop the spiked end onto the enemy’s deck. At that time the two ships are effectively nailed together. We then walk across the corvus and proceed to kill or capture the pirates. The Roman Fleet used this tactic against the Carthaginians, and it worked splendidly. Our ships are not large, so our corvus can’t be wide. We’ll have to cross in single file. The first man on the corvus must be brave, but then he gets a double share of the loot, which is a great spine stiffener. Any questions?”

  A Palmyrene named Aglibal spoke up, “It seems to me that the pirates may use the corvus to board our ship.”

  “There may be disputes concerning right-of-way on the corvus. I expect you men to win all such disagreements.”

  Once they grasped the essence of our tactics, I put them aboard the ships and drilled them in the intricacies of using the corvus. Crossing a plank may seem simple, but nothing is simple in battle. Interval is always crucial—keeping the men close enough together to support one another but far enough apart that they don’t interfere with each other’s fighting ability. Placement of the corvus would also be crucial, but that was up to the skill of the sailors.

  With the ships beached, I drilled the men in disembarking over the bows. If we should be lucky enough to catch some pirates raiding a village, we would simply run our own ships up on shore and assault them, assuming, of course, that they did not greatly outnumber us. While we watched the men sweating through these exertions, Hermes voiced his doubts to me.

  “You realize that many of these men have probably been pirates themselves?”

  “Of course. It makes no difference. Loyalty to their former colleagues will weigh nothing against a rich payday in the offing. There isn’t a man here who wouldn’t cut his own brother’s throat for a handful of coins. Our armies are always full of men we defeated in the last war. Professionals are always willing to change sides. Their loyalty is to their pay-master, and that’s me.”

  “What about Cleopatra? She’s just a girl playing at war. Suppose she doesn’t like the look of the real thing? She might run at a crucial moment. That could mean disaster if we go in expecting even odds.”

  “I think there’s more to Cleopatra than you see. She’s grown up in a savage court, and she knows she’ll need Roman favor in the future. If her little brother becomes king in accordance with our latest treaty with Ptolemy, she’ll marry him. That will make her the
real ruler of Egypt because he’s an imbecile like most of his family.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  It may seem odd that I was having such a conversation with a slave, but I was grooming Hermes for better things. I had already determined to give him his freedom when we got back to Rome, and then he would be my freedman and a citizen as well as my aide and secretary as I assume the higher offices in Rome and the provinces. In a single generation our generals had nearly doubled Roman territory, with consequent increases in propraetorian and proconsular commands.

  Things were reaching the point where, in some years, there were not enough consuls and praetors leaving office to staff all the new territories. Caesar’s new conquests in Gaul, once pacified, would make at least two new proconsular provinces, and he had eyes on the island of Britannia. Soon, I thought, we should need to hold elections twice each year.

  Late in the afternoon, Silvanus and Gabinius put in an appearance. They watched my men drill for a while, and Gabinius pronounced himself impressed that I had them shaping up so well in so short a time.

  “I’ve no time to dawdle,” I told him. “My best chance is to bag these pirates quickly before they get word that there’s a Roman force after them. They’ll hear about it in just a few days at the outside, so I want to take to the water after them as soon as possible.”

  “Very wise,” Silvanus said. “I can see that you’ve been soldiering with Caesar. He acts faster than any general in Roman history. Even Sulla and Pompey were slow by comparison.”

  Gabinius snorted through his oversized nose. “If Pompey ever moved fast, he might arrive at the battle first and take some casualties. Can’t have that.”

  I signaled to Ion, and he sounded a shrill blast on the silver whistle he wore on a chain around his neck. The men ceased their activities and gathered to hear me.

  “That’s enough for today. Starting tonight, you will all bunk in the naval facility. I want you ready to put to sea at a moment’s notice, and I promise you it will be a short moment. You are to use only the taverns right here on the waterfront because I don’t want to have to scour the whole city looking for you. Any man who fails to report for duty had better find a fast ship to some distant port because you have now taken the oath of service and I am empowered to administer any punishment I can imagine. You men don’t want to learn about the depths of my imagination. Be here at dawn. Dismissed.”