SPQR IX: The Princess and the Pirates

by John Maddox Roberts

  “You may well be right,” I admitted. I had known few women in Rome who were so politically astute. I looked around for her husband and saw him at a table next to some city dignitaries. Beyond him, at a table set for commoners, I saw Ariston. It annoyed me that he should expose himself in such a fashion and resolved to upbraid him for it. I turned to Alpheus.

  “That was a very accomplished song you delivered,” I commended. “Especially when you consider what short notice you had.”

  “You are too kind. Actually, it was just a variation on a funeral song I wrote years ago. I’ve employed it a number of times, making changes where necessary to fit the deceased. This was the first I’ve done for a Roman though. The real challenge was getting the chorus rehearsed. Luckily, I’ve had some experience in that art, and the chorus here is excellent. Of course, the whole citizenry sings, but these are the ones who take part in the theatrical productions.”

  “In Rome we have nothing like your Greek choral singing,” I noted. “The closest we come is everybody piling into the Circus for a chariot race. The sounds we make there aren’t very musical I’m afraid.”

  “So,” he said, “you’re thinking of putting off your pirate hunt until you’ve determined who killed Silvanus? That seems an odd sort of activity.”

  I explained to him some of the reasons why it was urgent that I set the matter to rest as soon as possible. “Of course,” I added, “I cannot let an especially insolent or egregious act of piracy go unnoticed. It would be bad for Roman prestige.”

  “And for your political future,” Flavia pointed out.

  “Yes, there is always that. By the way, Flavia, while I realize your husband is a banker, does he, by any chance, ever deal in frankincense or have dealings with any who do?” It was clumsy, but I thought it worth a try.

  She laughed. “Frankincense! Why ever would you ask that? Are you planning to go into the business yourself? Shame on you! And you a senator!” She went off into peals of laughter. Quite inappropriate at a funeral, but others were laughing as well. The wine wasn’t good, but it flowed freely.

  “Well, I suppose that answers me. Believe it or not, the question is pertinent to my investigation.”

  “I have little to do with my husband’s business, but I’ll ask him for you if you want. Frankincense, indeed!” She seemed to find the very idea inordinately funny. I doubted there was any aspect of her husband’s business she didn’t know about, but it was not unusual that she would deny it. Men were often suspicious of women who were too knowledgeable about such things as business, politics, and war. Of course, she had not been shy about flaunting her knowledge of the latter two subjects. Shyness was not among this woman’s attributes.

  Nor was she abstemious about the food or the wine. She put away large quantities of both, apparently one of those lucky women whose immoderate gustatory habits had no effect on her figure, which was voluptuous but not quite to the point of overabundance. Like me she had brought her own wine, and frequently signaled her slave girl for a refill. Each time she did this, she slid her hand along the young woman’s body with the unconscious ease of a woman stroking a favorite pet. The girl seemed to take this quite naturally, and once leaned close to whisper into her mistress’s ear something that set them both laughing uproariously.

  “Will Silvanus have funeral games?” Alpheus asked.

  “I don’t believe he was that important,” I answered him. “Ordinarily, munera are only held in memory of the most distinguished men, consuls at the very least. At one time only former consuls who had triumphed were allowed gladiatorial displays, but our standards have slipped somewhat of late. This is at Rome, you understand. In his hometown, his family may hold any sort of funeral games they wish. For all I know, Silvanus may have been the most distinguished man in Bovillae or Lanuvium or Reate or some such place. Senators who are political nobodies in Rome are often very important men in their ancestral towns. He may have provided for games in his will.”

  “He was from Ostia,” Flavia said, her words beginning to slur a bit, “same as my husband. And yes, his family is a great one in that town. There’s usually a Silvanus serving as one of the duumviri. I think he held the post three times. Yes, I think we can expect a good show after his ashes arrive home. I hope we’re back in time to attend. I love the fights.”

  “You will be,” I assured her. “Believe me, they take time to arrange. It will be a year or two before he gets his final rites. Look at Faustus Sulla. He celebrated the Dictator’s games twenty years after his father died.

  You’re lucky you live in Ostia. Women aren’t allowed to attend the munera in Rome.”

  “Rome is so stodgy and straitlaced,” she said. “You should go to Baiae when there’s a festival. I spend the summers there when I can. They do things there that would drop Cato and his tiresome crowd dead with shock.”

  “So I’ve heard,” I said enviously. “I’ve never managed to be there when anything really scandalous was going on.”

  “Let me tell you what happened last time I was there,” she said, her voice dripping musk and lasciviousness. She launched into a description of her adventures with several matrons of that free-and-easy resort town during the celebration of the Priapalia, a festival banned from Rome generations ago because of the licentious behavior that always accompanied the worship of that rustic deity, who in Rome is confined to gardens and brothels.

  “You are an adventurous lady,” I commended her, when the tale was done.

  “On the island of Cythera,” Alpheus said, “which also claims to be the birthplace of Aphrodite, there are very similar practices during their annual festival of the goddess; activity that even the inhabitants acknowledge as intolerable at other times become acts of pious worship during those three days.”

  “In Rome,” I pointed out, “we men of the senatorial class have always wondered what our wives get up to during the annual rites of Bona Dea. Clodius once tried to spy on the rites dressed as a woman, but he was caught and expelled before he saw anything interesting.”

  “It’s all very tame I am sure,” Flavia said. “Roman women of spirit and imagination have to find their fun outside the City.”

  “Speaking of women,” I said, “where is Cleopatra?” I looked around but did not see her.

  “Up on the temple porch,” Alpheus said, nodding toward the noble building. I looked and saw a long table where Cleopatra reclined next to Gabinius. The city archon, the high priest of Poseidon, and Photinus were at the same table.

  “I would think you would be at the highest table,” Flavia’s tone was that of the devoted troublemaker. I pushed aside my own annoyance in recognition of the fact.

  “Gabinius arranged the funeral,” I pointed out, “and I am just a visiting military officer. The dining arrangements seem to be punctilious.” Gabinius was using the practice to put me in my place, but I determined to settle the matter later. For now a united front was called for. “Where are lone and the priestesses of Aphrodite?” I asked, to change the subject.

  “With the Aphrodisia only days away,” Alpheus explained, “they may not attend a funeral or enter a house of mourning. They would be ritually unclean, and the festival would have to be canceled for the year. It would be a terrible portent for the whole island.”

  “And this island has had all the bad luck it can handle,” I said, “between Roman annexation, the pirates, and the copper trade, which has desolated large parts of it.”

  “Ah, you know how the island has been ruined by mining?” Alpheus said.

  “I’ve heard something of it,” I hedged.

  “But it made the place rich,” Flavia pointed out. “It is the special genius of Rome,” I said, feeling the wine a bit myself and growing expansive, “that we understand the proper path to wealth.”

  “What is that?” Alpheus asked. I had the distinct impression that he was humoring me.

  “The way to get rich is not by ruining your own land to sell your resources abroad. Instead, you cons
erve your own land and go plunder somebody else’s wealth.” Flavia laughed like a jackass. Even Gabinius, on the temple porch, heard and glared in our direction. Well, his friend had just died. I tried to keep a straight face while he was looking my way.

  When we had all gorged and swilled to repletion, people rose from their tables and began to circulate. Evening was drawing on and torches were brought out to illuminate the central part of the city. It was a great extravagance, but it is with these touches of excess that we hope to be remembered after we die.

  Flavia, Alpheus, and I were fast friends by now, at least until the wine wore off; and like many others we began to walk off dinner, trying to make room for the sweets that had been brought out as the last course. At the funeral of Scipio Africanus, sweets were served and the extravagance was remembered for generations. His was a more austere time, and the island of Cyprus had access to such luxuries in abundance.

  I met some of Flavia’s friends, a number of whom seemed to be as debauched as she. Alpheus did a bit of business, arranging to compose songs for festivals in other towns. We came to a table set up on a side street off the main plaza and I stopped, my jaw dropping in shock. “What are you doing here?” I demanded.

  Ion looked back at me, not at all dismayed. “All the resident foreigners in the city were invited to the banquet, Senator, just like you.” Looking along the table, I saw the crews of my ships, my marines, and the hired mercenaries.

  “You were to be at the ships, ready to sail on the instant!” I yelled. “What are we to do if there is news of an attack?”

  He looked me over. “Do you really think you’re in any shape to lead us?”

  “I could be carried to the ships and sober up on the voyage out!” I told him. “How I get into fighting shape is my business, not yours! What are you laughing at?” This last was addressed to Alpheus and Flavia, who seemed unreasonably amused by my embarrassment.

  “Suppose the pirates were to strike the city right now!” Flavia whooped. “How would it sound in the Forum, when Pompey’s men spread the word that Metellus and his whole crew were gorged and besotted at the banquet tables when the enemy came calling!”

  “If Themistocles and his men had been like this the night before Salamis,” Alpheus put in, “I’d be composing verses to Ahura-Mazda in Persian right now!”

  “No one attacks at night,” Ion asserted, refilling his cup. “We’ll be ready to sail at dawn, and a sailor who can’t put to sea with a hangover is a poor excuse for a seaman anyway.”

  “Well, not much to be done about it now,” I said, my indignation running out like wine from a punctured skin. Just be ready to sail at first light.”

  “Let’s be away from here,” Flavia urged, pressing a great deal of soft flesh against my side. “It’s noisy in this place. My litter is somewhere around here. Let’s go find it. Come along, Decius.” There it was: the praenomen.

  I looked for Alpheus and saw him making a discreet exit. The man was the soul of diplomacy. Joining Flavia in some secluded nook seemed like a fine idea, which shows the condition I was in. Abruptly, the soft flesh pressing against me was replaced by hard muscle on both sides.

  “Why, here you are, Captain!” said Ariston, taking one arm in a steely grip.

  “Better come along with us,” Hermes said, gripping the other. “Tomorrow comes early, as you keep reminding me.” He turned to Flavia. “My lady, we have to get the master to bed.”

  She looked him over, then she gave Ariston an even longer look, up and down. “That sounds like an excellent idea. Why don’t we all find a place to relax away from this crowd? I know a house just two streets away that provides all the amenities we could wish.”

  Hermes leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Julia could be here tomorrow.” That did it. He might as well have cast me into icy water.

  “Flavia,” I said, “much as I appreciate your generous offer, duty comes first for an officer of the Senate and People. I must be ready to sail at daylight.”

  She looked at me with great disfavor. “I had hoped better of you, Decius.” She turned and walked away. I sighed after her twitching, Coan-veiled buttocks.

  “There goes a shipwreck in woman’s form,” said Ariston. “Come along, Captain. Plenty more where that one came from and much better time for them than tonight.”

  My two faithful if somewhat insubordinate followers hoisted me off to my quarters.

  “UP!” SOMEBODY SHOUTED. “GET UP and get dressed!”

  “Why?” I asked, not entirely sure where I was. I was fairly certain that I wasn’t in Rome, but that left a lot of territory to be considered. Gaul? Alexandria? Somehow I felt not. I knew it would come to me, given time.

  Hermes yanked me to my feet and pulled my military tunic down over my shaky body. I was on military duty, that was clear enough. “What is going on?” Even to my own ears I sounded querulous as a used-up old man.

  “The pirates have been seen!” Hermes said. “They sailed right past the harbor mouth, bold as purple-assed baboons!”

  “Pirates!” I cried. “Thank the gods! For a moment there I thought the Gauls were attacking. Well, by all means, let’s go kill these pirates so I can get back to bed.”

  Somehow Hermes got me fully dressed, armed, and halfway presentable and, accompanied by the redoubtable Ariston, we hurried down to the naval harbor.

  Ion had the ships in the water and fully manned, although many of the men were cradling their heads or vomiting over the sides or collapsed at their benches. I clambered onto my ship and gave orders to push off. Cleopatra’s ship came smartly alongside.

  “We have been waiting for you,” she said, seeming a bit indignant. “They went past about an hour ago, sailing southward. My own lookout spotted them.”

  “Did you see them with your own eyes?” I asked.

  “I did.”

  “How did you get down here in time?”

  “I slept on my ship, as you should have done! And I kept my crew here as well. No banqueting allowed. Now we will lose them!”

  “Don’t scold me. I have a wife for that. How many ships?”

  “Three.”

  I tried to force rational thought through the fog within my thundering skull. “Just three? They must have split the fleet. All right, then. Oars out and let’s be after them. Timekeeper, as soon as we are in open water, I want you to set us a quick pace.”

  Groaning and complaining, the men set to their oars. At first their strokes were so ragged that they might as well have been untrained land-lubbers. Soon, though, they were back into their usual rhythm and began to sweat out the previous night’s wine. I ran the marines through boarding drills and catapult drills until they, too, were sweating in their armor, and I made sure that the men on the other ships were doing the same. By the time the pirate vessels were in sight, I felt that the worst was over. My head was almost clear, my stomach had settled down, and the strength was returning to my limbs.

  We were close to shore, near a stretch of beach I had not seen in my previous outings. It was rocky and deserted, except for some ruined old buildings that looked as if they had not been inhabited in centuries. It was an ill-favored place, fit haunt for harpies and Gorgons.

  “They’re coming about,” Ion said. Ahead of us, the three lean vessels had dug in their oars, halting their forward motion. Then, with the port and starboard oars working rapidly in opposite directions, they spun on their axes and presented their rams to us.

  “Prettily done,” Ariston noted. He had come to stand beside me in the prow of the Nereid.

  “That’s right,” agreed Ion. “And I think we had better do the same, Senator.”

  “Why? We came here to catch them, and we are still four to their three, however well they row.”

  He looked at me with disgust. “And how long do you think that will last. If three of them think they can take on four warships, their friends can’t be far away. They’ve laid a trap for us, Senator.”

  “Do you think I am to
tally dense? Hung over or not, I knew they were luring us out when I heard they’d traipsed past the harbor in something less than full strength. I was sent to bag these brigands, and I intend to do it. If their remaining ships will just come out from behind whichever headland they are lurking, I will give battle right here. Just remember to take some of them alive so that we can find out where their base may be.”

  Ariston laughed. “Maybe the Senate sent out the right man after all.”

  Ion shook his head. “I still have my doubts.”

  As the ships drew nearer, I saw what the island woman had meant when she said the pirate ships had been “the same color as the sea.” The hulls were painted a deep shade of blue-green. With yards lowered and masts unstepped, they would blend with the surrounding water, making them difficult to discern at any distance. My own ships, painted in their traditional naval colors, were visible from far away. Cleopatra’s, with all its gilding, could be seen as far as the horizon on a sunny day and was tolerably visible by moonlight.

  “Down with the yards and masts!” Ion bellowed, as if reading my mind. Quickly, the crews of all four vessels lowered the yards, then lifted the masts from their footings and laid them upon the grooved wooden blocks on the decks. It is customary to do this before going into battle because otherwise the ships would be top-heavy and inclined to wallow during fast maneuvers. In place of the mast, they raised a shorter, thicker post with a pulley at its top. This was to be used as a crane for raising and dropping the corvus when we got within boarding distance.

  Thinking of this caused me to note an odd discrepancy in the ships fast approaching us. “Why are their masts still up?” I wondered aloud. I could now see this plainly, and that their yards, though lowered, lay athwart the deck railings, a most inconvenient arrangement for combat.

  “They must mean to hoist sail and run for it,” Ion speculated, “but there’s little sense to that. In this weak breeze we’d catch them easily. And where are their reinforcements? We ought to have seen them by now.”