John Roberts - The Princess and the Pirates

“I understand all that,” I said. “We’ve been propping up weak kings in Egypt for generations.”

“I say conquer the place, make a province of it, and be done with it,” Gabinius growled.

“You would,” Silvanus observed. “If you were to, as you almost did a short time ago, how long before Caesar and Pompey dropped everything, pooled their strength, and marched against you?”

“About a day, maybe two.”

Egypt was so rich that no Roman general would stand by to see another take the place. The man who conquered Egypt would immediately be the richest, most powerful man in the world, richer than Crassus. It was bad enough when Sertorius set himself up as independent ruler of Spain. At least he was no great threat there. A general with his legions based in Egypt could aspire to conquer Rome and become, for all practical purposes, the ruler of the whole world.

“So you see, Senator Metellus, my position here is not just that of Roman governor over a mixed pack of Greeks and Phoenicians. There is a balancing act going on here. Future relations between Rome and Egypt are in that balance.”

“I spoke with Cato before I came here,” I said. “He said he set things in order with no trouble.”

“That’s Cato,” Gabinius said. “And he had little concern save the local population and local affairs. He gave them a taste of the Roman whip and, as usual, they settled down. That was while I was busy putting old Ptolemy Auletes’ fat rump back on his throne. Now things are different.”

“When Caesar finishes in Gaul,” Silvanus said, “all of Rome’s attention will be turned eastward. There are matters to settle with Parthia, and something will have to be done about those squabbling Jewish princes. They’re disrupting trade and foreign relations in a crucial part of the world. We’ll want Ptolemy’s support in those operations: supplies, auxiliaries, garrison troops-he has them all to spare. So please try not to get his favorite daughter killed, even if she did conspire to have you murdered.”

Gabinius clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve accomplished plenty of work with men who’ve tried to kill me, every Roman of any stature has. I hear you even cooperated with Clodius on an occasion or two. Just do the work, never trust him or turn your back on him. If you can do that with a bloody lunatic like Clodius, surely you can hold your own with a girl playing at war.”

The grizzled old centurion came in. “No luck. We found the man in an alley, dead. He’d bled out from that arm cut. Severed the big vessel. I’m amazed he got as far as he did.”

“How about the other one?” I asked.

“Died before they got him to the lockup.”

“Well, so much for that.” Silvanus said disgustedly. “Senator, I think we’ve kept you long enough, and I hope you’ll keep what we’ve said in mind.”

“Gentlemen,” I said, lurching to my feet, “rest assured that I shall give your words my closest attention. And now, I bid you good night.”

I walked back to my quarters as steadily as I could and found Hermes waiting up for me, sitting with his sword across his knees.

“Sleep across the doorway tonight,” I told him, “and keep your weapons handy. From here on in, we trust nobody.”

“You mean we were trusting someone before?”

As soon as the sun came up, my men put their shoulders to the hulls and pushed them into the water. They floated prettily, spruced up and repainted, ready to go out and ravage the enemies of Rome. The sailors swam out to them and worked them under oars to the long wharf, where the marines boarded and supplies were loaded.

Cleopatra’s ship already floated out in the harbor, and to judge by her royal banner she was aboard already. The enthusiasms of the young are irrepressible.

“A message for Senator Metellus!” shouted someone. I turned from my supply tally to see a boy running down the wharf, holding aloft a bronze message carrier. “Harbormaster Orchus sends you this, Senator.” I took the polished tube from his hand and twisted off the cap. Inside was a slip of papyrus.

To the Commodore of the Roman Fleet, I read, smiling at the grandiose salutation. The grain ship Hapi has just put in on its way from Egypt to Piraeus. Its master reports that yesterday he passed a devastated village on the island of Salia.

“Brief and to the point,” I remarked. “Ion, how far is this place?” “Half a day’s sailing if the winds are favorable, which this time of year they won’t be. But they’ve been there and gone. Won’t do any good to look at burned houses and dead bodies.”

“Still, it’s a starting place. We may be able to quiz witnesses, and, in any case, with so many new men we need a shakedown cruise and plenty of drill before I’ll feel ready to take them into a fight. This is as good an excuse as any.”

He shrugged. “You’re the one with the commission.” It was about as sincere a gesture of respect as I was likely to get from him.

I dispatched a sailor to Cleopatra’s ship Serapis with a message giving our destination. As soon as the last jar was loaded we pushed off and rowed to the harbor mouth. Once in clear water, all ships hoisted sail. The wind was favorable for getting us around the island of Cyprus, but after that we would probably have to row. That suited me well enough because the men needed exercise and I wouldn’t have to pull an oar myself.

Once we were under way, Ariston walked up to me. Since he was shipping as a marine he had no duties at the moment. Like many of the sailors, he had lowered his tunic from his shoulders and wore it knotted about his waist. From arsenal stores he had chosen a close-fitting iron cap and a small, round shield of hippopotamus hide as his sole military equipment. I could not guess how that last item had found its way into the arsenal at Paphos, since it must have originated in Nubia. For weaponry, he stuck with his big knife.

“That man I cut last night,” he began, “did they catch him?” “They did. Bled to death within the hour. The big blood vessel was severed.” I caught the look that crossed his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I said dead by morning, and that’s what I meant. I cut him here.” He drew a ragged-nailed finger from the bulging triceps on the back of his upper arm across the equally bulging biceps in front. “Cut him hard and all the way to the bone-I felt my blade scrape it-but no deeper than that. I’ve seen plenty of men die in battle and duels and brawls from arm cuts. That big bleeder’s on the inside of the arm, right next to the bone. I don’t think my blade could’ve touched it.”

“Well, well,” I said, “why does this fail to surprise me? Keep this to yourself, Ariston.”

“Whatever you say, Senator.”

“Why didn’t you draw armor and a better helmet? The men will take you for one of the sailors.”

He smiled crookedly. “Wear a bronze shell that’ll drag me straight to the waiting arms of Poseidon if I go overboard? Not buggering likely. If I have to swim for it, I want nothing on me I can’t get rid of before I hit the water.”

“At least a decent shield then,” I suggested.

“This is the best combination for a deck fight: a little shield and a dagger or short sword. Anything bigger just gets in the way.”

“You’ll want a bigger shield when we come under arrow fire,” I insisted, nettled by his confident expertise.

“Don’t you know how to avoid arrows in a fight?” he grinned. “How?”

“Just get behind someone else.”

I gave up. “You’re the pirate.” This made me remember why I’d hired him. “How do they fight when they take a ship?”

“I wouldn’t call it fighting. More like a sheep killing. But just in case, they’re ready for one. Tangling with a fighting crew like this, they’d start with a few arrows-not many good archers among them-then javelins when the ships are in range.”