John Roberts - The Princess and the Pirates

“This is what comes of allowing the scum and riffraff of the streets to participate in politics,” grumbled Father, who had helped and protected a number of such men himself when it suited him politically. After all, somebody has to do the dirty work for aristocrats who cannot afford to soil their own hands.

“Where is my base of operations to be?” I asked.

“Cyprus,” said Creticus. “Consult with Cato. He can brief you on the place. He spent better than a year sorting out their political mess.”

“Who is in charge there now?” I asked.

“One Aulus Silvanus,” Creticus said.

“Silvanus? Isn’t he one of Gabinius’s cronies?” At one time Gabinius had been a rival to Caesar and Pompey for military glory, but his promising career had come to little, and he’d been tried for extortion shortly before this time. Despite a spirited defense by Cicero, he’d been found guilty and exiled. When Cicero couldn’t get you off, you had to be as guilty as Oedipus.

“He is, and report has Gabinius living in comfortable retirement on Cyprus,” Scipio affirmed.

“It sounds cozy. When do I depart?”

“As soon as the proper senatorial documents can be drawn up. The Tribunician vote will follow automatically so you needn’t wait for that.” Father was as abrupt as usual.

“Very well,” I said, sourly. “I’ll begin making arrangements.”

As I walked back through the city, my mood was moderately elevated. This appointment did not displease me nearly as much as I pretended. Like most Romans I abhorred the very thought of sea duty, but this was one of the rare occasions when I was looking forward to getting away from Rome.

My aedileship had won me great popularity, but it had been incredibly burdensome and expensive. I was heavily in debt and would be for years if I didn’t do something about it. Caesar had offered to cover all my debts, but I would not be indebted to him. He had covered a portion of them, ostensibly as a gift to his niece, Julia, but in reality because I had extricated him from some difficulties, so we were even there. I owed him no political favors. A quick, profitable campaign against these pirates might just solve all my fiscal problems, if I could avoid drowning or death in battle in the course of it.

And I was tired of Rome. The place was quiet for the first time in years. With the death of Clodius and the exile of Milo, the powerful gangs that had enjoyed aristocratic support were leaderless. During his near-dictatorial sole consulship Pompey had scourged the City of its disorderly elements, setting up courts of savage disposition. The thugs quickly heeded the attractions of faraway places or took refuge in the gladiatorial schools from which most of them had come in the first place. The ones too slow to take the hint found themselves testing their pugnacity unarmed against lions, bears, and bulls in the Games.

Almost for the first time in my memory, Romans walked the streets in safety and nobody went armed. People went about their business in an orderly fashion, obeyed the rulings of the curule aediles, and were even polite to one another. Foreign merchants arrived in unprecedented numbers, knowing their lives and goods would be safe.

For years I had complained of the disorder of the City, and now that it was gone, I found that I missed it. All the peace and quiet seemed unnatural. I did not expect it to last. My fellow citizens were, after all, Romans; and we have always been an unruly, obstreperous lot. Forget the pretty myths about Aeneas and the brothers Romulus and Remus. The sober fact is that Rome was founded by outcasts and bandits from a dozen Latin tribes, with a few Etruscans, Sabines, and Oscans thrown in for good measure if the names of some of our older families are anything to go by. Our power and fortunes have waxed mightily, but time has done little to improve our disposition.

Getting across the City was a slow process for me because I was extremely popular and had to stop and exchange greetings from citizens every few steps. Romans felt no awe toward their ruling classes in those days, and some of the more old-fashioned sort were liable to run up and plant a big, garlicky kiss on your face if they were especially fond of you. This was a major failure of the well-known Roman gravitas.

I was pleased to note that the last signs of the rioting that had followed the funeral of Clodius were gone. The fires had been extensive, and the whole City was smudged and stank of soot for months afterward. Rome wasn’t to see its like again until Antonius delivered his famous rabble-rouser over the corpse of Caesar many years later. Roman funerals were livelier than most peoples.

My mind was occupied with the usual problems that came with a foreign posting: what to take, what business to settle, how to break the news to my wife, that sort of thing. She should be happy enough about this, I thought hopefully. I wasn’t going to a province at war, so I could take her along. Cyprus was reputed to be a beautiful place. It had, until recently, been home to a royal court, so she would find company congenial to her patrician station. Surely Julia would be happy with this posting.

Julia was not happy.

“Cyprus?” she cried, with a mixture of incredulity, scorn, and disgust. “After all you’ve done, they’ve sent you chasing pirates in Cyprus? They owe you better than that!”

“An ex-aedile is owed nothing at all. Technically, the office isn’t even on the cursus honorum. ”

She made an eloquent gesture of dismissal. “That old political fiction! Everyone knows the aedileship makes or breaks a political career. Yours should have earned you a dictatorship! Cyprus! It’s an insult!”

We were so alone in the triclinium you’d never have guessed that the house was packed with slaves, hers and mine. They knew to keep their distance when she was in one of these moods. She was a Julian and a Caesar, and at times like this it showed.

“If you can’t stand immediately for praetor, you ought to return to Gaul. It’s there that reputations are to be made.”

“Caesar’s officers tend to get killed for the sake of Caesar’s reputation,” I pointed out.

“Caesar likes you. He would make you a legatus. ”

“The Senate has to approve legati, not that Caesar cares much about Senate approval these days. And it would make me an enemy of Labienus, which I don’t need. He’s an unforgiving man.”

“Labienus is nothing. Caesar is a far greater man, and soon he will be the only man who counts for anything. You should be with him.”

I didn’t like the way this conversation was going. “In Cyprus,” I said, “there’s an opportunity to accumulate some real wealth.”

“That would be nice for a change,” she admitted. “We could clear off all our debts.” Her brow unfurrowed as the advantages began to sink in. Like all her family she was intensely political, but the charms of solvency made a powerful lure. “And Cyprus does have a famed social life.”

“And with this service behind me, with a tidy treasure to boot, I’ll stand for praetor next elections, You’ll be a praetor’s wife for a year, then I’ll be posted to a really valuable province like Sicily or Africa. Wouldn’t you like that?” Plus I’d be staying out of the legions. But I didn’t say that. She would have thought it unworthy of a Roman official.

“Well, if it’s unavoidable.” Then she turned to the practicalities. “How are we to arrange travel? I’ll need to take my personal servants, no more than five or six, and my wardrobe, and-” this went on for some time.

“I’ll take a fast Liburnian as soon as I can,” I told her. “That means I’ll have such luggage as I can wrap up in a spare toga and sleep on deck. I’ll take Hermes.”