John Roberts - The Princess and the Pirates

“Do we sail out again tomorrow?” Cleopatra asked.

“If we have word of another raid.”

“Then we will just get there too late again,” she pointed out. “The next raid or two should establish a pattern,” I told her. “Once I have a pattern nailed down, I may be able to anticipate where they will strike next. In the meantime the men are far from perfectly drilled, and these outings will improve their performance.”

“But what if there is no pattern?” she asked. “What if they attack on whim or just cruise about at random until they spot some likely, undefended place?”

“If these were ordinary sea robbers that would be a consideration,” I admitted. “But their leader seems to be a Roman of military experience, and I think his mind will work in a more orderly fashion. He knows the business procedures of the islands and coastal ports, and I believe his raiding will be conducted with an eye toward maximizing his profits. With enough information about his activities, I should be able to anticipate his actions.”

“You are depending heavily on these stories of the man’s Roman origins,” she said. “Suppose they prove to be wrong? It is easy enough to take a Roman name and allow others to make up stories about you.”

“Even so,” I said, “he is no brainless criminal following the pirate’s trade for lack of a better. If he is not a Roman, I’ll wager he has served with the Roman forces in the East. I understand Gabinius enrolled quite a large number of foreigners into the army he took to Egypt to set your father back on his throne.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “it contained only a core of Roman soldiers. The rest were every sort of Greek and Syrian. Then there were Cappadocians, Judeans, Lycians, Dardanians, and so forth. It was like the roll of the ships at Troy. There were even some Gauls and Germans. Those were the first Germans I ever saw.”

“Why didn’t you ask them if they sang?”

She smiled. “My father would never let me go near those soldiers. He considers only the Macedonian household guard fit to stand near a princess.”

“Many of these soldiers stayed behind in Egypt, did they not?” I inquired.

“Many of them did,” she said. “People grumbled about a Roman occupation, but they were just mercenaries. They took their oath to my father and are no longer part of any Roman army.”

“Are there Romans among them though?”

“A few. But they are time-served veterans, not deserters or part of a Roman force. Their services are theirs to sell. Why are you so curious?”

“I am just trying to gain a clear idea of the military situation in these parts. In the West it is simple. There are the Roman legions and not much else except for our enemies. Here it is complicated. I am told that among these mercenaries are a number of the pirates resettled inland by Pompey.”

Cleopatra shrugged. “If so, I am sure that it was all done quite legally. After all, it was a Roman general who arranged matters.”

“So it was.”

“Senator,” Alpheus put in, “if you have no alarms to distract you in the morning, would you allow me to show you the Temple of Aphrodite? It is well worth the visit, and I have a feeling that, once your pursuit of Spurius begins in earnest, you will have very little time to devote to the finer things.”

“That sounds like a splendid idea,” I said. “Ion insists that those lazy sailors need some rest. If duty doesn’t call, I will be more than happy to accept.” The truth was, I felt the need of some rest myself. The wine was working on me, making the urgency of pirate-chasing seem more and more remote as the evening wore on. I looked around. “Where is our host? Off carousing with Gabinius again?”

“He is conferring with a delegation from Alexandria,” Cleopatra said. “They arrived today with Photinus.”

“Would General Achillas be among them?” I asked. I had been at swords’ points with that martial gentleman during my stay in Alexandria. The thought of meeting with him on Roman territory was not without a certain charm.

“Oh, no!” Photinus said. “If it were an Egyptian delegation, I would be with them right now. No, these are Roman citizens resident in Alexandria who have anxieties concerning their property in Egypt and here on Cyprus.”

“The duties of a Roman governor are tedious,” I said, gazing about the beautiful garden, “but they have their compensations.”

“Our host has done well for himself, I suppose.” Photinus sniffed. He and Cleopatra lived amidst luxury that made the mansion of Silvanus seem little more than a hovel.

The next morning Alpheus accompanied me to the naval docks, where I learned that there was no word of new depredations. I ordered my skippers to keep the men in or near the barracks, ready to board and sail instantly. In the arsenal I checked on the progress made on the catapults and ballistas, which were coming along nicely. Then I went with Alpheus to visit the Temple of Aphrodite.

“The temple,” Alpheus explained, as we drew near the complex of sacred buildings, “is one of the most ancient in the Greek-speaking parts of the world. Even if the tale of the goddess’s arrival here and personal founding of the temple is untrue, it is far older than any Temple of Aphrodite on the mainland. It was built by people who still respected human scale.”

Human scale was something of an exaggeration. It looked more like a temple built for Pygmies, no larger than a common farmhouse, constructed of large, ragged blocks of local stone and roofed with the inevitable red tile. The pillars of its portico were clearly stone replacements for wooden ones hewn from single logs.

Oddly, I found this pleasing. I have always preferred the very ancient, small Italian temples to the grandiose structures we have built in recent generations. The proportions of this temple were exquisite, and its setting was as charming as one could ask: a garden of ancient and lovingly tended trees in which bees hummed and birds sang as they had for who could tell how many centuries. Smoke from the morning sacrifice rose from the altar, and the scent of pure frankincense perfumed the air.

“The Ptolemies and the other successors of Alexander,” I noted, “were in the habit of building colossal temples and enlarging the ones already in their domains. Have you ever been to Sicily?”

“I confess I’ve never been that far west,” he said, “although I have heard of its temples.”

“They built temples for giants. In fact there is one that has caryatids in the form of Atlas-like Titans. The Temple of Ephesian Diana is immense and, of course, the Serapeum in Alexandria is tremendous. The kings of Cyprus have never been poor. Why is their most famous temple so humble?”

“The priestesses have never allowed the temple to be enlarged. They say that the goddess founded it this way, and this is what she wanted. The kings have found other ways to embellish it. This garden, for instance, is entirely man-made. Early kings built great retaining walls and hauled in earth for the plantings. But the temple itself, and the image of the goddess, are as they have been since the days of legend.”

I could find no fault with this, having seen too many bloated temples erected to the glory of the rich and powerful rather than in reverence to a god.

White-robed priestesses were everywhere, speaking with the numerous visitors. Most of the latter had come to Cyprus to attend the Aphrodisia. As usual, many of the more prominent visitors brought gifts for the temple. To my astonishment there was a familiar face among the priestesses.

“Flavia!”

The woman turned and smiled. She had been speaking with some prosperous-looking people in Roman dress. She took leave of them and came to join us.