John Roberts - The Princess and the Pirates

“What was it you said about my family’s homicidal habits?”

“There are far easier ways to kill a man,” I noted. “Stifling him with frankincense must have some sort of significance. Is there a large amount of it in the house?”

“The steward tells me there is some kept in the family shrine for the household gods,” Gabinius answered. “There is never more than about half a pound of it on hand. I looked and there is about that much still there. Silvanus has at least a pound jammed down his throat. The killers brought it with them.”

“Who was the last to see him alive?” I asked.

“After dinner he dismissed his slaves and went to bed it seems.”

“And who were his guests?” A wealthy and important Roman almost never dines alone. Failure to entertain nightly means a reputation for miserliness, which is death to a political career.

“Most were those Roman businessmen from Alexandria,” he said with distaste. “A despicable lot of moneygrubbers if you ask me.” He had the true aristocrat’s distaste for people who earned their own money instead of stealing or inheriting it. Gabinius had stolen and inherited quite a bit of it in his time. All quite respectably, of course. There is no shame attached to plundering the conquered and squeezing treasure out of desperate allies. His conviction for extortion and subsequent exile was just political bad luck not lasting dishonor.

“Were you here last night?”

“Eh?” he asked angrily, “what’s that?”

“I merely want to establish who was present,” I said.

“As a matter of fact I was at my house outside the town. When the murder was discovered, Doson locked the doors and sent a messenger to fetch me.”

I ran a hand over my face, deep in thought. This was a complication I surely did not need. Pirates were a nuisance; this could be a disaster. “We need to assess the state of anti-Roman sentiment on the island. If this was done by a disgruntled pro-Ptolemy faction, we could be looking at the start of a war.”

“I hope you do not imply that I was involved in this sordid business!” Cleopatra said hotly.

“Just now I can dismiss no one from suspicion. This is a matter of utmost seriousness.”

“I will conduct the relevant investigation,” Gabinius said. “There is no need for this to distract you from your duties.”

“But there is,” I said. “I was his guest.”

There was little he could say by way of objection. Hospitality is more than mutual entertainment; it involves sacred obligations. I was eating his food and sleeping beneath his roof. And ancient, ritual law decrees that if a host is slain, it is the duty of his guest to avenge him. Silvanus was a man I had not known well and did not particularly like, but that is of no significance to religious law. Failure to seek out his killers and bring them to justice could draw the wrath of the gods, and I was not about to risk that.

For a while I examined the bedchamber but found nothing of significance. There was little evidence of struggle other than a slight disarray of the bedclothes. I assumed that Silvanus must have been asleep when the killers struck, allowing them to pinion him securely before he had a chance to resist.

“When will you make the announcement of his death?” Cleopatra asked.

“I see little point in concealing it any longer now that we have been informed,” I said. “Aulus Gabinius, why don’t you go ahead and inform the city council and post notice of Silvanus’s demise? For now there’s no need to say that he was murdered. This isn’t Rome, and we don’t owe these people a rigorous legal accounting. They may as well have the impression that he died of natural causes or misadventure. If anyone challenges that, it will be evidence of a conspiracy.”

He nodded. “It makes sense. With all that stuff cleared out of his mouth, he’ll look presentable enough for his funeral, except for the color of his face. How shall we say he met his end?”

I shrugged. “People drop dead all the time, and nobody can say why. But you might as well simply say he choked to death. It’s not an uncommon cause of death. I’ve known men of great distinction and accomplishment who have choked on peach pits or chicken bones. It will account for his blackened face.”

“I shall do it then,” he agreed.

“How many of the household know for certain that he was murdered?” Cleopatra asked.

Gabinius thought for a moment. “Doson, Androcles the steward, and the slave who discovered him; and she’s spoken to no one but Doson, he’s assured me. My own men, and I’ve instructed them to keep silent about it. For the rest, they just know the master’s dead.”

“Let’s see how long we can keep it that way,” I advised. When will you notify Rome?”

“It’s too late for a ship to sail today. I’ll compose a letter to the Senate this evening and dispatch it to Rome at first light. I can’t detach any of your ships, and Caesar’s stripped the naval base as you learned. I’ll hire a ship to row hard to Tarsus. There is a naval base there, and the commander is a friend of mine, Lentulus Scaevola. He’ll detach a fast cutter to take the letter to Brundisium or Tarentum. A rider can carry the letter to the house of Cicero in Rome, and Cicero can present it to the Senate.”

I thought about it for a moment. “I probably can’t get word there any faster. Are you and Cicero on good terms these days?”

“Excellent. He’ll call a special meeting of the Senate for this.” He was all but grinning, and I could see the wheels turning in his head. Cleopatra looked from one of us to the other, clearly mystified.

“Let’s do it that way then.” Finished with my examination of the area around the bed, I straightened. “And now, if you don’t mind, the princess and I are overdue for dinner and some rest.”

“Go ahead. I’ll see to things here. Doson!” He bellowed the name, but the majordomo had been waiting just outside the bedchamber door. He hurried in. “General Gabinius?”

“You may release the household staff, but none of them are to leave the house or talk to anyone outside until I say so. They are to attend to their late master’s guests as always. Begin preparations for a funeral and tell everyone to mourn quietly. They can wail as loud as they like at the funeral.”

The majordomo bowed. “It shall be as you say, General.” We left and repaired to the garden. Slaves appeared and efficiently set about making us comfortable and getting us fed. Despite swollen eyes and tear tracks, they didn’t appear especially grief stricken, merely anxious in the usual fashion of slaves when the master is dead and their future uncertain.

“Is this the way you Romans always do things?” Cleopatra asked. “I find it difficult to believe that a serving Roman official is deferring to a mere exile! Why did you not take charge and arrange affairs to your own liking?”

I took a sip of the excellent wine and selected a seedcake. “Rome is a republic, not a monarchy,” I reminded her. “I am not a viceroy, and Gabinius is not a powerless nobody, like someone your father would exile, stripping him of lands, wealth, and influence. Rome is governed by great families whose leading members hold the consulships and praetorships. Their supporters comprise Romans of all levels. There are the bulk of the senators, who are men who have held the lesser offices; the class of equites, who have money and property but who don’t go into politics, like our friend Sergius Nobilior the banker; and the great bulk of the citizenry, who vote in the Plebeian Assembly. There is also the Centuriate Assembly and the Tribunician Committee, but these days real power lies in the Senate and the Plebeian Assembly.”

I dipped the seedcake in honey. “Politics consists of a constant rearrangement of support and power blocs, as each of the great families seeks to place as many of its own members and supporters in high public office as it can. Yesterday’s deadly enemy becomes today’s staunch ally. An exile voted by an indignant Senate may be rescinded by a friendly tribune passing a law in the Plebeian Assembly.”