John Roberts - The Princess and the Pirates

“A bit of inquiry at the marketplace today reveals that all the frank-incense shipped over the sea comes through Egypt, where it is a royal monopoly. The princess of Egypt is a guest of the lamented Governor Silvanus. The First Eunuch of the court of King Ptolemy is a new arrival here, along with a delegation of Alexandrian merchants, some of whom may be aggrieved. I think you can understand why these things rouse my hunting-dog instincts.”

“This is a most intriguing philosophical concept,” she said seriously. “Were it not for the personal affront to myself, I should find it enthralling.”

“I think, Senator,” Photinus said frostily, “that you should confine your inquiries to the Alexandrian merchants. I shall be most happy to furnish introductions.”

“Excellent idea,” I said. “How soon can you get them together?” “It had better be soon,” he said. “Since the governor is dead, some of them are already making preparations to return to Alexandria.”

“They’ll do nothing of the sort until I am satisfied that none of them are involved. Call them together this evening after dinner.”

“No one conducts business after dinner,” he protested, scandalized. “As you have said, time grows short.”

Since the house was in mourning, I dined in my quarters. This was a relief because I needed time to myself. I had a great deal of information and experience through which to sort. In some investigations, the challenge is to find a likely suspect. In this one, it was to narrow down a field that was all too wide. I suffered from an over-abundance of suspicion. I had possible murderers vying with one another like so many charioteers in the Circus.

My two major suspects so far were Gabinius and Cleopatra. Gabinius was an exile, an ambitious general like too many Romans of his generation, desperate to get back to Rome and into the game of supreme power once more. True, he and Silvanus had been most friendly, but friendship is a notoriously elastic concept among politicians. He was here with a pack of thugs and was far too eager to seize control of affairs in Cyprus. A firm handling of the situation here might well raise his credit in Rome and speed his recall. And where was Silvanus’s deputy anyway?

Cleopatra had ample reason to hate Rome. Rome had restored her father to his throne, but at a humiliating price. Rome had taken Cyprus from Egypt and driven her apparently beloved uncle to suicide. There was the fact that she had been the guest of Silvanus, but she came of a family that was sometimes capable but never scrupulous. In any case they had long since adopted the Egyptian practice of royal deification, pretending to be living gods. Maybe she thought she could square things with the other gods later. And there was that business of the frankincense, whatever that implied.

But I did not want to suspect Cleopatra. I did not want this to turn into a major confrontation between Egypt and Rome. Our relations were tortured enough as it was and had been for centuries. Besides, I liked Cleopatra. She was an utterly unique woman, young though she was, and impossible to dislike unless she so desired it. Recognizing my own prejudice in her favor, I determined to be doubly suspicious of her.

And there were lesser suspects as well. The banker Sergius Nobilior and his salacious wife were playing a game of their own. The ever-elusive pirates might well have had cause to eliminate Silvanus. They always needed ports in which to dispose of their illegally gained cargoes and friendly officials to look the other way while they were doing it. Silvanus might well have indulged in such corrupt practices. Roman governors of that day were a venal lot. Despite what the First Citizen claims, they haven’t improved much since either.

Photinus came for me personally, after allowing me a decent time to digest.

“Senator, since this house is in mourning, the party would prefer not to meet here. The high priest of the Temple of Poseidon has consented to let us meet in the temple.” Once again he was all friendly courtesy. It is a courtier’s special skill.

I could not blame them for not wanting to meet in a house of mourning. It is a well-known bringer of bad luck. And people often meet in temples. Even the Senate sometimes meets in the Temple of Jupiter or that of Bellona. It is commonly believed that people are less likely to lie in a temple, and it means you don’t have to make a special trip if an oath must be sworn. Nevertheless, I put on my military belt with its sword and dagger. I had no special reason to fear treachery, but it would do no harm to remind these people of who I was. Hermes, as always in this place, was armed to the teeth.

We walked across the plaza before the mansion to the dignified old temple. The interior had been illuminated with lamps and folding chairs brought so we could all sit comfortably. To my surprise there were only four men waiting for us, and they seemed not to have brought any attendants. They all looked very different, but each wore the toga of a Roman citizen.

“I am Senator Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger,” I announced as I stepped within the sacred precincts. “I bear a commission from the Senate and People of Rome to stamp out piracy in these waters and am, at present, investigating the circumstances surrounding the death of Governor Silvanus.” I looked them over. “I had expected a larger group. Are all here?”

“Each of these gentlemen,” said Photinus, “represents a syndicate of Roman merchants dwelling in Alexandria. If I may introduce them-”

“Please do so,” I said. “Citizens, I apologize for the abruptness of this summons, but my duties press me on all sides, and I have little time for niceties.” All quite true and neatly sidestepping the awkward question of whether I had any authority at all.

“First,” the eunuch twittered, “Marcus Junius Brutus of the Honorable Company of Wine Merchants.” This was a bald-headed old fellow, clearly of a distant, plebeian branch of that famous patrician family.

“Next, Mamercus Sulpicius Naso of the Sacred Brotherhood of Hermes, grain exporters.” This one was fat and oily and clearly another provincial. In Rome only the Aemilii used the praenomen Mamercus. I would watch this one closely. Any grain shipper is a speculator, always hoping for a shortage to jack up prices. They are dealers in other people’s hunger.

“This is Decimus Antonius of the Guild of Hephaestus, importers of metals of all sorts save gold and silver.” This one actually looked like one of the Roman Antonii. At least he had the distinctive features of that clan. That Roman political family was full of madmen and criminals though, but this one looked sane enough.

“And, finally, Malachi Josephides, leader of the Textile Syndicate.” The man was tall and distinguished, his graying hair and beard groomed in the Greek fashion. I had met his like in Alexandria-what are called Hellenized Jews, meaning Jews who have adopted Greek culture in all things except religion. Even his name was rendered in Greek. Yet he wore a toga.

“How do you happen to be a citizen, Josephides?”

I asked. He smiled. “I was born in Massilia, where my family has resided for several generations. My father was the first to have the privilege of citizenship.” A Jew from a Greek colony in Gaul with Roman citizenship; beat that for cosmopolitanism if you can.

“Gentlemen, be seated,” I said. “We have been keeping the circumstances of Silvanus’s death quiet for the moment, but you should know he was murdered. It was not done openly, and we are at a loss to know the killer’s motive. I wish you to acquaint me with the business disputes and concerns you came here to discuss with him.”

“You think, Senator,” said Antonius, “that our problems are somehow connected to this murder?”