John Roberts - The Princess and the Pirates

The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. He might have come back to fetch it because he was feeling safe, having beached and humiliated me. Toy navy, indeed!

Gabinius, clearly, was building a stake to finance another grab at supreme power and providing himself with the nucleus of a naval force while he was about it. While Silvanus was alive, he could provide them all with the protection they needed as well. That thought drew me up short. That being the case, why was Silvanus dead? Well, doubtless all would be made clear in time. I just needed more facts.

It has always been my habit, when investigating, to gather all the facts I could, to have them at my disposal when time came for the trial. It was this little mania of mine that made me such a curiosity to my contemporaries, most of whom never let facts get in their way. In Rome the traditional way to sue a fellow citizen was to haul him before a praetor’s court and loudly accuse him of every criminal depravity you could think of, leaving him to prove himself innocent. This he usually did by bringing in as many high-placed friends as he could to swear what a fine, upright, honest fellow he was. The prosecutor would reply by bringing forth “witnesses” who would swear before all the gods that they had personally seen the accused performing every perversion from incest to bestiality. In the end, each would vie to outbribe the jury.

Even Cicero, who was more scrupulous than most, indulged in this sort of buffoonery. I have already mentioned his scurrilous characterization of Gabinius. At an earlier date, he had attacked a senator named Vatinius for wearing a black toga, calling it a degenerate insult to the revered Senate, where white togas are the rule except when in mourning. Later, when Cicero defended Vatinius in a lawsuit, he blandly proclaimed that the black toga was a pious austerity demanded by Vatinius’s Pythagorean beliefs.

It was all great fun and wonderful public entertainment, but I could never see that it led to anything resembling justice.

There was also the little problem that this was not Rome. Had it been, I could have at least made my accusations, backed and protected by my family’s many clients. Before his exile, I could even have called on Milo’s gang as bodyguards. Here, on Cyprus, I was not in a position of strength, despite my military status. I had sailors and marines of doubtful loyalty. Gabinius had his veterans, and he might have far more of them than I had seen thus far. And there were the pirates. I had a feeling that they were seldom very far from Cyprus. For all I knew they hid their ships in some nearby cove, and the taverns of the city might be full of them.

No, this was not yet the time to throw half-baked charges in Gabinius’s craggy face.

These ponderings lasted much of the morning. They also called for a bit more of that watered wine to help them along. Before I knew it, it was time for lunch. I repaired to a dockside place with a fine view of the harbor, where I laid in a substantial meal. Despite the crowding of the place brought about by the upcoming festival, I leaned back in my bench, resting my back against the whitewashed wall, intending only to meditate for a while, and soon was contentedly asleep. Well, it had been a long night.

I was awakened by a loud clamor. Somewhere, great trumpets were sounding. A great shouting came from the direction of the waterfront, and the tavern’s patrons had sprung to their feet. I shook my head, lurched to my own feet, and pushed my way to the front. All eyes were directed out to sea. Beyond the harbor mole the water seemed to be covered with sails. There were ships out there, many of them. And they were huge.

“Neptune preserve us,” I said, “we’re under attack!” Surely there weren’t that many pirates. And why such enormous ships?

A man standing next to me laughed at my expression. “Calm yourself, friend. No enemy in sight. It’s the Roman grain fleet, bound for Alexandria.”

Embarrassed and relieved at the same time, I walked down to the waterfront to enjoy the spectacle. Now I saw that the ships had multiple masts and triangular topsails like merchantmen. But these grain ships were far larger than the usual cargo vessels, with five or six times their capacity. They were the biggest of all seagoing vessels, exceeded in size only by the Ptolemies’ monster river barges.

In Italy the annual grain fleet had an almost religious significance. From the time it sailed to the day of its return, there was a collective holding of breath. Impressive as they were, the ships could all be lost in a single storm. If that happened, there could be hungry times ahead, so dependent had we become on Egyptian grain. When the returning fleet came safely to harbor, beacon fires were lighted the whole length of the Italian peninsula, and there was celebration in every town. Even if the Italian crop should fail, nobody would starve. When Pompey was given a five-year oversight of the grain supply, with a free hand to root out corruption and inefficiency, he was given the greatest trust the Roman people could bestow, as prestigious as any military command.

It took much of the afternoon for the ships to lower their sails and make their way to anchorage under oars. While they were doing this I returned to the naval base, washed up, shaved, dressed in my best clothes, and assembled a group of my most handsomely equipped marines to act as an honor guard. With Hermes likewise turned out in his best, hovering attentively behind me, I returned to the main wharf of the commercial harbor.

I was just in time. The flagship of the fleet, a truly immense vessel painted white and trimmed with gilding, an arching swan’s neck at her stern and a towering spray of carved acanthus leaves at her bow, was inching up to the stone pier. The city dignitaries were out in force to greet the arriving officials, and they made way for me and my gleaming escort. I got there just as a gangplank big as a trireme’s corvus, complete with a protective railing of gilded chains supported by fish-tailed Cupids holding toy tridents, was lowered to the pavement.

First down was the senatorial official in charge of the fleet, a quaestor named Valgus. I had been a quaestor myself, once, in Rome. In Rome a quaestor held the lowest elected office, was little more than a glorified clerk, and was accorded little respect by the citizenry. Outside Rome, a quaestor was regarded with almost the same awe as a promagistrate. Then came some senators bound for the Alexandrian Embassy, some of whom I knew. Then there were the distinguished passengers.

“Decius!” Julia waved like an excited girl from the ship’s rail. Then she was on the gangplank, restraining herself to a formal, patrician descent. Then she stood before me, embraced me chastely, and gave me a peck on the cheek.

I patted her bottom. “You can do better than that.”

She dug an elbow into my ribs. “Of course, but not here in front of respectable people.” She caught my men grinning between the cheek-plates of their helmets. The grins disappeared beneath her glare. “Somebody else you know came with us.”

Then I caught sight of the big form stalking down the plank. “Titus!” I whooped. Milo bounded the last few steps to the wharf and grabbed my hand in both of his. His palms were still as hard as wood.

“You see, Decius, I brought your lady safely to Cyprus, fighting sailors and senators away from her the whole voyage. You look better than when I saw you last. Sea air must agree with you.”

“I was wasting away in Rome. It’s too peaceful there now, and you’re missing nothing. I need you here, though, and desperately. Just the sight of you raises my spirits.” In truth I was somewhat shocked at Milo’s appearance. His hair had gone completely gray, and his once godlike face was deeply lined and almost haggard. I had to remind myself that he was near my age, for he looked far older. His limbs seemed to be as powerful and his gait as lionlike as ever, but he was gaunt, as if all the surplus flesh had been burned from him. Well, there was gray in my hair as well.