John Roberts - The Princess and the Pirates

“What occasion are we celebrating?” I asked, waving an arm to indicate the many statues, which were draped with garlands.

“Just dinner,” Silvanus said.

“I can’t wait to see what the real banquets are like around here.” The first course was served. It was the traditional hard-boiled eggs, but these were from a vast variety of birds, lightly tinted in different colors and sprinkled with rare spices. The courses that followed were far more lavish as to ingredients, with items such as peacock brains, flamingo tongues, camel toes, honeyed ibex ears, and so forth, prized for their exotic origins rather than their savor. Others were both more substantial and delicious: Danube sturgeon, brought to the island in freshwater tanks; roast gazelle from Judea; and Egyptian geese baked in pastry stand out in my memory. All of this was served with numerous wines, each chosen to complement the course being served. Soon the wreaths and garlands were being put to the test.

“Commodore,” Alpheus said, using my semiofficial title, “when do you propose to begin your pirate hunting?”

“Immediately,” I said, then thought it over. “Actually, I need to receive word of their next depredation. That will give me a starting point and a locale to investigate. I also intend to recruit a few ex-pirates for their expertise.”

“A wise move,” Gabinius affirmed. “You may wish to begin by examining your own crew. If they’re like other naval crews of my experience, half of them will have been pirates at one time or another.”

“I suspect so, but none will admit it. They all claim they were part of Pompey’s pirate-conquering navy, even the ones who were infants at the time.”

“I recommend a tavern called Andromeda,” Alpheus said. “The wine is passable, and the company is the lowest imaginable. If ever there was a pirate hangout, that is the one. I’m there most nights.” Alpheus definitely sounded like my sort of man.

“I’ll give it a try as soon as possible,” I said.

“I’ll go along with you,” Cleopatra said. “Respectable ladies do not frequent such places!” cried banker Nobilior, scandalized.

“I’m not respectable,” Cleopatra told him, “I’m royal. Royalty do not have to observe these tedious little social rules. We are above them.”

Gabinius chuckled. “Still, Princess, those places can be very dangerous. I advise against it.” Silvanus nodded agreement.

“Nonsense,” she said, with her dazzling smile. “Should the valiant Metellus and the brilliant Alpheus prove insufficient protection, I have my personal bodyguard.” She gestured toward the door, where a young man lounged against the wall, arms folded, one sandaled foot propped against the wall behind him. He had Sicilian features and was dressed much like Hermes, in a brief leather tunic with matching wrist straps and hair band and girded with weapons. He looked half asleep, but so does a viper just before it strikes.

He looked rather familiar, then it came back to me. “Apollodorus, isn’t it?”

The youth nodded. “Your Honor has an excellent memory.” “You were watching little Cleopatra’s back when I saw her in Alexandria a few years ago.”

“All that politician’s training is good for something, eh, Metellus?” Gabinius said. “Caesar can call every man in his legions by name, and they say Crassus could not only put a name to every voter in Rome but could name the fellow’s parents as well.”

“In the Greek nations,” Alpheus said, “we memorize poetry rather than names. I can’t name one man in ten in my own city, but I can name every man slain by Achilles and where he came from.”

This raised a good laugh, which shows how drunk we were all getting. When the eating was over and the serious drinking started, the ladies took their leave. I noted that Hermes and Apollodorus faced one another truculently, each taking the other’s measure.

“There’s a likely pair of fighting cocks,” Gabinius said. “Who do you think would win?” It was an inevitable speculation. We were, after all, Romans.

“Cleopatra’s boy was trained in the ludus of Ampliatus in Capua,” Silvanus said. “Yours, Decius?”

“The ludus of Statilius Taurus in Rome. I’ve paid extra for the best trainers: Draco of the Samnite School, Spiculus of the Thracians, Amnorix of the Galli.”

“You don’t suppose-” Silvanus began.

“No,” I said firmly. “I won’t let Hermes fight professionally. It’s not that he’d object, but that it’s exactly what he’d like, and I’ve other uses for him. And I’m certain Cleopatra would never allow it.”

“Just a friendly bout,” Silvanus persisted, “a little boxing or wrestling, perhaps a match with wooden swords. No worse than a few broken bones, surely.”

“Look at those two,” said Gabinius. “It would be death for one of them if it came to blows between them.” He was right. Their faces were studiedly indifferent, but if the two had had fur, it would have been standing up. It is the nature of aggressive, superbly trained young men to challenge one another and test themselves.

Silvanus sighed. “Too bad. It would be a fight worth seeing.”

Then Alpheus diverted us with some extremely scabrous songs by the more disreputable Greek poets. Included among these was the poet Aristides. When a Parthian general found a volume of Aristides among the effects of an officer slain at Carrhae, he used it as proof of the depravity of the Romans. If some barbarian should ever go through my war chest, the reputation of Rome may never recover.

I don’t remember much about the rest of the evening, which may be taken for the mark of a really successful party.

I rose rather late the next day. After a substantial breakfast, bath, and rubdown I was almost ready to face direct sunlight. A little fresh air in the garden finished the job, and by a little past noon I was ready for anything-ready for a cautious walk through the town, at any rate. With Hermes at my back I descended the principal street. My destination was the naval docks, but where the street emerged onto level ground there was a charming market, laid out in the artlessly casual yet orderly fashion you only see in Greek colonial cities.

It was arranged in an irregular quadrangle, surrounded by tile-roofed stoas supported by gleaming white pillars, their rear walls decorated with beautiful paintings of historical and mythological subjects. In the shade of the stoas, small merchants offered their wares while farmers sold produce beneath colorful canopies scattered about the square.

In the center of the square stood a wonderful marble statue of Aphrodite in the act of tying up her sandal. The white marble was so perfectly polished that it seemed transparent. Save for the hair, which was gilded, the statue was not tinted in the usual fashion; and I found this to be an improvement. Painting of statues is too often overdone, and the effect is garish. The people of Paphos, at least, had excellent taste.

“May I interest you in a fine gown for your lady, Senator?” The voice belonged to a little, white-bearded fellow who looked Greek except for his pointed Phoenician cap. “These are of the finest silk, brought by camels all the long way from the land of the Seres, said to be produced in the mountain fastnesses of that land by giant spiders fed upon human flesh.”

“I’ve heard it’s made by worms,” I said, feeling the weave of a Greek-style peplos. It was as smooth as water. Silk was still something of a rarity in Rome.

He shrugged. “There are many stories. Nobody has ever seen the land of the Seres. What is undoubted is that it is the finest fabric on earth: stronger than a ship’s sail, light as a breath, so comfortable that a lady can go decently gowned from neck to toes and feel that she’s naked. They find this most stimulating.”