John Roberts - The Princess and the Pirates

“Is the naptha for making fireballs?” I asked.

“Right. That’s what these are for.” He walked past the huge jars to a wooden bin, reached in and pulled out something that looked like a wad of hair the size of a man’s head. “This is tight-packed tow, specially made in Egypt, where they grow all the flax. It’s already had a light soaking in pitch. Just before you row into a fight, you soak it in naptha, put it in the catapult basket, touch it with a torch, then let fly. It really blazes in the air, a very pretty sight. Hit your ship right, and you can set it ablaze from stem to stern.” He dropped the thing back in the bin, which held several thousand of them.

“You’re fully supplied with these,” I observed, “and with naptha, to judge by the smell. Why didn’t Gabinius or one of the others take all this?”

He grinned. “Lots of skippers won’t have the stuff on their ships,” he said. “Scared of it. They’d rather fight it out hand-to-hand than risk setting their own ships on fire.”

I walked along the rows of huge jars. “They got most of the pitch, I see.” I paused among the jars of red and black paint, all of them full. “But they didn’t take the paint. Why is that?”

“For all I know, Caesar wanted to paint ‘em green or yellow. They took what they wanted and left me what they didn’t. What I’ve got is at your disposal, Senator.”

I walked out into the fresh air. “Well, it’s not much, but you’ve done well to keep what you have. Generals with imperial ambitions are like locusts. They devour everything in their path. My crews are skimpy. I’ll need to hire experienced men for this job. Have the generals swept up all of them as well?”

“Sailors we have plenty of, Senator. If you like, I’ll pass the word and we can hold interviews right here. If you’ll allow me to advise you, I’ll know which are the real sailormen and which are idlers.”

“That will be most helpful. I would like to begin tomorrow.” “You don’t waste time.”

“While we’ve been talking, a ship has been plundered or a coastal village attacked. I intend to put a stop to it.”

“They’ll be here at sunup, Senator.”

“I’ll be here a good deal after sunup,” I told him, “but a little waiting won’t hurt them.” I took a look around, noted a long, low stone shed near the water, and pointed to it. “I take it that is the slave barracks. You should have a staff of more than a hundred public slaves. Where are they?”

“Take a guess.”

“They went along with the fleet.”

“Needed for maintenance and general labor, I was told. I’m supposed to get them back when the ships are returned. I’m not wagering my savings on it.”

“I’ll find skilled carpenters and at least one good smith in the city and send them here to build us some catapults. Can you direct them in the manufacture?”

“Easily. Get us some seasoned hardwood and the best cordage you can find. Weak rope is no good for ballistas.”

I took my leave of him and turned my steps toward the waterfront. It was lunchtime, and I found a small tavern with tables in front beneath a grape arbor. Seated and starting on my first cup of wine, I said, “I can tell you’re bursting to say something, Hermes. What is it?”

“No rations,” he began, “no wine, no oil, not a single sack of dates or wheel of cheese. He hid arms and supplies, why not that? I’ll tell you why: he sold it! As soon as Pompey’s men were gone, every bite and sip of those provisions were in the market here and he’s been getting drunk on the proceeds ever since. He’s a rogue, and you shouldn’t trust him.”

“In all probability you are right,” I told him. “But when generals and proconsuls act like thieves, why should we expect a low-level functionary to act any better? And he kept back something. It takes courage to keep something from the likes of Gabinius.”

“If those storehouses had been completely empty, he’d have lost his job,” Hermes groused, “so he had to keep something in them. Besides, he’s a Greek.”

“What else are we going to find in these waters? Until something better comes along, I’ll put up with him, and don’t you give him any of your insolence either-even if he is a Greek.”

For a while I admired the sight of ships entering and leaving the harbor, which afforded a fine spectacle. The usual practice was to sail right up to the breakwater, then lower sails and run out the oars. The procedure was reversed when leaving. Unlike warships, which unvaryingly carried a single mast bearing a single, rectangular sail, merchant vessels often had two or even three masts and multiple sail plans. Where Roman warships were usually painted red and black, these were painted in a rainbow of colors, with fanciful bow and sternposts, the banners of many merchant companies and the protective devices of numerous gods.

“Look at that!” Hermes said. He pointed to where a sleek little vessel was raising its sail even though it was still within the harbor. It took me a moment to see what had surprised him so. The sail was bordered with purple. Not the cheap off-crimson tint that sometimes passes for purple, but the genuine Tyrian. It was an immense extravagance.

“That has to be Cleopatra’s yacht,” I said. “She must be aboard, drilling her crew. I fear that I’ll regret allowing her to come along.” I pondered the sight for a while. “She must have risen in her father’s affections if he’s allowed her a purple-bordered sail.”

“I hear he’s executed two of her sisters,” Hermes said. “Maybe he values the children he has left all the more.”

For the next hour, while we ate, Cleopatra’s yacht maneuvered around the harbor, under sail and under oars, rehearsing all the actions of a naval battle and no doubt terrifying all the merchant skippers, some of whom almost suffered ramming. But the little ship was expertly rowed, its oars polished to such whiteness that they resembled ivory, flashing like wings as it darted about, nimble as a dragonfly.

“She’s going to take some restraining when we sight real pirates,” Hermes observed.

“All too true,” I agreed. “In war there’s nothing as dangerous as an enthusiastic amateur.”

After lunch I called on the harbor master, a busy official named Orchus.

“How may I be of sendee, Senator?” His clothing was rich, his beard neatly curled and dressed with scented oil, an Oriental affectation coming into esteem in the eastern parts of the Greek world.

“From now on,” I told him, “I want you to question the master of every incoming ship about acts of piracy in these waters: locations, dates, description of what goods or persons were stolen, and so forth. Have your secretary write up a daily report and deliver it to me at the house of Silvanus.”

“It will be my pleasure to carry out your instructions,” he said, “but I cannot vouch for the accuracy of the reports.”

“You think the skippers would lie about this?”

“And why not? If a merchant captain is offered a cargo of fine wine at one third its market value, he will accept it and is not likely to speculate about its origin. On the contrary, he will sacrifice to Hermes in gratitude for this stroke of luck and will pray to encounter more of the same.” Hermes is the god of thieves.

“But don’t these merchants find it to be in their interest that Rome should scour pirates from the sea? Do the pirates not regard all shipping as prey?”

“Not always. They make certain not to alienate everyone. After all, they must sell their plunder somewhere.”

“What about the captives? Surely they can report the sacking of their own towns.”

“Here on Cyprus we do not deal in slaves. Almost all such are taken to the great market on Delos-if, that is, they cannot raise a ransom.”