10

We had a fair wind for the voyage back, so most of the sailors got a little rest after the arduous labor of repairing the hulls, then dragging the ships back into the water and reloading them. I had little to occupy my mind except for my problems and my predicament.

Gabinius was my enemy, that much was clear. I had allowed myself to be distracted by the exotic image of a Roman pirate chief, trying to invent a character and a past to explain him, when in all probability he was just one of Gabinius’s old soldiers and still obeying the commands of that failed, scheming general.

But that must mean that it was Gabinius who had Silvanus killed. Something was wrong there. I have seen false friendship in plenty. Everyone has. I would have sworn that there was genuine affection between those two otherwise unlikable men. Of course, even family affection counts for little where great wealth and power are concerned, as witness Cleopatra and her family. And a sense of betrayal can turn love to hatred in an instant.

There remained that business of the frankincense. Most likely, I thought, it was just another piece of irrelevant nonsense thrown in to confuse the investigation.

I half expected to see laughing, jeering crowds lining the wharfs, ready to pelt us with rotten fruit and offal as we skulked in, cowed and humiliated. Nothing of the sort. In fact nobody paid us much attention at all. We had become a familiar sight, and it looked as if word of the trick that had been played upon us had not spread.

I amended that thought. That “trick” had been no lighthearted prank. The sabotage of our hulls might have cost all our lives, had we been farther from shore when we discovered it. Or had we been opposite sheer cliffs instead of a shelving beach. Or had we caught up with the pirates and in the middle of a sea fight when our ships went down beneath our feet. No, it was no minor jest that had been played upon us.

The question was: What to do about it?

When the ships were secured, I assembled the men on the pavement before naval headquarters, where they had taken their oath of service.

“Our situation has changed,” I announced. “From now on every man bunks here at the naval base. That includes me. Any man who needs to go into the town must get permission from his skipper and must on no account be away for more than two hours. Anyone who leaves must return by nightfall, and no one leaves after dark. We now know that we have enemies in the town.” Their looks darkened. “I have complete faith in you men,” I continued, “and I know that there has been no treachery among us. For one thing, no man is such a fool as to go to sea aboard a ship he knows will sink.

“We have taken on a task and we will complete it. Those pirates are laughing at us now. You will have the opportunity to laugh at them when they hang on crosses. I want no loose talk. The time to boast is after we have conquered. In the meantime nobody needs to know what we are thinking or doing. We are through with play and with half measures. We now commence serious operations. Be ready.”

They heard me out in silence, and I detected no insolence in their manner. That suited me well enough. The ability to inspire men has never been my gift. Caesar and Pompey were the masters of that art, and it has always been a mystery to me.

I sent Hermes and a couple of sailors to the house of Silvanus to get our gear, which didn’t amount to all that much. I was not afraid to go myself. Gabinius would not try an open attack. He had done that once and failed on the night I had reeled back from the waterfront tavern with Cleopatra and Alpheus. It had been an uncommonly clumsy attempt for a crafty old campaigner like Gabinius, but he had not expected very stiff resistance, and he had not dared to use his own men. He had not counted on the presence of Ariston, who had eliminated three of the attackers. And, of course, he had made sure that neither of the men who left the fight alive survived to talk about who had hired them.

The more I thought about it, the more comfortable I became with the idea of Gabinius as my enemy. It was in the long tradition of war between members of the senatorial class, an extension of our everyday activities in the Forum and in the streets of Rome. Gabinius had a private game to play here on Cyprus and I was interfering, so he had to eliminate me. I had been sent to get rid of the pirates, so I needed evidence to put before the Senate tying Gabinius to their plunderings. It should not prove difficult now that I knew what to look for.

He must have an agent, a go-between to do his will while keeping his hands clean. It would have to be someone well-placed, accustomed to moving large sums without arousing suspicion. Nobilior? He was a banker and a Roman, but he had as much as told me that Gabinius was behind all the problems on Cyprus, in Egypt, and in the East generally. Cyprus was a commercial crossroads and full of merchants, financiers, speculators, and others who would fit Gabinius’s needs perfectly.

I told Cleopatra of my new arrangements.

“I can make quarters for you on my ship,” she offered. “You will be much more comfortable there than in these austere barracks.”

“All too tempting,” I said. “But I must beg off. It might be bad for morale if I insist that my men live here while I enjoy palatial accommodations. All the most successful generals make a point of sharing the same hardships as their men during a campaign. Caesar’s tent is little more capacious than those of his men, and half the time he keeps the army marching days ahead of their supply train anyway. Then he sleeps on the ground wrapped in his cloak just like any common trooper.”

“Really?” She seemed enthralled. “You must tell me more about Caesar.”

That is what it was like in those days. All anybody wanted to hear about was Caesar.

Hermes returned with our gear. “All’s quiet at the mansion. The funeral’s done, so the loud mourning is over. They’re packing up, waiting for word from Rome as to what’s to be done next.”

“What is the feel of the place?” I asked him.

He shrugged. “The way it usually is when the master’s dead and nobody knows who is going to take over. It’s an anxious time for slaves. They may go right on taking care of another house, or they might be handed over to a cruel master, or they could be parceled off and sold who knows where. Working in a big, rich house with a fairly easygoing master is about as good as a slave’s life gets, so they’re not expecting any improvement.”

“Was Gabinius there?”

“I saw no sign of him or his men.”

“He has an estate somewhere outside the town. Find out where it is.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Just do it. You never know when information like that may be of use. The messengers should know, or anyone who makes deliveries.”

“I know how to find out. I just hope you’re not planning anything reckless.”

“Don’t concern yourself with my plans. You’ll know soon enough.” He walked away grumbling. I cursed myself for being so short with him. For one thing, it meant that I was letting my feelings show, and that can be deadly. Emotion has no business intruding on politics and revenge. But my pride had been hurt, and I was angry as I had been few times in my life. What was it Cleopatra had said? The only emotion a king could fittingly display in public was great rage. It was the same for a senator on the cursus honorum. This insult would have to be repaid at a high rate of interest.


Hermes returned that afternoon with his report. “Market gossip is all about the Aphrodisia. It’s the big event of the year for the people here. It’s getting crowded in town, by the way. People are arriving by the shipload from the other islands and from the mainland. All the inns and taverns are full. People are renting out rooms in their own houses. You could probably make some money by renting out space here in the naval station. It’s mostly empty.”

“I don’t doubt Harmodias has been doing exactly that every year. What about Gabinius’s house?”

“It’s about a mile south of town on the coastal road. It’s built near the beach and has its own little wharf.”

“That’s convenient.”

He sighed. “What are you planning?”

“Tonight we are going to pay the illustrious general a little visit. We’ll go by water. That way nobody will see us leave through one of the city gates.”

“Just you and me?”

“We’ll take Ariston. He’s a good man in a tight spot, and besides, he can row, which neither of us can. Go find him and send him here. Then get some sleep. We may have a long night ahead of us.” He sighed again as he went to do my bidding. He knew better than to argue. Sometimes he acted more like my caretaker than my slave, but I suppose he had to look after his own well-being. After all, where would he find another master as sweet tempered and reasonable as I?


An hour after sundown, we got into the skiff. The three of us wore dark tunics, and Hermes and I wore soft-soled sandals. Ariston, as usual, was barefoot. He had also covered his startling, blond hair with a scarf. He set to the oars in near silence, having already expertly muffled the tholes with scraps of cloth. We crossed the naval harbor and slid among the ships in the commercial basin as silently as an eel gliding along the surface. As we passed Cleopatra’s yacht I saw lights burning in her little cabin. On deck, her crew went about their tasks as silently as we.

Not for the first time, I wished I could trust the princess, but I knew all too well how foolish it would be to do so. In so many ways she seemed like a civilized human being: cultured, staggeringly well educated, high-born, and charming beyond all common understanding of the term.

She was also an alien, an Orientalized pseudo-Greek, and the royal progeny of centuries of incest. On top of that she was a willful child and, should she become queen, might well remain a willful child all her life. Such people are supremely dangerous. They are mercurial, self-centered, and usually lack a conscience, as the rest of us understand such things. No doubt she believed herself to be something of a goddess. Even if she was my staunch ally and supporter at the moment, she could easily change her allegiance the next day, should the mood take her.

Once past the harbor mole, Ariston began rowing hard, pulling us southward with long, powerful strokes. The moon was nearly full, and I remembered that the Aphrodisia would commence upon the full moon. Curious, I thought, that Aphrodite’s festival would be governed by the moon, which is the realm of Diana, or rather Artemis, since we were in Greek territory. But then, Aphrodite was a sea-goddess here. Perhaps, in the days of the world’s youth, the gods and goddesses were not so strictured in their aspects as they have become since men began raising temples to them.

“Should be near here somewhere,” Ariston said in a low voice, after he had rowed for the better part of an hour. I scanned the shoreline for the wharf. Even as I looked, I saw a flame making its way from the beach out onto the water. It was someone bearing a torch, and it looked as if he was walking along a jetty. At the end of the structure, the flame began waving back and forth. Behind and above this vision, a line of perhaps ten more torches appeared, spaced evenly to illuminate what had to be a path or stairway leading from the wharf to the bluff above, where I judged the general’s house to be.

“Now what-” I barely got the words out before Hermes gripped my shoulder.

“A ship!” he said, in an urgent whisper. Immediately, Ariston shipped his oars and turned to look.

“You have better eyes than mine,” I said. “Where?” But then I heard it: the steady, two-note piping of a hortator setting time for ship rowers. A low, shadowy form slid across our line of sight perhaps half a bow-shot ahead of us. I could just hear the low call of the poleman in the bow calling out the depth.

“A penteconter,” Ariston reported, this being a ship with only a single bank of oars, much favored for raiding and smuggling. It has a limited cargo capacity but needs only half the crew of a Liburnian.

“Think they’ve seen us?” I asked him.

“Doubt it. Approaching shore like that, in the dark, all eyes are straight ahead.”

“But they’ve got a light to bear on,” Hermes said. “Doesn’t that tell them they’re on course?”

“They’ll take no chances,” he replied. “Ships get nightbound on the water sometimes, and people ashore light false beacons to lure them onto the rocks so they can take the cargo. Coast guards will do the same thing to lure smugglers in. They’ll feel for rocks and keep their hands on their swords until they’re safely tied up and sure of whom they’re dealing with.”

“Ariston,” I said, when they were past us, “bring us to shore just to the north of that wharf. I want to work my way close to them. Can you beach us without being heard or seen?”

“Depends on how alert they are.” I saw the flash of his teeth in a quick grin, then he had the oars out and was turning us, pulling for shore. The noise of the muffled oars seemed loud to me, but doubtless could not have been heard ten paces away.

When we nudged the shore, Ariston sprang out and held the prow steady against the light surf. “We’ll have to pick it up and carry it onto shore,” he said. “They’ll hear if we drag it.” So Hermes and I took off our sandals and climbed out to either side. The boat was much heavier than it looked, and I felt the strain from my belly to my chest as we heaved it onto the gravelly beach.

“What now?” Hermes asked, as we sat to put our footwear back on. “We weren’t expecting a visiting ship.”

“We weren’t expecting anything,” I reminded him. “We came out here to see what was to be seen, and this is it. If, as I suspect, these are his pirate friends calling on him, this may be all I need to put an end to Gabinius and his schemes.”

“You’ll just walk in and arrest him?”

“Let me worry about that. Ariston, wait here with the boat. If we’re running when we return, start dragging it to the water as soon as you see us.”

“If you say so, Captain.” He seemed disappointed to be missing out on the fun.

Hermes and I set off. After our nighttime scouting expeditions in the Gallic forests, approaching the wharf was child’s play. We moved quietly, but the sound of the sea covered any noise we might have made. The surf of the sea is feeble compared to the roaring waves of the ocean beyond the Pillars of Hercules, but it makes sufficient sound to mask lesser noises.

By the time we reached it, the ship was secured to the wharf. I could see by the light of the moon that it was riding high, so it was not here to discharge cargo. Even as I had this thought, I saw a line of men making their way up the torch-lined path. At its top I could now see an imposing house upon the bluff, its white marble making it seem to glow.

I could make out a mutter of voices and wanted mightily to be able to hear what they were saying. The only way to do that was to get closer.

Sizable shrubs grew almost down to the water, meaning that this area was goat-free. That suited my purposes to perfection, allowing us to work our way nearer until we were almost beneath the wharf. At the spot where I was able to get the nearest, its walkway was just above the level of my head. Men were now returning from the house, laden with what appeared to be weighty bags on their shoulders.

“This will make for an easier voyage back,” said a rumbling voice. “She’s been wallowing from being so lightly laden.” The language was Latin and the accent was Roman, or very nearly so. There are subtle nuances by which you can tell the speech of a City man from one raised elsewhere. He sounded like a man of the better class, but from one of the nearby towns, not Rome itself. The accent was familiar, but I could not place it.

I couldn’t quite distinguish the man who was speaking, but I could make out two who stood close together not far from me, keeping clear of the men carrying burdens. They were well away from the illumination of the torches, and the light cast by the moon was not strong enough to make out details of feature or dress. I tried to work my way to a position where I might be able to see both of them to best advantage.

“This must be the last cargo for a while.” That voice was unmistakable: Gabinius. “Things are too volatile here. We’ll have to desist for a while.”

The other chuckled. “You mean that fool and his play navy?”

“That and other things. I’ve warned you. I won’t warn you again.”

“Your business isn’t just with me,” said the other, “and you know it.” Now I could see the two silhouetted against the moon and stars. The outline of Gabinius was as unmistakable as his voice. I thought at first that the other wore a cowl drawn over his head, then I realized it was his long hair falling below his shoulders: Spurius.

“Nonetheless, our business is concluded until I say otherwise. I’m giving you a letter to deliver along with your cargo. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll vacate these waters for a season or two. I hear the shores of the Euxine are a good prospect for a man of courage and enterprise.”

“I’ll determine my own destination,” Spurius said. “Besides, I’ve a notion to attend the festival. It is famed all over the world, and here I am, so handy to Paphos. It would be a shame to miss it.”

“Then your blood is on your own head. You’ll end up on the cross soon if you don’t clear out.”

“You know that isn’t going to happen.” I could hear the smile in his voice. But what was he referring to? Crucifixion or his departure for fairer waters?

“But,” Spurius went on, “I think it’s time for me to be out of this business anyway. Perhaps this should be my last voyage for you.”

There was a pause, then, “That might be best,” Gabinius said. At that point the two began to walk toward the house. I yearned to follow them, but there were too many men about, and there were more torches alight. I could see that some of them were held by Gabinius’s bullyboys, who wore armor and weapons. There was precious little trust on display that night.

I tapped Hermes on the shoulder, and we began to work our way carefully back into the bushes, then along the beach. There was so much more I wanted to know, but I had already pressed my luck as far as it would go. I have been a gambler all my life, but it is only money that you lose at the races.

Ariston loomed out of the night like an underworld demon sprung from a hole in the ground. “Are any of them after you?”

“If they are, they’re quieter than I am. Where is the boat?” Now that I had determined to leave, I wanted to be away quickly, as if this was the most dangerous phase of the operation. Stealthy activities often affect me that way.

“You’re almost standing on it. Help me carry it, and we’ll be away.” He had disguised it with brush, anticipating an all-night wait. We cleared away the boughs, picked it up once more, and carried it down to the water. Getting it back into the water proved to be more difficult than taking it out had been, perhaps because the waves, though small, were now trying to force us in the opposite direction. The result was an unavoidable splashing and scraping among the stones of the beach. I expected an alarm to be raised at any moment, but with strenuous effort we were soon afloat again.

When Ariston had rowed us some distance from the shore, I told him to stop. We rested for a moment, listening hard. Torches lined the wharf and the path to the house, so the pirates were still loading their ship. Whatever they had come for, there was a lot of it.

“Were you ever on any errands like this?” I asked the ex-pirate.

“It sounds like smuggling. I always felt that was beneath a pirate, but, as I’ve told you, these are a pretty sorry lot.”

“What would Gabinius be smuggling?” Hermes asked.

“Good question,” I said. “Come on, let’s get back to the base. Ariston, do you think we can get back in time to get the ships underway, return here, and bag this lot? We’ll never have another chance like this.”

“Speaking of chances, there isn’t any. They’ll have that ship loaded and away from here long before daylight, else there’s not much point in coming here at night. Even if you two could row, we wouldn’t have the ships crewed and launched and back here before midmorning. We wouldn’t catch a glimpse of their mast going over the horizon.”

“This mission lies under a curse,” I said to no one in particular. I dipped my fingers in the water and touched them to my lips to let Neptune know I wasn’t complaining about him.

Rosy-fingered Dawn was performing her daily act as we pulled up by the naval wharf. Ariston worked his arms and shoulders as we got out of the boat. Being sole rower in a three-man boat had taxed even his strength.

“Rest today,” I told him. “Spurius isn’t likely to strike until he’s delivered whatever he picked up to whomever it goes to.”

“What about me?” Hermes said. “I was up all night.” “You did nothing but ride in a boat. Oh, all right, go ahead and get some sleep. I have work to do.” I watched him trudge off toward his bed and thought I was being too lenient on the boy. At this rate I was going to ruin his character.

The good thing about a city getting ready for a festival is that the food vendors are out early, not wishing their town to be disgraced should a visitor die of hunger. A short walk and a few coins provided me with bread hot from the oven and dipped in honey, some grilled sausages, and heavily watered wine, warmed and spiced.

I found a comfortable bench near the water, shaded by an ivy-draped arbor, and engaged in one of the most profitable of all human activities: I sat and thought. Philosophers can make a living doing this, but I find that even a man of action can sometimes find no better use for his time. So, watching the fishing boats raise their sails and set out for their day’s work, I munched on my breakfast and considered the ramifications of what I had learned.

First, Gabinius and Spurius were deep in it together. No real surprises there. I had suspected Gabinius from the first.

Second, Spurius was definitely a Roman, if not from Rome itself. This may have been the meaning of his “that will never happen” remark. Citizens cannot be crucified. That most degrading of punishments is inflicted only on rebellious slaves and foreigners.

So much for the certainties. There were still many questions left to answer. What, precisely, was the relationship between the two men? I had assumed that Spurius was one of Gabinius’s officers or clients, but the pirate’s manner was not in the least subservient. He spoke as an equal. That, of course, could be bluff and bluster. I have known many soldiers, strong-arm men, and politicians who salved their pride and raised their own credit by putting on a fierce, I-bow-to-no-man front when dealing with their betters. Such men invariably find other, more subtle methods to cringe and toady. That was a definite possibility.

And just what was going on out there at Gabinius’s estate. Smuggling? If so, what? The ever-mysterious frankincense? It seemed bizarre, but so much about this business was baffling that I felt compelled to retain it as a possibility. Another thought struck me: suppose Spurius was stashing his loot on Gabinius’s estate. That might leave him free to continue his depredations in the area without having to repair to some distant island base. He would know it was safe, protected by his patron or partner, as the case might be. This was a definite possibility. I liked it.

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.

He clasped Hermes by the shoulder. “Hermes! Hasn’t this vicious tyrant manumitted you yet? I thought I’d see you in a toga by now.”

“I want to sell him,” I said, “but no one will make an offer. Come along, I’ll show you our quarters.” I hoped he did not catch the look in Hermes’s eyes. Hermes had worshipped Milo since boyhood, and he was as appalled as I but less schooled in hiding it. Julia was not traveling alone, naturally, so I left some men to escort her slaves and baggage to the base when they had it unloaded.

“I am so glad we had such wonderful sailing weather,” Julia said, as we walked toward the base. “I was afraid we wouldn’t be here in time for the Aphrodisia. This is perfect timing. Have you visited the temple?”

“I have. I’ll take you to see it tomorrow and introduce you to the high priestess lone herself.”

“Wonderful! I so want to-” she paused as she saw the cluster of plain, functional, military buildings ahead of us. “Decius, I thought you would have engaged more suitable lodgings for us. Do you expect me to live among sailors and marines?”

“Actually, my dear, until a few days ago I was living in the governor’s mansion and looking forward to introducing you to its luxuries.”

“Then why are you not living there now?” I knew that tone all too well.

“Actually, my sweet, there has been a bit of a complication. The governor is dead. Murdered, in fact; and since I might well be next, I thought more secure accommodations were in order.”

“Murdered?” Milo said happily. He cared nothing for luxury, but he liked excitement. At least that much had not changed.

“I had hoped this would be a more productive posting,” Julia said. “You are getting too old and dignified for this sort of squabbling among criminals and cutthroats. You are one of Rome’s rising men, in line for the next praetorship election. You should leave investigative duties to your subordinates. What have you been training Hermes for all these years anyway? Give him his freedom and let him go around poking into dangerous places among low company.”

“If you two don’t stop this, the boy is going to start getting ideas.” I knew I was on safer ground though. I had her hooked. Despite her patrician protestations, she loved this sort of thing. She was, after all, a Caesar; and politics played for life-and-death stakes excited her above all things. Most Roman women were utterly shut out from this masculine arena, but I sometimes let her help me with my investigations, another of my little eccentricities.

As we reached higher ground overlooking the harbor, she paused and pointed. “What is that beautiful ship? We passed it coming in to the anchorage.”

“That’s Cleopatra’s yacht. It’s part of my little fleet, actually.”

“Cleopatra? Ptolemy’s youngest daughter? Isn’t she a bit young for a naval command, besides being female?”

“Royalty do things differently, and I desperately needed another ship. But she may have killed the governor, so be careful around her.”

“Decius, why can’t you ever lead a normal life?”

I showed her the austere suite of rooms I had commandeered. In other times they had been used by the Roman naval commander when he was on the island. They were comfortable enough, but the government spent little on amenities for military officers, who were expected to provide for themselves.

“I want to take a look at your ships, Decius,” Milo said, beginning to show the old nervous energy that kept him forever in motion.

“Go ahead,” I told him. “I’ll join you shortly.”

“My lady,” Hermes said, when he was gone, “has Titus Milo been ill?”

“I was wondering the same thing myself,” I said. “How was he acting on the voyage?”

She looked wistful. “I’ve never liked Milo,” she began, “and made no secret of it; but now I almost feel sorry for him. Strife and struggle for power were the breath of life to him, and he almost had the laurels in his grasp when it all came crashing down around him. He rose from nothing, just a common street thug. He would have been consul if it hadn’t been for the murder of Clodius. Now he is an exile. His gang is scattered, and with no family he has no support in the Senate. He was Cicero’s man, and Cicero’s star is fading fast.”

“Surely he can expect to be recalled,” I protested. “When I am praetor, I’ll exert pressure on the tribunes to …”

“There is no chance, Decius,” she said gently. “Your family’s power is fading, too, and you know it. Caesar is to be the new power. When he returns from Gaul, he will be dictator in all but name. And Clodius was Caesar’s man. Caesar will not forgive Milo, not even for you, and Caesar truly likes you. Fausta has left Milo, did you know that?”

“No, but it does not surprise me. Milo in the ascendant was the prize catch of all the men in Rome for Fausta. Milo descending is of no interest to her. She’ll make a play for Caesar next. You might advise Calpurnia to have someone test her food and drink from now on.”

“Fausta is not that ambitious and cold-blooded, but neither is she going to be married to a failure and be exiled from Rome. Not the Dictator’s daughter.”

“You think that is what’s turning him into an old man before his time? It isn’t some inner illness eating him away?”

“For Milo,” she said, “it is the same thing.”

That evening, when Julia and her girls were settled into their quarters and Milo was satisfied with the ships, we had dinner outdoors, enjoying the cool, offshore breeze. Over dinner I told them of everything that had happened so far. Of course, I left out certain small details concerning Flavia. Julia, as always, was most interested in my strange dream. Like most Romans, she loved portents, omens, and dreams. Milo barely bothered to hide his contempt. He had no use for intangible things, although, like all politicians, he was happy to use them for his own purposes. He had been known to hold up debates and votes endlessly by claiming to have seen bad omens.

“We need to commence social activity immediately,” Julia said. “I want to see Cleopatra. She may be a scheming Ptolemy with dynastic ambitions, but she’s little more than a girl and I’ll sound out her intentions.”

“She’s young,” I cautioned, “but she’s no girl. It won’t be easy to match wits with her.”

“Have you forgotten? I am Julius Caesar’s niece. She’s eager to know all about him. I’ll wring her out like a sponge. And I want to meet that banker and his scandalous wife.”

My scalp prickled. Had I let something slip? “Why?”

“This Nobilior is a rich eques, a banker, and was a friend of Silvanus. Corruption always involves money, so he’ll know what the governor was up to, and his wife will know what her husband is up to. She may like to play with sailors when she is away from home, but she is very aware of her social position and will want to better it. She’ll be flattered by the attentions of a patrician lady from the Republic’s oldest family.” Julia could always strip away the dross and get down to the essentials. And she was more than willing to make shameless use of her pedigree.

“Excellent plan,” I said, although with some reservations I did not voice. “We’ll commence the social assault in the morning, as long as I don’t get a pirate alarm and have to sail to Bithynia or some such place.”

“Leave the pirate hunting to me for a few days,” Milo said. “I’ll whip these Greek sluggards into shape. You’ve been too soft on the rowers. I know every malingerer’s trick in their trade. I’ll double the speed they’ve been giving you. They’ve been rowing you like bargemen, not man-o’-war’s men. I’ll pop the whip on those carpenters, too. Your catapults and ballistas should have been finished days ago. They’re dragging out the job because you’re paying them by the day. They’re not laborers; they’re supposed to be craftsmen, paid by the job. I’ll break a few fingers and teach them wisdom.”

“I am not sure the Senate would approve my delegating command to you. To go to sea as my assistant, maybe, but …”

“I am an ex-praetor. My conviction keeps me out of Rome and out of office, but my fitness for military command was never questioned. You’ve been given a free hand out here. Use it.”

“He’s right,” Julia told me. “You have to understand that when the Senate gives you an overseas commission, even a small one like this, you get to define your own powers until they send someone else out with a bigger commission. This paltry business will be over with long before the Senate wakes up from its collective nap and takes notice.”

“Agreed, then?” Milo said.

It was a little disconcerting to have these two gang up on me. Usually they were on opposite sides. “All right.”

“Excellent. While I’m at it, I’m going to wring some answers out of this man Harmodias, the one in charge of the base and its stores.”

“I don’t doubt he’s turned a few sesterces peddling government property while nobody was looking,” I said, “but I’ve never met a low-level official who didn’t. Or a high-level one either, for that matter.”

“Nonetheless, he has a few things to answer for. That damned paint, for instance.”

“What? Unlike the ships, the rations, and almost all the arms and supplies, the paint is the one thing that’s there!

But Milo would say no more on the subject.

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