The Princess and the Pirates

11

We began at the temple of Aphrodite. I had left my little fleet to the fearsome attentions of Titus Milo and well might they tremble. His reputation had spread even to these eastern waters.

Julia wanted to see the temple and told me that all the most important people on the island would be there this near festival time, but I knew that she had another reason for being so anxious to attend. The Caesars were a famously infertile family, bearing few children, most of whom died at birth or in infancy. The children who lived were mostly girls. Years later it was for this reason that, needing an heir, Caesar was reduced to adopting his sister’s grandson.

Julia had yet to conceive, and this worried her endlessly. I had long since assured her that I would never divorce her on grounds of infertility. There were far too many Metelli as it was, and men of my class adopted sons more readily than they bred them. Nonetheless, she felt that her failure to conceive diminished her. Patrician women had a nasty habit of snobbing each other over the number and health of their children. Julia hoped that attending the annual ritual of Aphrodite would bestow fertility upon her. My dream vision had reinforced this hope.

The resident and visiting notables were out in force, as were the expected local peddlers, beggars, and idlers, most of the latter offering themselves as guides. Having already had the tour, I was able to show her everything myself.

“It is a rather strange statue,” she said, when she got a look at the cult image.

“At least this way,” I told her, “you don’t have hawkers constantly trying to sell you miniature copies of it, the way they do at every other famed temple site of my experience.”

“I suppose. But it is very moving nonetheless.” We emerged from the dim interior, and I took her to see the golden nets. In the garden I pointed out lone, who was speaking with a group of very well-dressed people.

“Oh, what a lovely woman!” She all but clapped her hands with delight. “Come and introduce me.” The little crowd parted for her, as crowds always seemed to do before members of her family. She made a grave bow before lone, and the priestess took her hand.

“I see the senator’s wife has arrived.” I made introductions and the rest of the group, sensing that lone wished to give a private interview, drew off a little way.

“I am deeply honored,” Julia said. “I aspire to become a priestess of Venus in time.”

“But surely you hold that position already. Is there not a family connection?”

“Our family is devoted to the aspect of Venus named Genetrix. The priestesses of Venus Genetrix are patrician, and they must have at least one living child.” She paused. “It is concerning this that I wished to speak with you.”

Ione smiled, still holding Julia’s hand. “Come with me, my dear.” She led her farther into the garden, and they were soon all but invisible beneath the shade of the beautiful trees.

“Do you realize,” said a voice next to me, “that you and your wife are receiving more personal attention from the high priestess than visiting kings and queens? There are several here, you know.”

“Good day, Flavia.” She was dressed as before in her priestess’s gown and blonde wig. “I suppose we must just be interesting people, nothing more. And Romans are the new power here. The authorities of temples are generally careful to stay on good terms with the people in power.”

“When Silvanus came here she did no more than greet him. She has shunned Gabinius entirely. When Cato was administrator, she avoided him despite the fine gifts he brought. And Cato is a genuinely pious man.”

“He is that. He is also one of the most unpleasant, insufferable men in existence. I, on the other hand, am intensely likeable; and Julia, besides her many other charms, bears that magic name.”

“I heard she arrived yesterday with the grain fleet. I also heard that the famous Titus Milo was on the same ship.”

“Your sources of information are impeccable as usual. Titus is one of my oldest friends. He’s come here to assist me in my naval duties.”

“Really? I hope this means he is returning to Rome’s good graces. It was so unjust to banish him just for killing an evil wretch like Clodius.”

“Actually, Titus didn’t kill him. There was a brawl between their supporters, and Clodius just sort of, well-he ended up dead.” This was not something I wished to discuss. “But I am confident Milo will be back in the thick of it soon. I will personally agitate for his recall. I’ll be standing for next year’s praetorship you know.”

“So I understand. My husband has quite a large clientele, and he always takes them up to Rome for the elections. Who are you supporting for the quaestorships? We always want to have an agreeable grain quaestor at Ostia.” Now we were back on a sound, familiar footing: the old game of votes and favors. Here we were, on a foreign island pursuing vastly differing purposes, and we were dickering over the next elections. That is how it was back when we had a genuine republic.

In time Julia returned, her face glowing. Whatever lone had told her, it agreed with Julia.

“My dear, this is Flavia, wife of Sergius Nobilior of Ostia and a priestess of Venus assisting here at the temple. Flavia, my wife, Julia Minor, daughter of Lucius Julius Caesar, granddaughter of Caius Julius Caesar, and so on back to Aeneas.”

Julia beamed. “I am so glad to meet you, Flavia. Pay no attention to my husband’s sarcasm. He has no gift for it. But he has told me so much about you.”

“He has?” Flavia was nonplussed but covered it well. “We’ve been so looking forward to your arrival.”

“I wish I could invite you to our house, but my husband has us living in a barracks, if you can believe that. I simply can’t have people of quality in to visit.”

“Nonsense! You’ve just arrived, and we’ve been here for ages. You must have dinner with us this evening. I know that Sergius has already invited the archon of Paphos, and a visiting Ethiopian prince, whose name I can’t pronounce. Cleopatra will be there, too, if she doesn’t have to go off chasing pirates with your husband.”

“Oh, it would be so unfair to ask you to have us over at the last minute like this. I am sure your couches are already full.”

“Not at all! If they are, we will just bring in more couches! This isn’t Rome after all.”

“Then we will be delighted.”

“Wonderful!” Flavia fairly glowed. Julia was right. This shameless female reprobate was flattered at attention from a patrician. She turned to me. “Senator, please ask your friend Milo to come as well. Having the three of you in my house will make me the envy of Paphos.” Such are the demands of social life in the provinces. As for Milo, I felt no apprehension about introducing him to the voracious Flavia. He was a match for anything save the massed hostility of the Senate.

“Now,” Julia said, as we walked back toward the center of the town, “we must hire a litter to take us to their house this evening, if there’s one to be had in this town.”

“There won’t be one for hire, not with every snob in the eastern sea come to visit. I’ll talk to Doson, Silvanus’s majordomo. He’ll lend us one for a small bribe. The household staff have nothing much to do now anyway.”

“Good idea. Then you must take me to see Cleopatra.”

“Yes, dear.” I was not being timidly compliant. It was just that Julia, besides being single-minded, was fearsomely competent at this sort of operation.

Our litter-arranging mission accomplished, we found Cleopatra aboard her ship. In fact her golden boat was waiting for us at the dock. “She stationed a slave to ambush us as soon as we came in sight,” Julia commented. “Wasn’t that thoughtful of her?” She seated herself amid the colorful, scented cushions. I remained standing, trying to project the image of the salty naval commander, and actually managed to retain my feet all the way to the spectacular ship.

“Julia!” Cleopatra cried, as my wife was lifted aboard expertly by a team of solicitous slaves. “How wonderful to see you again!” Julia tried to bow, but Cleopatra swept her up in a sisterly embrace.

“Princess, you overwhelm me. You can scarcely remember me. You were just a little girl, and my husband was a mere assistant to the Roman envoy.” I was a bit nettled, but Julia always knew how to do the proper thing in situations like this. I clambered up the ladder after her and held my tongue.

“I remember you wonderfully well, don’t speak nonsense. You and your friend Fausta were the first Roman ladies I ever met, and you made a profound impression on me.”

I’ll bet Fausta did, I thought. I said nothing. She seated us at a table on the fantail beneath a striped canopy, fanned by slaves equipped with palm-fiber fans. These are far more efficient than the beautiful but ineffective ostrich-feather fans affected so much by those who wish to ape Oriental standards of luxury.

“You flatter me, Princess.” I noted that Julia was ever so slightly deferential. She was Roman aristocracy, but Cleopatra was Greek-Egyptian royalty.

“Not the least. I’ve lived most of my life among the royal and noble ladies of my part of the world. Most are as silent, cowed, and ignorant as peasant women, only far sillier. Roman ladies are so much more intelligent and assertive. I long to visit Rome and be introduced to your society. I will feel that at last I am among equals.” The woman’s grasp of flattery was phenomenal.

“I would ask you to stay with us while you are in Rome,” Julia told her sadly, “but our house is far too humble. My father’s house is far finer, but you really must stay in my uncle’s house. When he is in Rome he lives in the great Domus Publica. It is actually owned by the State, but as Pontifex Maximus it is his for life and he always puts it at the disposal of visiting dignitaries and royalty.”

“Ah, yes. The great Julius Caesar is your uncle, is he not? You really must tell me all about him. The whole world is fascinated by Caesar.” There went the hook.

I gave half an ear to their talk while a wonderful lunch was set before us. As I munched on the delicacies, I looked out to the open sea past the harbor mole. Out there, Milo was drilling my crews. He had them rowing in dashes, and once I could have sworn I saw a ship leap clear of the water under oar power, like a fish chased by a shark. And I thought Vd had them rowing well.

As always, when seeing such a thing, I wondered how one man can inspire such obedience while another, I for instance, could not. How did a long-haired dwarf like Alexander get men to follow him all the way to India? How did Hannibal, scion of a nation of merchants, weld a polyglot horde of Gauls, Spaniards, Africans, and others, all armed differently and none of them knowing a word of Punic, into an army that consistently defeated larger Roman forces? And how did he keep them together and fighting for twenty years without a whiff of mutiny? How did Caesar do what he was doing, which I had seen firsthand and still was at a loss to describe? I could never put a finger on it. But Titus Milo, in his own way, was a man as unique as Caesar, and men did his bidding almost joyously, breaking their backs and hearts for him. He was one of those men who could inspire fear and love at the same time.

Whatever it was, I was not going to argue with it. Just having Milo there with me was an enormous relief. It meant that I could leave the naval duties to one of the few people in the world I trusted utterly. It meant I could devote my attention to finding out who had murdered Silvanus. And I was certain that that, in turn, would tell me who was profiting from this little upsurge of piracy in the East.

The litter was a bit larger than the ones common in Rome. This was because most Roman streets were so narrow that comfortably wide conveyances were impracticable. The litter slaves knew their job and the trip to the house of Nobilior was a pleasant one, though slowed by the throngs in the streets. Julia and I had taken an afternoon nap after Cleopatra’s reception and were now ready for an evening of entertainment and intrigue.

Julia had sounded Cleopatra out about Flavia, whom the princess had described as “a dreadful woman but great fun.” She had also learned a great deal about Cleopatra’s mission on Cyprus. It turned out that Ptolemy had narrowly survived an attempted coup, was conducting a ruthless purge of his guards and nobles, and wanted his beloved daughter to be well out of it.

“I commiserated with her about Berenice,” Julia said, meaning Cleopatra’s ill-fated older sister. “I truly liked her, silly woman though she was. Do you know what Cleopatra said? ‘The duties of royalty are terrible.’ She insisted that her father grieved for the daughter he had to execute as deeply as she did herself. I suppose it must be true.”

“Ah, well,” I said, “we always have old Brutus. He ordered the execution of his own sons for the good of the State. Inconsolable afterward, so they say.”

We climbed from the litter, and the carrying slaves squatted beside it patiently. I had no fear that they would sneak off and get drunk because I had not come alone. Having been attacked once and knowing that I had a superfluity of local enemies, I had brought along twenty of my marines as an escort. I had left Hermes to keep an eye on the naval station. I wanted no more acts of sabotage, and I didn’t trust my men as fully as I pretended.

“Senator! Julia! Welcome to our house!” Flavia was turned out in her usual Coan gown, expensive cosmetics, and several pounds of gold, pearls, and jewels. Crowning her was a blonde wig dressed in a towering basketwork of interwoven locks, threaded through with strings of seed pearls and powdered with gold dust. She peered past us. “Was your friend Milo not able to come?”

“He’ll be along presently,” I assured her. “He had some affairs to attend to at the naval base and sends his apologies for his lateness.”

“Oh, wonderful! Now you must come along and meet our other guests.” She seized Julia’s arm and spirited her away, leaving me to follow them onto a broad terrace overlooking the sea. In the center of the terrace was a pool, now drained, where Cretan dancers performed. All around it the guests stood and conversed while servers circulated among them. Sergius Nobilior beckoned to me, and I joined him. He stood with two other men, one of them I recognized: Antonius the metal trader. The other was a very tall, thin man dressed in rich, colorful robes. His face was fine featured and very dark, with huge, black eyes. This had to be the Ethiopian prince Flavia had mentioned. Looking around, I saw that Flavia had plunged with her catch into a group of well-dressed ladies, Cleopatra among their number.

“Greetings, Senator,” Nobilior said. “Flavia will be impossible to live with now. She has Julius Caesar’s niece all to herself.”

“Whose niece?” asked the Ethiopian.

“At last,” I said, “someone who has never heard of him. I think I am going to like you.”

“Senator, I believe you have already met my friend Decimus Antonius. This is Prince Legyba of Ethiopia. He is here to attend the festival.”

“You’ve traveled far, Prince,” I said. “I know Homer speaks of the ‘pious Ethiopians,’ but you are the first I have met who travels to honor the gods.”

He flashed a smile full of brilliant teeth. “My people are always curious about the gods and religious practices of other people, but I am actually on a trade mission on behalf of my father the king.” He spoke excellent Greek, but with the strangest accent I had ever heard, an almost musical singsong.

At that moment a tall, mournful-looking man joined us. I recognized him as Nearchus, the archon of Paphos. On Cyprus that meant the head man of the city council. As usual in Hellenistic cities, he was one of the richest landowners.

“Senator,” he said, “while I hate to bring business to a social occasion such as this, might I have a few words with you?”

“By all means,” I said. “My friends, will you give us leave?”

“As long as you’re with us for dinner,” Sergius said. “It will be ready shortly, Nearchus, you’ll be in a better position to wring concessions from him after he’s had a bit to drink.”

We went a little aside to a quiet corner by some large, potted shrubs.

“Senator, our council meetings have come almost to a standstill. With Governor Silvanus dead, it is not at all clear who is the Roman authority on the island. We are stymied. General Gabinius behaves as if the mantle has fallen on him, but he is no more than an exile, although a prestigious one. You would seem to be the ranking Roman official here, but your commission is naval and you have not come forward to take control. What are we to do?”

“I really can’t administer the island,” I told him, “since I may be called away at any time to pursue pirates. Gabinius, however, has no standing. If he tries to give you orders, simply say that you are awaiting word from the Senate. They should have sent out an assistant governor long since, and perhaps they’ll speed up the process now. But on no account should you regard Gabinius as the man in power here. He is a noted plunderer, and you have to be pretty bad to get expelled from Rome for robbing foreigners.” I would not have said this earlier, but seeing Gabinius conferring with Spurius had changed my view of him.

He looked more mournful than ever. “This is most distressing.” I had to sympathize with him. It is always upsetting to see infighting among the conquerors. “I hardly know what to do.”

“Take my advice: just shut down operations and enjoy the festival. If Gabinius prods you further, tell him the goddess forbids official business until the next full moon. That’s how we do things in Rome.”

“I shall take your words to heart. Thank you, Senator.” From his look I had provided him with little comfort, but comfort was not in the commission I had received from the Senate.

At that moment Milo arrived. He had dressed impressively in a fine toga complete with a broad praetor’s stripe to which he was not really entitled, but who was going to argue with him on Cyprus? He immediately became the center of attention, and I was called upon to make introductions. Changed though he was, he was still a tremendously impressive man, diminished only in the eyes of those of us who had known him in the days of his glory. And when he turned on the charm, he was as magnetic as Marcus Antonius on his best day.

I saw Julia, with Flavia clinging to her like a barnacle, talking with the Ethiopian prince. He was pressing some sort of gift on her, with many graceful gestures. Then the majordomo announced dinner. We trooped into the triclinium and flopped down for the first course.

Dinner was a great success. Flavia, it turned out, had cleverly selected dishes that had some connection to Aphrodite. Some came from plants or animals sacred to the goddess; others were mentioned in the legends of her life and exploits. The wines were all from vineyards connected to her most famous temples and shrines.

After dinner we retired once more to the terrace to catch the cool, evening breeze and clear our heads of wine fumes. Julia came to check on me.

“Why you’ve restrained yourself,” she said, finding me sober. “I’m so pleased. I was speaking with that Ethiopian prince before dinner, such an elegant, delightful man, and so exotic! Look, he’s given these to all the ladies here.” From somewhere within her gown she produced a small, plump bag of snowy white cloth, bound with a ribbon. Its sweet scent was familiar.

“Let me see that!” I snatched it from her and tugged at the ribbon.

“Don’t you dare spill any!” She snatched it back. “Let me open it. You’re so clumsy with anything except dice.” She opened the top to reveal a cluster of tear-shaped drops from which a lovely fragrance arose. They were white, almost transparent. “Why, it’s frankincense!”

“Exactly. Governor Silvanus met his end through a surfeit of the common, yellow variety from Arabia Felix. This is the white, Ethiopian frankincense, the purest and finest sort. I’ve become quite an expert on this stuff as you can see. Where is that prince?”

He wasn’t difficult to find, and it was easy to draw him aside, as everyone else was watching a wonderful Syrian magician who could do amazing things with flames, live birds, large serpents, and even more unlikely props.

“Prince,” I said to him, “I am curious about the gift you gave my wife.”

His eyes went wide. “Was this improper? If so I am very sorry and must plead ignorance of your customs.”

“No, no, it was perfectly delightful. But we seldom see white frank-incense in our part of the world. It seems an extremely extravagant gift.”

He gave me that dazzling smile again. “Oh, not at all! We have so much of it this year, since we are not sending it up the coast to Egypt. I thought it would be perfect for small guest gifts. It is easy to carry, and everyone loves it.”

“So they do, so they do. Ah, you said that you are not shipping it to Egypt this year? Might that be because of King Ptolemy’s troubles?”

“Yes, yes.” He smiled and nodded vigorously at the same time.

“Is there trouble between Ethiopia and Egypt?”

“No, no,” now smiling and shaking his head with equal vigor. The sudden changes in direction of those flashing teeth were making me a little dizzy. “No, it was King Ptolemy who asked us to hold back certain things we have always traded directly with the royal house: ivory, feathers, a few other things. And, of course, the frankincense. He said these things would be stolen from him.”

“Stolen? Because of the unrest in his country?”

He looked embarrassed. “Why, please forgive me, Senator, I do not wish to give offense, but he said it was because of you Romans.”

I nodded too, much more slowly and without smiling. “I see.” And indeed I was beginning to see. “Thank you, Prince, both for your gift and for your information.”

“I have not offended?” He seemed genuinely concerned.

“Not at all. And I think that very soon things will be back to normal between ourselves and King Ptolemy and your father’s kingdom.”

This time he really smiled, an ear-to-ear stretch of ivory bright as a bucket of pearls. “Wonderful! My father will be so pleased!”

Flavia, I saw, was now hanging on Milo as eagerly as she had attached herself to Julia. Good luck to her, I thought. No man who had spent years married to Fausta had anything to fear from a social-climbing bacchante like Flavia.

Before long the dice were out, and I pitched in with a will. Things were beginning to come together in my mind, and I was able to give the little cubes the full attention they require.

“You’re doing well,” Flavia noted, looking over my shoulder. She had temporarily lost Milo.

“I usually do. If there are no races or fights going on, I can always rely on the dice. Where is Alpheus tonight? I thought he never missed a party in this town.”

“I’ve no idea. I sent him an invitation, but he probably found another, more profitable party somewhere else. As you can imagine, this is the height of the entertaining season in Paphos.”

“Well, you’ve scored a great success, even without him.” I rolled the dice and won again. Everybody else groaned.

“Oh, yes! Cleopatra, Julia Caesar, and Titus Annius Milo, what a list!” Her voice dripped satisfaction. It wasn’t common to give any woman a cognomen, but I knew that Flavia would refer to her thus when talking about her. She would want to leave nobody in doubt which Julia had come to her event.

In time I packed away my winnings and collected my wife and Milo and made my farewells to all the guests and to my host.

“You must come again, Senator,” said Sergius Nobilior. “I want a chance to win back some of my losses.”

Milo put a hand on my shoulder. “With Decius, never use his dice and always take his tips on horses and gladiators.”

“Don’t worry, Sergius,” I assured him, “you’ll see plenty more of me.”

“How much did you win?” Julia asked, as we rolled into our litter and were lifted to shoulder height.

“Roughly nine hundred sesterces in staters, drachmae, darii, minae, and some sort of Arabian silver coin I’ve never seen before. Six rings, one of them set with a small emerald, two strings of pearls, and a jewel-hilted dagger.”

“Oh, let me see the pearls!” She pretended to study them in the dimness. “Isn’t Flavia the most wonderfully vulgar woman? A Coan gown! You could see that she rouged her nipples!”

“Never glanced in that direction.”

“Liar. But Cleopatra was right. She is loads of fun. She’s promised to show me the town tomorrow. Will that be all right?”

I thought about it. “Tomorrow morning and afternoon, fine. But be back well before nightfall. After tomorrow, you had better stay away from her.”

“Why?”

“Because I am going to have to arrest her husband soon.”

“Really? On what charges?”

“I’m not sure about all of them. And I am sure that he’s not alone, so I can’t proceed precipitately. When dealing with a conspiracy, you know, it is always a bad idea to attack it piecemeal. You should try to bag everyone at once.”

“That makes sense.”

Back at the naval base I tipped the bearers and sent them back to the house of the late governor. Milo, minus his showy toga, joined us in the triclinium, where Julia made extravagant use of candles and lamps so she could examine her new pearls. I sent Hermes to fetch Ariston.

“How are the men shaping up?” I asked Milo.

“I have them under control. We’ll have a viable force when the time comes to smash these bandits. First, we have to get rid of their colleagues here in Paphos.”

“We’ll be ready to start that soon,” I told him.

“Good. I want to seize Harmodias’s account books, but I don’t want to tip him off too soon.”

“I should have done it as soon as I took command here,” I admitted.

“Just as well you didn’t. You’d’ve had your throat cut before you went out on your first patrol.”

“So Harmodias is in with them?” Julia said.

“Certainly,” Milo answered. “It wasn’t that so much had been taken by Pompey’s agents for the war in Gaul. It was that everything wasn’t seized. It’s my guess that only the larger ships and their gear and the war engines were taken, maybe some of the arms. But it was the paint that first roused my suspicions.”

“I should have seen it,” I said, “as soon as that woman on the island said their ships were ‘the same color as the sea’. They have no use for Roman naval colors, have they? They don’t want their ships bright and showy.”

“Same with the naptha and the rams,” he said. “Pirates don’t want to sink or burn ships; they want to take them intact. The arms that were left behind are a mixture of types and nationalities unsuitable for the legions. Most of the pirates probably already had their own arms, so Harmodias didn’t have to strip his arsenal bare. Easy enough to claim that Pompey seized it all to send to Caesar. Who’s going to call them to account?”

Hermes arrived with Ariston.

“Have a seat,” I told the ex-pirate.

He sat. “Are we going out on another late-night scout?”

“Not this time,” I said. “Describe for Titus Milo the ship we saw out there at Gabinius’s estate.”

“A penteconter: typical pirate craft, favored by smugglers, too. It’s light, fast, draws little water, and can go into almost any creek or inlet. Rides low, hard to see. Can’t go head-to-head with a trireme, not enough men or power. If there’s to be fighting, three or four penteconter skippers can gang up on a bigger ship.”

“And this one was riding high in the water,” I said.

“Looked like it to me, but I didn’t get as close as you did. Looked like it was wallowing a bit, too.”

“At Gabinius’s estate, they took on cargo. Might it have been frankincense?”

He frowned and thought. “Doesn’t make sense. Any sort of incense is a light-weight cargo. Even if he was going to pack his hold with it, he’d’ve come ballasted. It’s unsafe making any sort of crossing with too little weight in the hold. Whatever he picked up, it was heavy enough to make the ship stable for the voyage to wherever they took it.

“That was my own thought,” I said, “but I don’t trust my knowledge of nautical matters. Titus, Cyprus produces in abundance one very heavy product: copper.”

“So why is Gabinius stockpiling copper in his house and smuggling it out?” he mused. “It’s a legitimate trade.”

“Good question. But we know already that there are a number of people involved in this matter. Spurius said, ‘Your business isn’t just with me and you know it.’ I am certain that Nobilior the banker is one of them. But who are the others?”

“I hope not Cleopatra,” Julia said. “I like her, and besides, anything touching Egypt is always dangerous.”

“Say that again,” Milo said.

“Say what?”

“What Spurius said. You were imitating his accent, weren’t you?”

“I suppose I was. I’ve been trying to place it since I heard him. It’s from somewhere near Rome, I’m sure.”

“Repeat everything you heard him say. I’m sure I know that accent.”

So I repeated everything the man had said, which wasn’t all that much. Milo stopped me a few times to get the pronunciation of certain words.

At the end of it, he grinned. “The man is from Ostia! I ought to know since I spent so many of my younger years there.”

I slapped the table. “Why didn’t I realize it! It’s the way you talked when I first met you, back before you became more Roman than Cincinnatus!” Things began to connect more firmly. “Silvanus was from Ostia, and so is Nobilior.”

“I wonder if Spurius meant what he said,” Hermes put in.

“About what?” I asked him.

“About attending the Aphrodisia.”

I looked at him. “Surely the gods would never be so good to me.”