The Princess and the Pirates

12

The town was packed. The harbor was jammed with ships of every size and description. The Roman grain fleet was still in harbor, loading supplies for the final leg of its long journey down the coast of Syria and Judea, past the Delta of the Nile, on to Alexandria. Although predominantly Greek, the crowds featured people seemingly from every nation of the world. There were Arabs in desert robes, Egyptians in linen kilts, Africans in colorful skins, tattooed Scythians, and people from no country I had ever heard of. I even saw some Gauls in checked trousers.

Flavia had arrived early to carry Julia off for their tour of the city. It may seem foolhardy to trust her to the wife of a man whose execution I might well demand, but to have begged off at the last moment might have roused too many suspicions. Anyway, violence aimed toward me would come from some other direction. Flavia’s awe of Julia’s family would keep her safe.

Leaving Milo to crack the whip over my men, I took Hermes and plunged into the festivities. Everywhere, people decked in flower wreaths sang Greek hymns and poured libations at the town’s many small shrines to Aphrodite. Businesses that used her name or her image on their signs were decked out in flowers and other decorations and offered free drinks and food to passersby. Processions carried her images and sacred emblems through the streets, and people from widely separated cities and islands offered the sacrifices and performed the rituals of the goddess that prevailed in their own locales. A few of these were genuinely orgiastic, but most were fairly sedate. Of course, it was still daytime.

“Gabinius’s men,” Hermes said, as we came to the market where I had inquired about frankincense. I saw a cluster of tough-looking specimens, some of them armored, all of them draped with weapons.

“That is a very unbefitting sight on a holy and festive occasion,” I said. They were glaring toward me, but nobody was making a hostile move yet. “Come along, let’s try the public garden.” I had received an invitation to a reception being held there by the city council for all officials and distinguished visitors.

The garden was laid out in imitation of the Academy at Athens. Every Greek city has one of these groves. Like most of them, the one at Paphos was used primarily by the city’s schools, for Greeks do not believe in confining boys indoors except in bad weather. Its plantings and fine statuary had been donated by successive generations of rich residents, and there was a beautiful gymnasium and palaestra attached to it. On this day it had been commandeered by the city council for its annual celebration in honor of the town’s goddess.

On entering the grove I was handed a cup, and I poured a small libation before taking a healthy swig. As I handed the cup back, Nearchus came to greet me.

“Welcome, Senator. I am so glad your duties have not kept you away.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it.” I scanned the crowd. “Is Gabinius here?”

“We have not seen the general yet. Doubtless he will come in time. This reception will be open until late in the afternoon when the great procession goes up to the temple.”

“If you should see him, tell him that I would like to speak with him.” I wanted to confer with Gabinius, but only in a public place, preferably one where a lot of important men were gathered. Safer that way. Under no circumstances was I going to his house, nor would I meet with him in some deserted place.

“I shall see that it is done. In the meantime please enjoy the hospitality of the city and the company of our many distinguished guests.”

I saw the quaestor Valgus from the grain fleet, standing with a group of well-dressed Romans. I walked that way and introduced myself.

“How good to meet you, Senator,” Valgus said courteously. “All Rome speaks glowingly of your aedileship. I think you may know some of these gentlemen. This is Salinius Naso of Tarentum, who is in overall command of the fleet.” This man was not a ship’s captain, but rather the man charged by the Senate with responsibility for the fleet and its cargo.

“I believe I know the name. You have had this command before, have you not?”

“This is my fourth voyage to Alexandria, Senator.” He looked more than competent. Such a trust probably made him the most prestigious man in Tarentum.

“And this,” Valgus said, “is Marcus Furius Marcinus, once a Tribune of the People.” This was a large, pale-faced man who took my hand and nodded formally. “An honor,” he said, in a deep voice.

“And this,” Valgus said, “is Senator Manius Mallius, just arrived this morning, who came to Cyprus to be Governor Silvanus’s assistant and now, it seems, is to be governor himself.”

“If the Senate approves it,” Mallius said. He was a young man with the look of the inveterate Forum politician. I had the look myself, with a few more years on it.

“You were quaestor two years ago, weren’t you?” I asked.

“I was.”

“Nearchus and the council will be overjoyed that you are here,” I assured him. “The situation has been complicated, but with a clear commission from the Senate you should have little trouble.”

“Such is my hope. I was not expecting this. May I call on you for a briefing on the situation here?”

“Please do so. As a matter of fact-” I excused us from the little group of Romans and took him aside. “What is the Forum gossip about Gabinius?”

“Gabinius? I’d heard he was here helping Silvanus. What about him?”

“Is there agitation to get his exile rescinded?”

“Well, naturally. He has many friends, you know. He was convicted in Cato’s court on the charge of extortion. But Cato opposes Caesar, and Gabinius is Caesar’s supporter. Pompey and Caesar are allied at the moment, so it is only a matter of time before he’s recalled. The tribunes had it up before the Plebeian Assembly when I left Rome, and you know who has the power in that assembly these days. His recall letter may be on the next ship. Why do you ask?”

I gave him a judiciously edited version of the way Gabinius was trying to take control of Cyprus, minimizing my own questionable acts. I knew that Mallius was an experienced man and would know well poisoning when he heard it, especially since my family’s shift toward the anti-Caesarian faction, but he would be on his guard against Gabinius anyway.

“How go your operations against these pirates I was told about?” he asked.

“I expect to smash them utterly within a few days,” I told him, smiling. He expected no other answer of course. “In fact I happen to know that several persons here in Paphos are in league with them, and I may need you to lend me your authority in arresting them and bringing them to trial.”

“That seems reasonable, but I just got here and I need to learn exactly what resources I have. The city guard will be under my command, I suppose. Arresting some Greek conspirators, trying and executing them right at the outset of my administration-yes, that might just set a good tone for my government.”

“Actually, Governor, some of the people I need to arrest are Roman citizens.”

He didn’t exactly turn pale, but his attitude changed noticeably. “Citizens? You mean to arrest Roman citizens in a newly annexed territory, then take them back to Rome for trial? A process that can consume years? This is not reasonable, Commodore!”

“I am afraid it will be necessary if I am to suppress piracy in these waters, Governor,” I insisted.

“Nonsense! Find them, destroy their ships, find their base, and bring the surviving wretches here to me, and I will be most happy to crucify them for you. If there are Romans here in league with them, go back to Rome and indict them. I won’t begin my administration by disgracing citizens before foreigners!” Well, I hadn’t expected it would be easy.

I circulated for a while, limiting my wine intake and checking from time to time to assure that my weapons were handy. As I left the garden to see what was happening elsewhere in town, a familiar voice hailed me.

“Senator! Decius Caecilius!” It was Alpheus, already tipsy, a laurel wreath slightly askew on his head. He was with a little group of similarly festive companions. “Come join us!” I meandered over to the joyous band.

“I thought you would be taking part in the ceremonies,” I told him.

“There is nothing left for me to do. I have taught and rehearsed the sacred chorus, but there is no role for me in the rest of the ritual, so now I am just enjoying the festivities like everybody else. Have a drink with us. There is a high-class tavern near the Temple of Hephaestus that is giving away Judaean wine flavored with rose petals, this day only.”

“What is it called?”

“The Hermaphroditus. The statue in front is worth the trip by itself.” This intrigued me. I had never seen a really convincing depiction of the double-sexed offspring of Aphrodite and Hermes, and was curious to see how this statue interpreted the difficult subject.

“Hermes, run, find Julia, and tell her to join us there.”

“I’d rather not leave you by yourself.”

“Don’t be an idiot. I’m among friends, and nobody is going to cause trouble at this festival. Anyone who tries to spoil the fun will be torn to pieces by the crowd as a sacrifice to the goddess.”

“I still don’t like it. How will I find her in this mob?”

“Easily. They’ll be at one of the town’s more famous locations, and Flavia will have the biggest, showiest litter in sight. It will stick up well above the crowd. Off with you now.”

He left us and Alpheus introduced me to his companions, who had Greek names that all sounded the same: Amyntas and Amoebeus and Admetus or something of the sort. I knew I would not remember the names the next day so I made no effort to sort them out. Probably tavern acquaintances, I imagined: sworn brothers today, forgotten tomorrow.”

“Will you be staying much longer on Cyprus, Alpheus?” I asked, as we set off for our destination.

“As soon as the ceremony ends tomorrow, I’m off for the next island.”

“That is unfortunate. I was looking forward to-” I stopped when I saw five well-armed thugs pushing their way through the crowd toward us, their beady eyes fixed on me. Immediately, I regretted sending Hermes away.

“Gabinius’s men. Alphaeus, do you know how we can lose them?”

“Are you feuding with Gabinius? And you Romans are always chiding us Greeks for infighting. My friends here know the town well. We ought to be able to lose a pack of iron-bound Romans easily. Come on.”

So we ducked into a narrow alley, which featured a turn into an even narrower alley where there was a ladder propped against a wall. We scrambled up to a flat rooftop and pulled the ladder up after us, then across two or three roofs and down a set of stairs into a courtyard where about a hundred naked people were worshipping the goddess in her most basic ritual, after an astonishing fashion that Alpheus assured me was a most pious observance in Phrygia. They invited us to join them, but I was forced to decline.

“Why couldn’t I have visited this place ten years ago?” I complained. “Or even five? You and your friends can stay if you like, Alpheus. I can probably find my way to the Hermaphroditus.”

“Nonsense. We’re just resting up. The real celebration starts after nightfall, and you need to keep up your stamina if you hope to last until sunrise.”

So we went out onto a side street, and I realized that I had no idea where we were.

“This way,” Alpheus said. We went down a long stairway between two rows of houses. “Now through here.” We entered a tunnel that bored into one of the buildings, into a large, dim room.

“Where are we?” I asked. “I think you took the wrong-” I was stopped short by the dagger that appeared beneath my chin. A hand plucked my own dagger from beneath my belt.

“He’s got a caestus under his tunic,” Alpheus said.

No, I definitely shouldn’t have sent Hermes away. “Alpheus! I was suspicious of everybody else, but I thought you, at least, were my friend.”

“You mean I wasn’t important enough to be involved in any of the great matters of international concern, don’t you? Well, that was the idea. But please don’t take this personally. I truly have enjoyed your company, and I regret that your stubborn persistence has led you to this dismal fate.”

“Well, what now? I take it you plan to kill me.” I didn’t plan to go without a fight, not that there was much I could do in my predicament, but I suspected he had something else in mind for me. People who intend to cut your throat usually do it before you know they have a knife.

“No, I was told to keep you here until someone joins us. Please don’t get your hopes up though.”

“So I am going to get to meet your employer?”

“One of them. You see, a traveling poet makes an ideal agent, spy, and broker. No one is suspicious of our wanderings because our art takes us wherever there is a demand for us. There is always a festival someplace that needs a new hymn, a funeral someone wants to make memorable with an elegiac ode, and so forth. My employer needed a base on Cyprus, and so he sent me ahead to scout the place out and pass the requisite bribes. It is an added bonus that I am always in demand in the houses of the rich, so nobody thinks it unusual to see me in the company of the highest authorities. Poets are very fashionable guests.”

“My compliments. You’ve achieved an elegant balance in your double career. I take it the poet’s art does not pay well?”

“Alas, no. But that’s no matter. One practices art at the bidding of the muse, not for gain. But I do like to live well, and for that a supplemental income is necessary. The old fleets used to use actors for this purpose, but they were not welcome in respectable households except as entertainers, so a poet is a better choice.”

“I am getting dense in my old age,” I said bitterly. “It was you who suggested giving Ariston the oath at the Temple of Poseidon, then you excused yourself while I was distracted by Flavia disporting herself with her sailors. That was when you arranged the ambush, wasn’t it? Then you led us there at a deliberate pace with your poem about Orpheus and Eurydice-it was not at all a bad poem, by the way-and you held your torch high when the attack began to make sure nobody mistook you for one of the intended victims.”

My eyes were adjusting to the dimness, and I could see we were in a large cellar that was used for storage, with bales and jars stacked all around. I could see no way out except for the way we had come in. The Greeks whose names I had already forgotten bound my hands behind me and thrust me against a bale, forcing me to sit.

“Now stay there and don’t try to stand, Decius,” Alpheus said, “or I’ll be forced to nail one of your feet to the floor with a dagger.”

“I’m not going anywhere just yet. I truly want to meet your master.” A brave show harms nothing when you are helpless.

“Employer,” he corrected. “I have no master.”

At that moment a large form blocked the light from the door. Then a man entered with more men at his back. He wore a toga and blinked in the dimness for a moment. It was the pale-faced man from the public garden. Mentally I cursed myself.

“I should have known the second I saw your pasty face! But you were with other Romans, so I assumed you’d arrived with the grain fleet. But you should have been deeply tanned after such a voyage, and I didn’t catch it. When did you cut your hair and shave off your beard? This morning?”

“Yesterday. Actually, I’ve been arranging passage away from here on the flagship.” The rumbling voice was unmistakable. If he’d just spoken a few more words in the garden, I would have caught the Ostian accent. By such small chances are great opportunities lost.

“I knew Spurius couldn’t be your real name. Are you really the extribune Marcinus?”

“I am indeed.”

“And I suppose you were one of Gabinius’s officers in Syria and Egypt?”

“That, too. What are we to do with you, Decius Caecilius?”

“We kill him and get away from here,” said another voice I recognized. A pudgy man pushed forward and glared at me with his fists planted on his hips, Sergius Nobilior. “Why couldn’t you have kept chasing after the pirates as the Senate told you to? Did you have to poke your big Metellan nose into everything that was happening on this island? Some of us were doing very well here until you began stirring things up!”

“Nobilior! And our wives have become such good friends!”

“Yes, and a very good time they’re having today, if I know Flavia. And don’t worry, she’d never let me harm a Caesar. You, however, have to go.” He looked at one of the Greeks. “Cut his throat.” Nobody moved.

“My men don’t take orders from you,” Marcinus said. “His wife is a Caesar?”

“Niece to the great Caius Julius,” Nobilior affirmed. “But don’t let that concern you. He’ll be glad to have her a widow. He’ll be able to marry her off to someone far more important.”

“If he’s murdered, there could be a lot of trouble for you,” Marcinus said. “His family is one of the greatest, even if he doesn’t amount to much. But don’t let me stop you. I won’t be here. I’ll be on a leisurely voyage to Alexandria, then home. But do your own throat cutting.”

Nobilior stood there and fumed for a while, then Alpheus spoke up. “Must you Romans be so crude and brutal? He need not be murdered at all.”

“My thought exactly,” I said.

“This is festival time, a time when all the usual strictures on community behavior are relaxed. What more natural than a veteran tavern crawler like Decius Caecilius Metellus should have a bit too much to drink, topple into the harbor on his way back to the naval base, and drown? Let’s get some wine in him and on him, wait until nightfall, and carry him down to the water. The distance isn’t great, and nobody takes notice of men carrying a drunk at a time like this.”

They were discussing my death, but I did not protest. Anything to keep breathing a while longer. Who could tell what might happen? I was working at my bonds. They had used leather straps, and they had a little give to them. I might be able to work them loose if I had long enough. A man was dispatched to search for some wine, which should prove no great quest on that day.

“I am curious,” I said. “Which of you killed Silvanus? And why? You all seemed to have such a cozy arrangement here. Did he get a little too greedy? Or was he frightened of being found out and impeached in Rome? There have been some pretty savage prosecutions lately for unauthorized plundering.”

“Don’t look at me,” Marcinus said. “I had nothing to do with that killing.”

“Don’t tell me you scruple at murder,” I said. “You nearly wiped out an island just to frighten people so they wouldn’t cooperate with me.”

He shrugged. “It isn’t like they were citizens. These islanders are little more than cattle. I didn’t know then I’d be quitting the business so soon, or I wouldn’t have bothered.”

“Yes, rather hard on them, wasn’t it? Nobilior, a few days ago you mentioned your great and good friend Rabirius, financial adviser to King Ptolemy and the man in charge of collecting on those colossal loans. I recently learned that Rabirius had seized the grain revenues and ‘several others’ as partial payment on the debt. Might one of the others be the frankincense monopoly?”

“So you figured that out,” Nobilior said, “Yes, that is right. But Rabirius discovered that the frankincense deliveries were being diverted elsewhere before they reached Alexandria. They were being taken up through Judea and Syria, then brought here to Cyprus, and Silvanus was transferring it to the Holy Society of Dionysus for shipment all over the world.”

No wonder, I thought, the merchant Demades, member in good standing of that society, had mentioned nothing about a cessation of shipment to Alexandria. “Judea and Syria?” I said. “That’s Gabinius’s old territory.

“Yes,” Nobilior said. “He reopened the Great King’s old trade routes for frankincense and silk, as they were in the days before the Ptolemies. He and Silvanus conspired in this, and Rabirius was furious. He told me to put an end to it and even specified how Silvanus should die.”

“So it was you? And Gabinius had nothing to do with it?”

“I should hope not!” He said. “They were friends!”

I was a little crestfallen that my favorite suspect was not the murderer after all. This did not let him off the hook though. There was no mistaking his hostility toward me.

The man returned with a skin of wine. A hand grabbed the hair at the back of my head and tipped it upward. The reed nozzle of the skin was thrust into my mouth and the bag given a squeeze. I swallowed rapidly, then gagged and spit as the man jumped clear.

“You fools!” I said, when I could speak. “Nobody will believe I was drinking that cheap stuff!”

“It all smells the same the next day,” Marcinus assured me. “Give him some more.” The skin was reapplied, then reapplied again. The last try was counterproductive, causing me to vomit spasmodically.

“Now we’ll have to do it all over again,” said the Greek with the skin. He took a drink himself.

“He doesn’t have to be really drunk,” said Alpheus. “He just needs to look and smell that way, and he does already.”

“We’re wasting time,” Nobilior said. “Why not just knock him on the head? He’ll still look like he drowned after being in the water all night.”

“That might leave a mark,” Alpheus pointed out. “But smothering would do the same thing and,” he held up a finger for emphasis, like the chorus master he was, “it will give him the bug-eyed, black-faced aspect of drowning.”

“Excellent idea,” Nobilior said, nodding. “Who has strong hands?”

The time had come for desperate action, and I couldn’t think of a thing to do. I had one possible move. They had not bound my feet. I could be up in a single bound, smash my head into Nobilior’s fat face, then sprint for the door. At least I would die knowing that Nobilior would regret ever having known me, every time he saw his own reflection. I began, carefully, to gather my feet beneath me, leaning forward slightly.

“Careful, he’s planning something,” Alpheus said. They began to turn my way, then the doorway was crowded with people again. I could see armed, hard-faced men, Gabinius’s. Come to kill everybody in sight, I figured. They would be near blind coming in from daylight. Alpheus whirled and came for me with his dagger.

I was off the bale in an instant, but not to butt anyone in the face. I dived and rolled, catching Alpheus just below the knees, toppling him and sending his wreath rolling across the floor to be trampled beneath the scuffling feet. There were shouts and muffled groans and the familiar, butcher-shop sound of blades plunging into bodies and chopping against bone. Light streaming through the doorway glittered on bared blades and glowed redly from the sprays of blood that saturated the air. Among the droplets, flowers and leaves from the festival wreaths drifted to the floor.

Alpheus tried to rise, but I doubled up my legs and let him have both feet beneath the chin. His head snapped back and cracked into an amphora, breaking the heavy clay and spilling poor-quality olive oil onto the floor. If I couldn’t defeat a poet, even with my hands tied behind me, I deserved to die.

“Metellus,” somebody bellowed, “where are you?” I recognized the voice of Aulus Gabinius, come to do me in just like a flamen killing a bull, although just then I felt more like a second-rate sheep, one not even worthy of sacrifice. I looked toward the door, measured the distance, scrambled to my feet, and leapt over a pair of struggling bodies. Even as I did, I saw more people crowding into the doorway. Just my luck.

But one thing was certain: I did not want to linger another minute in that cellar. I ran for the crowd, hoping to bull my way through and keep running. A sword rose, lanced toward my belly, then several strong hands stopped me as solidly as if I had run into a wall.

“A man could get killed rushing onto sharp steel like that,” said Ariston, grinning. One of his hands rested against my chest. The other held his big, curved knife. So he was with them, too? Then I saw who was holding the sword that just pierced the cloth of my tunic: Hermes, his face gone so white I could not help laughing.

“Hermes, if you could see yourself!”

“You’re something of a sight yourself,” Titus Milo said. His were the other hands that had stopped me so abruptly. Milo never carried weapons because he never needed them. Hermes resheathed his sword with a shaky hand.

“What,” I asked, “is going on?”

“You’ve led us a lively chase, Captain,” Ariston said. He spun me around and slashed my bonds with a single stroke. “Your boy came running to the base, said you’d been abducted, and we should all turn out and look for you.”

“I knew something like this would happen,” Gabinius said, walking toward us. He was wiping blood from a sword that looked as natural in his fist as a finger. “That’s why I’ve had my men watching you all day. When they said they’d seen Furius Marcinus in town with his hair cut and his beard shaved, I suspected he’d want to take care of some unfinished business and sent them to bring you to me. They saw Alpheus make off with you, so I set them to combing the town. One of them spotted the man they sent out for wine and followed him back here, then ran to fetch me. Why didn’t you just bring your suspicions to me, Metellus? It might have simplified things.”

“I thought you were trying to kill me.” I looked over the room. There were bodies everywhere, lying among the leaves and petals, in a mixture of oil and blood. All of Alpheus’s men lay dead. Alpheus himself looked dead. Marcinus and Nobilior were certainly dead, their throats decorated with gaping wounds. “I see you’ve eliminated your partners.”

“Metellus,” he said, “I am showing forbearance out of respect to Caesar and your family; but if you accuse me of complicity in the murder of my friend Silvanus, I may just make a clean job of it right here.”

“Let’s not be hasty now,” Milo said, smiling his most dangerous smile. Hermes and Ariston let their hands fall to their sheathed weapons.

“We have more than a hundred armed men just outside,” Hermes said.

“So have I,” Gabinius answered.

Suddenly I was very tired. “There’s been enough bloodletting today,” I said. “Let’s not have Romans fighting each other in a new territory. The civil wars ended twenty years ago. Come on, let’s get away from this slaughterhouse and talk somewhere where there’s clean air.”

“Good,” Gabinius said, handing his sword to one of his men. “By preference, in a place where you can get a clean tunic.”

An hour later, washed up and dressed in a clean tunic, I walked out to the terrace before my quarters. Gabinius was there, and Milo and Mallius, the new governor.

“Hermes,” I’d asked as I bathed and dressed, “how did you know to summon help so quickly?”

“I found Julia only two streets away from where I left you. I gave her your message, and Flavia said Paphos had no tavern named Hermaphroditus. I knew that woman would know what she was talking about.”

“It’s a good thing you did. If you hadn’t been there, Gabinius might have gone ahead and killed me just to be rid of the annoyance. He could have claimed that he got there too late.”

Now as I went out to talk with them, I was fairly certain I had most of the facts. Milo sat with some scrolls and tablets in front of him. Gabinius looked supremely confident. Mallius looked bemused. I took a seat.

“This shouldn’t take long,” I said. “Then we can all get back to the festival. Aulus Gabinius, tell me why I should not charge you with murder and piracy and a number of other charges before a praetor’s court?”

“Furius Marcinus was tribune in the same year I was. He supported me in passing the lex Gabinia that gave Pompey his command of the whole sea to sweep it clean of pirates. In return, when I had my propraetorian command in Syria, I took him along as legate. When I agreed to put Ptolemy back on his throne, it was Marcinus I used to recruit the bulk of the mercenary army I took to Egypt.”

“That included recruiting among the aforementioned pirates, then settled in villages inland?”

“Right. After the war, when we set about collecting the enormous debt Ptolemy had incurred, several merchant organizations came to protest Ptolemy’s extortions. He was trying to raise the money from foreigners so he could keep the Egyptian population docile. Among these was the Holy Society of Dionysus. Rabirius had seized control of the frankincense trade, the most lucrative of the Ptolemaic monopolies.”

“Rabirius was trying to collect that debt, too,” I pointed out.

“For himself and his own cronies. I wanted to be sure that my own part, and that of my supporters, got paid back. To foil Rabirius, Ptolemy sent word to Ethiopia and Arabia Felix not to deliver the stuff while he had no control of it. This was unthinkable. The Society of Dionysus agreed to advance me the money to buy the incense and get it to them secretly somewhere other than Alexandria. Marcinus told me he had two acquaintances from Ostia: Nobilior the banker and Silvanus, a prominent politician, on Cyprus. Silvanus was an old friend of mine, and Cyprus was a perfect location. I gave Marcinus the job of setting up the route. It was then that I was called back to Rome to stand trial. This petty little exile resulted. Naturally, I decided to spend my exile on Cyprus. By the time I got here, the business was going along nicely.”

“I seized Harmodias’s books and clapped him into a storage shed under guard,” Milo reported. He picked up a scroll. “As I suspected, Pompey’s agents took only the triremes and the better equipment. They weren’t interested in the smaller ships. The first ships he turned over to Spurius, as he was called, were the penteconters. Then Spurius wanted the Liburnians as well. Nobilior brokered the deal, with Silvanus well-paid to look the other way.”

“Marcinus was an adventurous man,” Gabinius said, “not really suited to ordinary military duties and administrative work. At first, he used the penteconters. They were ideal for smuggling, at which he branched out far beyond our incense trade. Then that became too tame for him. He wanted to try his hand at piracy, and that called for real warships. I had nothing to do with that, I assure you. I advised Silvanus against all such dealings, but so much wealth so easily had is difficult for a man to pass up.”

“Then,” I said, “Rabirius got wind of what was happening and was very angry with his ‘friend’ Sergius Nobilior?”

“Yes. The trade was too big to keep hidden. Rabirius has agents everywhere. He gave Nobilior one chance: redeem himself by returning his profits to Rabirius and killing Silvanus with a fitting gesture. Otherwise Rabirius would ruin him with the Ostian bankers and the whole banking community. For a climber like Nobilior, that was death. I got word of it too late.”

“You didn’t scruple to keep employing Marcinus for your own smuggling.”

“Just for the one last cargo. And I advised him to get out of the business while he could, although you may not believe me.”

“Oh, I believe you,” I said. “By the way, what were you smuggling? Copper?”

His shaggy brows went up. “You must be brighter than I thought. Yes, it was copper. I’ve been investing my profits in copper right here at the source, where it’s cheap.”

“Copper? Mallius said. “Why smuggle copper? There is nothing illegal about the trade.”

“I am shipping it to my agent in Syria to be struck into coins to pay my troops when I get the eastern command. That had to be kept quiet.”

“I thought it might be something like that,” I said. “You are very confident.”

“It has all been arranged. I am to be recalled to Rome soon, cleared of all charges, restored to the Senate with all my estates and other property returned, and given the eastern command. I will raise, equip, and pay the legions and auxilia myself, so I haven’t been idle here.”

Mallius’s ears seemed to have grown to twice their usual size. “This sounds like, ah, privileged information.”

“So it is,” Gabinius agreed. “A wise man might well prosper mightily being privy to such affairs.”

“I was not entirely satisfied. It was awfully convenient for him that Marcinus, Nobilior, and Alpheus were all dead. And there were those two men who had attacked me in front of the Temple of Poseidon who had died mysteriously. But I had nothing solid against him. If he was guilty of something, all our other politician-generals were guilty of far, far worse.

“Now,” Milo said, “if this is all over, why don’t we get to work cleaning up Marcinus’s fleet? I’m in the mood for a little fun. It’s going to be too easy though without him in command.”

I rose, then remembered something. “Aulus Gabinius, Manius Mallius, if you would, I have a little ceremony to conduct here tomorrow morning that requires three citizens as witness. Could you join me and Titus Milo just after sunrise.”

“Certainly,” Mallius said. Gabinius nodded.

“And Manius Mallius, just forget all those awful things I said about Aulus Gabinius.”

He looked at me a moment, then shrugged. Politics.

The afternoon was as beautiful as they had all been since I had arrived on Cyprus. Julia and I took our privileged position in the forefront of the crowd at the Temple of Aphrodite.

Next to us stood Hermes, looking decidedly uncomfortable in his new toga and Phrygian bonnet. That morning, with Gabinius, Mallius, and Milo as witnesses, I had given him his freedom, conferred upon him full rights of citizenship, and given him his freedman’s name: Decius Caecilius Metellus. He would always be Hermes to me though.

My recent experience had reminded me how fleeting life can be and that I might not have a chance to conduct the ceremony myself should I wait too long.

Cleopatra stood nearby, surrounded by her entourage. She caught my eye and nodded, smiling. I was unutterably relieved that she had not been involved in the sordid business on Cyprus. At least, not in any way I could prove. If she was involved, she’d showed more circumspection than she displayed later in her life.

Then the chorus began to sing the hymn composed by the late Alpheus, whom I was going to miss. He’d had his faults, but he had been excellent company. Then the priestesses came out of the temple, draped in the golden nets and nothing else. Last of all came lone. In procession they passed us while the people bowed their heads.

When she came near us, lone paused. Timidly, Julia stepped forward, reached out a hand, and touched Ione’s flesh through the net. Then the procession went on, and we fell in behind. Other women came from the crowd and touched the lesser priestesses, but no other was allowed to touch lone.

When the procession reached the seashore near the temple, the crowd lined the beach and carpeted the hillsides and bluffs nearby. The priestesses paused for a moment at the water’s edge, then slowly walked out into the water. First to their knees, then to their waists, then to their shoulders. Then, just as the chorus swelled to the last notes of the hymn, their heads disappeared beneath the water. There was silence for the space of ten heartbeats.

Then the priestesses emerged smiling from the waters, and the people raised a truly ancient Greek hymn of praise in which we visitors joined. The nets were gone. Dressed only in the sea-foam the priestesses returned to their island renewed, reborn.

These things happened on the island of Cyprus in the year 703 of the City of Rome, the consulship of Servius Sulpicius Rufus and Marcus Claudius Marcellus.