The Princess and the Pirates

4

I arrived at the naval harbor early, wide awake and clear-eyed. The night before, mercifully, Silvanus had decided to spend at the villa of Gabinius, allowing me to excuse myself from the evening revels without giving offense. I dined lightly in my chambers and rolled into bed early, all too aware of the rigors to come.

In the little plaza before the house of Harmodias, that worthy sat behind a wooden table with a scroll, ink, and reed pens before him. Beside him sat Ion. All around the plaza sat, leaned, or otherwise lounged a pack of nautical-looking men, perhaps two hundred of them. Some wore the brief tunics and caps of sailors, others had the sturdy physiques and multiple scars of professional soldiers. Some of the latter had arrived bearing their own arms and armor, and from the look of them they had deserted from every army in the known world.

“By Jupiter Best and Greatest!” I said to the two behind the table. “These look worse than the lot I already have!”

“Senator,” said Harmodias, “if you’re looking for schoolboys, we have an academy of decent repute right here in Paphos. Go over there and you’ll find plenty of well-bred lads who can quote Pindar for you all day long.”

“No need to be sarcastic,” I admonished him. “I’m just expressing my disgust with the material, as has been customary with every recruiting officer since Agamemnon. All right, let’s divide the labor. You two know sailors, so pick out what we need. I’ll interview the marines. First, I’ll address this pack and acquaint them with the situation.”

I walked around in front of the table and looked over the assembled scum, letting them know how little pleased I was. They, in turn, looked less than impressed with me. I reached to one side, and Hermes slapped a sealed tablet into my palm. I held this aloft and proclaimed: “I am Senator Decius Caecilius Metellus! This is my commission from the Senate and People of Rome to scour these waters of the pirates that infest them! The job is pirate hunting; the pay is what every sailor in Roman service receives.” The sour looks got sourer.

“On the other hand, I have wide powers of discretion concerning any loot obtained during this operation. I have drawn up a table of shares for every man who serves with me. What this means is that if you serve diligently, at the share-out-when we have bagged these pirates and their loot-each of you may depart with more money than you have ever seen.” This was more like it. Grins began to appear on the villainous faces.

“All right!” Hermes announced. “I’m sure you’ve all done this before, so line up in front of this table, sailors to the left, soldiers to the right. Be ready to give your name and prior service, and no lies!” He sat and took his writing materials from his satchel.

The men shuffled into line and the first soldier appeared before me. He was typical of the lot: Macedonian helmet, Iberian cuirass, Gallic shield, Roman short sword, Greek tunic, Egyptian sandals. Physically, he looked like an African ape recently shaved.

“Name?”

“Leacus, sir. I’m from Thrace, most recently a light auxiliary in the army of General Gabinius.” At least his speech was commendably military.

“Strip and let’s have a look at you,” I ordered.

“You’re not buying a slave!” he said indignantly.

“No, but neither do I want to hire a cripple or a convict. Strip. To the skin.”

He muttered, but he obeyed. It was only what every recruiter does if he has no one to vouch for a man. I was not really looking for the stripes of a runaway slave. Such men often as not make good soldiers. I was more interested in brands, notches, and other marks of the convicted felon, which are splendidly concealed by helmets and armor.

Unclothed, the Thracian even more resembled an ape, but I saw no incriminating marks, just battle scars on every unarmored surface. “You’ll do. Next.” Several men were already walking back toward the city, knowing that proof of their criminal proclivities would be exposed.

By midmorning I had picked nearly a hundred tough specimens. Before the naval base’s small altar to Neptune, I administered the awesome oath of service to them and paid each the symbolic silver denarius. For the duration of their service they were immune from prosecution for past indiscretions, and any who attacked them were to suffer the punishment due to any foolish enough to take up arms against Rome.

Those who had no arms of their own were issued weapons from the arsenal, then we marched the lot, soldiers and sailors, to the beached ships. Men were assigned to each vessel; the sailors immediately set to the tarring and scraping, while I lectured the marines.

“If you are accustomed to normal naval operations, forget them. We won’t be trying to sink our enemy’s ships. Sunken ships can’t be sold, and drowned pirates can’t tell us where their base is. Keep that in mind. All the chasing around, looking for a few wretched raiders, has one real aim: we want to find out where their base is. That will be where they have whatever loot they haven’t disposed of already. It’s also where they’ll have the captives they’re holding for ransom. Some of these will be Roman citizens, and Rome wants them back.

“Finding the ships and catching them is up to the sailors. Once we’re alongside, it will be up to you marines to capture them. Instead of the ram, we’ll be using the corvus. Are you all familiar with this elementary device?” Most signaled they were, but I explained anyway because men tend not to admit to ignorance. “The corvus is a plank hinged to our ship at one end, with a big spike at the other. When we’re close enough, we drop the spiked end onto the enemy’s deck. At that time the two ships are effectively nailed together. We then walk across the corvus and proceed to kill or capture the pirates. The Roman Fleet used this tactic against the Carthaginians, and it worked splendidly. Our ships are not large, so our corvus can’t be wide. We’ll have to cross in single file. The first man on the corvus must be brave, but then he gets a double share of the loot, which is a great spine stiffener. Any questions?”

A Palmyrene named Aglibal spoke up, “It seems to me that the pirates may use the corvus to board our ship.”

“There may be disputes concerning right-of-way on the corvus. I expect you men to win all such disagreements.”

Once they grasped the essence of our tactics, I put them aboard the ships and drilled them in the intricacies of using the corvus. Crossing a plank may seem simple, but nothing is simple in battle. Interval is always crucial-keeping the men close enough together to support one another but far enough apart that they don’t interfere with each other’s fighting ability. Placement of the corvus would also be crucial, but that was up to the skill of the sailors.

With the ships beached, I drilled the men in disembarking over the bows. If we should be lucky enough to catch some pirates raiding a village, we would simply run our own ships up on shore and assault them, assuming, of course, that they did not greatly outnumber us. While we watched the men sweating through these exertions, Hermes voiced his doubts to me.

“You realize that many of these men have probably been pirates themselves?”

“Of course. It makes no difference. Loyalty to their former colleagues will weigh nothing against a rich payday in the offing. There isn’t a man here who wouldn’t cut his own brother’s throat for a handful of coins. Our armies are always full of men we defeated in the last war. Professionals are always willing to change sides. Their loyalty is to their pay-master, and that’s me.”

“What about Cleopatra? She’s just a girl playing at war. Suppose she doesn’t like the look of the real thing? She might run at a crucial moment. That could mean disaster if we go in expecting even odds.”

“I think there’s more to Cleopatra than you see. She’s grown up in a savage court, and she knows she’ll need Roman favor in the future. If her little brother becomes king in accordance with our latest treaty with Ptolemy, she’ll marry him. That will make her the real ruler of Egypt because he’s an imbecile like most of his family.”

“I hope you’re right.”

It may seem odd that I was having such a conversation with a slave, but I was grooming Hermes for better things. I had already determined to give him his freedom when we got back to Rome, and then he would be my freedman and a citizen as well as my aide and secretary as I assume the higher offices in Rome and the provinces. In a single generation our generals had nearly doubled Roman territory, with consequent increases in propraetorian and proconsular commands.

Things were reaching the point where, in some years, there were not enough consuls and praetors leaving office to staff all the new territories. Caesar’s new conquests in Gaul, once pacified, would make at least two new proconsular provinces, and he had eyes on the island of Britannia. Soon, I thought, we should need to hold elections twice each year.

Late in the afternoon, Silvanus and Gabinius put in an appearance. They watched my men drill for a while, and Gabinius pronounced himself impressed that I had them shaping up so well in so short a time.

“I’ve no time to dawdle,” I told him. “My best chance is to bag these pirates quickly before they get word that there’s a Roman force after them. They’ll hear about it in just a few days at the outside, so I want to take to the water after them as soon as possible.”

“Very wise,” Silvanus said. “I can see that you’ve been soldiering with Caesar. He acts faster than any general in Roman history. Even Sulla and Pompey were slow by comparison.”

Gabinius snorted through his oversized nose. “If Pompey ever moved fast, he might arrive at the battle first and take some casualties. Can’t have that.”

I signaled to Ion, and he sounded a shrill blast on the silver whistle he wore on a chain around his neck. The men ceased their activities and gathered to hear me.

“That’s enough for today. Starting tonight, you will all bunk in the naval facility. I want you ready to put to sea at a moment’s notice, and I promise you it will be a short moment. You are to use only the taverns right here on the waterfront because I don’t want to have to scour the whole city looking for you. Any man who fails to report for duty had better find a fast ship to some distant port because you have now taken the oath of service and I am empowered to administer any punishment I can imagine. You men don’t want to learn about the depths of my imagination. Be here at dawn. Dismissed.”

Silvanus had a litter big enough for the three of us, and I accepted his invitation to share it, leaving Hermes to make his way to our lodgings on foot. When the slaves picked up the conveyance and began their smooth pace, I learned what was on the minds of the two most powerful men on Cyprus.

“Commodore,” Silvanus began, “you are the one with the commission from the Senate, and it is not my place to advise you, but I hope you will not be offended if I offer you some anyway.”

“I am always happy to hear the opinions of men of distinction and experience.”

“Then let me say that I believe it to be a grave mistake to allow Princess Cleopatra to join your flotilla. She is a charming girl and I have enjoyed having her as my guest, but she is no friend of Rome. She hides it well, but she bitterly resents our annexation of Cyprus and the death of her uncle.”

“My flotilla is very small,” I said, “and now I find that naval stores of all descriptions are in short supply or entirely absent, except for paint. Her ship is a fine one, better than any of mine, and its men, sailors and marines, are of the best quality. I need that ship.”

“Then take it,” Gabinius said, “but leave her ashore.”

“It would be an intolerable insult to Ptolemy to commandeer his vessel and treat his daughter in such a fashion.”

“Ptolemy is a buffoon and should be grateful for whatever bones get tossed his way from the Roman table,” Gabinius said.

“Nonetheless, I want that ship, and I am inclined to humor Cleopatra.” I was not sure why I was being so stubborn since the doubts they expressed echoed my own, but I had just been justifying myself to my own slave and exasperation was setting in. Also, I was not certain why they thought it to be a matter of concern to them, and such uncertainties quickly become suspicions in my mind.

“Let it be on your head,” Silvanus said. “But, mark me, she will desert you in action or bring about some other mischief.”

I found the lady herself waiting in my quarters when we got back to the mansion of Silvanus. She was dressed in a nondescript gown and behind her, as always, stood Apollodorus. With her was the merry-faced young poet, Alpheus.

“They’ve just arrived,” Hermes said. He had reached the house ahead of us. “The princess says you have a previous engagement.”

“Engagement?”

“Don’t you remember?” Cleopatra said. “We are going out to the Andromeda to hire ex-pirates!” She smiled like a delighted child.

“I let it slip my mind. Anyway, I probably have more than we need. You should see the pack of villains I hired today.”

“I’ll bet you hired none who admitted to his old trade,” Alpheus said. “And now they’ve taken your oath, they’ll never own up to it.”

“Come on,” Cleopatra insisted, “join us. It will be far more fun than another drunken banquet.”

“I like drunken banquets,” I told her. “But since I agreed already, I’ll go along.” Actually, I didn’t remember setting a specific date for this venture, but lapses of memory were nothing new to me.

“Good!” she cried, all but clapping her hands with glee. She stood and Apollodorus wrapped her in a voluminous cloak and drew its cowl over her head. Doubtless this suited her sense of drama, but it was not necessary. In plain dress and without her extravagant jewelry, she looked like any other lively Greek girl; attractive but not strikingly so, and with no visible clues as to her royal ancestry. I have noticed on many occasions that royalty often fancy that some look sets them apart from other mortals, as if their flesh shed golden rays, but I have never found this to be so.

I sent word to my host that urgent business called for my presence elsewhere and went out into the deepening dark with a pair of slaves, a poet, and the future queen of Egypt in search of the lowest sailor’s dive in town.

The Andromeda was located near the docks, in a narrow street of low, single-story buildings, most of them devoted, in one way or another, to the maritime trade: warehouses, chandler’s shops, the houses of ship-wrights and sailmakers, and, naturally, sailors’ taverns. We knew we had the right place by its sign: the ever-popular image of a beautiful naked woman chained to a rock.

Inside it was typical of all such places all over the world. The ceiling was low, the atmosphere was smoky from the many lamps, and the predominant smell was that of spilled wine. Along one wall ran a long counter that held amphorae of wine, their mouths gaping invitingly. Several long tables ran the length of the room, and in the corners were a few smaller tables. There were probably fifty or sixty men in the room, most of them recognizable as sailors by their caps and their pitch-stained tunics, along with a few women of questionable station in life.

“May I find you a table, sir?” The barmaid was a good-looking young woman with the well-developed arms and upper body of one who hoisted heavy jars and pitchers all day long.

“You may,” I said. “One of those corner tables, if you please.”

As we wended our way toward the rear of the room, curious eyes followed our progress. Although on military duty, I wore a nondescript tunic and plain sandals. Nonetheless, nobody would take me for anything other than a Roman. Besides my classically Roman face, nobody else in the world stands or walks like a Roman. It is something drilled into us by the legions and the rhetoric schools, which emphasize stance and movement as much as voice, and there is no disguising it. Even Hermes, though born a slave of questionable ancestry, shared this bodily attitude, bestowed by his upbringing in Caecilian households.

Cleopatra, Alpheus, and I took our seats at a small, round table, while Hermes and Apollodorus stood behind us, each leaning against the wall, arms folded, one foot propped against the wall behind him, eyes scanning the room, studiedly ignoring the other.

“I’ve never been inside such a place!” Cleopatra said, her eyes sparkling beneath the cowl.

“I can well believe it,” I said. “Ptolemaic princesses are gently if extravagantly reared. You may take it from me though that your father has been in many such.” Gossip had it that old Ptolemy Auletes had made his living, when young, playing the flute in places far more disreputable than this one. Now that he was a king and a god, he sometimes missed the old days.

“Here,” said Alpheus, “you have exposure to a different world. Heretofore your education has been that given by scholars and philosophers and courtiers training you for your future role as queen and mother of the next king. You know of the real world of the common people only from reading. It is not a bad thing for one who will one day rule to see at firsthand how most of the world lives.”

This had a distinctly odd sound to me, but then the Greeks are different.

The barmaid arrived at the table with a large bowl divided down its middle into two halves. One held olives, the other parched peas and nuts: thirst-inducing snacks esteemed by tavern keepers the world over.

“Bring us a pitcher of Falernian,” I said. “Don’t bother with water.” “No Falernian,” she reported. “We have Coan, Corinthian, Lesbian, Cretan, and we just got in some fine Judean. Have you ever tried Judean? It’s wonderful.” Having no reason to doubt her word, I ordered the Judean.

With my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I took a longer look at our surroundings. The walls were plastered white and covered with paintings and graffiti. The paintings were second-rate, mostly the usual sea-gods, tritons, nereids, and so forth. One wall had a depiction of the story of Perseus and Andromeda. The graffiti were no more than ordinarily scabrous, mostly of the cursing or blessing sort. Some, though, were in languages I could not read. I took some to be Persian, others Syrian. One of them, I swear it, was in Egyptian hieroglyphics.

“What do we do now?” Cleopatra asked.

“This is a tavern,” I said. “We drink.”

She frowned. “We can do that anyplace.”

“We can’t rush things. I can’t very well stand up and announce my intentions. It wouldn’t look right. We’ll have to wait and be approached.”

“How will anyone know who you are?”

“They’ll know,” I assured her. “They knew the moment I walked in here.”

The wine arrived and the Judean proved to be as good as the girl had promised and of a pale rose color I had never seen before. Since Cyprus lay close to Judea, it could travel there without suffering the usual deleterious effects of a long sea voyage.

Alpheus regaled us with stories of the gods and how they had disported themselves on Cyprus and in its surrounding waters. He was a most ingratiating companion, and it was a good thing for him, since it was how he made his living. As the evening rolled pleasantly by, I saw a few of my own men, but they faded back out when they caught sight of me. No man feels comfortable carousing under the eye of his commander.

“Decius,” Cleopatra whispered, touching my arm, “over there, that corner table opposite ours-doesn’t that woman look familiar?”

I squinted in that direction. At a small table a woman sat between two burly, bearded men. From both sides they leaned close and spoke into her ears. I suspected they were not discussing the price of copper in the Paphos market. The woman had let her cloak fall back far enough to reveal a good-quality gown skimpy enough to reveal the greater part of her prodigious breasts. Nobody’s hands were above the table, but they seemed to be busily employed. The woman’s flushed, laughing face looked decidedly familiar.

“Isn’t that Flavia,” Cleopatra asked, “the banker’s wife?” I looked again. Her dark hair hung loose to her shoulders, meaning she had been wearing a blonde wig at the banquet two nights earlier. It was definitely Flavia.

“The lady seems to enjoy slumming,” I said. “She wouldn’t be the first rich woman I’ve known to supplement a fat, old husband’s inadequacies with virile if lowborn company.” I could have named a score of noble Roman ladies who could have given this one lessons in scandalous deportment, but it has never been my habit to gossip.

“Pretend we haven’t seen her,” Alpheus advised, relishing the whole business. “Otherwise she might be embarrassed next time we see her with her husband-was his name Nobilior? — at the house of Silvanus.”

Moments later, while the princess and the poet were deep in conversation, I happened to glance toward the corner table and saw Flavia staring straight into my eyes. She wore a loose, lazy, slightly drunken smile as she shrugged a shoulder and let her gown fall, revealing one amazingly bulbous breast. It was quickly captured by one of her companions, who began to maul it mercilessly with a broad, calloused hand while she smiled at me triumphantly and her lips formed a word I could not understand. No, we were not likely to embarrass this woman.

“Are you the Roman sent out here to hunt pirates?”

My attention was distracted from the woman to a man who stood by our table, and he was a riveting specimen. Deeply tanned like all sailors, his powerful body was covered with old scars, and they were from battle not the public torturer. His tunic was even scantier than that worn by Hermes and exposed a great deal of this scarred flesh. Tucked into his rope cincture was a large, curved dagger. Most astonishingly for these waters, the man’s short-cropped hair was pure blond, almost like a German’s. His eyes burned a brilliant blue above his blocky cheekbones. His feet were bare.

“From the look of it, I’ve found one. Who are you?”

“Ariston,” he said, pulling up a stool and sitting without waiting for an invitation.

“That’s a Greek name, and you are no Greek,” I said.

“You couldn’t pronounce the one I was born with. It doesn’t matter. I’ve been using this one for thirty years or more, and I’m used to it.”

“Where are you from? I’ve never seen anyone quite like you, and I’ve traveled more widely than most.”

“I was born on the steppe beyond Thrace, to the north and east. When I was a boy my tribe was wiped out by another, and the children were marched to the Euxine Sea and sold to slavers there. I was bought by a shipmaster and have lived on the sea ever since.”

I gestured for the serving girl. “Bring us another cup.” She returned with the requested vessel, and I filled it. Ariston took it, poured a small libation, and drank.

“You must be a Roman all right,” he said, wiping his lips with the back of a scarred hand. “You can afford the best.”

“And I can afford to pay well for the services I require. I presume you are interested in offering such?”

“If we can come to an agreement.” He glanced at Cleopatra, raised almost invisible eyebrows. “You’re that Egyptian princess, aren’t you? The one who’s been playing admiral out in the harbor.”

“You don’t seem greatly awed,” she noted, flushing slightly. “I’ve had princesses bent over the rail of a captured ship with their wrists tied to their ankles. They’re much like other women, and they don’t bring as much ransom as you’d expect. Kings produce lots of them and have plenty to spare.”

Apollodorus began to uncoil from the wall, and Ariston glanced up at him. “Easy, boy. I’m no threat to your lady; and if she can’t take the conversation in a place like this, she can stop her ears with wax like Odysseus or go seek company of her own kind.”

“It’s all right, Apollodorus,” Cleopatra said. Slowly he relaxed, but his dark eyes burned. Hermes smirked faintly at his discomfiture. I glared at Hermes, and his face went aloof again.

“I take it,” I said, “that you have sailed with these pirates I am looking for?”

“If I hadn’t I wouldn’t be of much use to you, would I? Yes, I sailed with them for a while. I won’t give you the names of any towns we raided or ships we took because I don’t feel like being crucified just yet.”

“You’ll be safe once you take my oath of service,” I told him, “but I won’t feel inclined to take you on without more than you’ve just told me.”

“That is fair. To begin, fifteen years ago I was a sailor aboard the Scylla in the fleet of Admiral Lichas, based in Cilicia. When Pompey swept down upon us like a storm, I surrendered with the rest. We were taken inland to be settled in a new town in Illyria, but I was never meant to be a farmer so I made my way back to the sea and signed on to the first ship that passed.

“I’ve been plying the sea ever since, all over the Euxine, the Great Sea, and even beyond, all the way to Britannia. But it’s a tame life once you’ve known pirating.”

“I can imagine,” I said. “Most soldiers I know complain about peacetime-no towns to burn and sack, no women to rape, no men to torture and kill to get at their belongings, no parades, dragging the captives behind you while the citizens sing of your glory.”

He nodded. “It is tedious. Imagine how your soldiers would feel about fifteen straight years of peace.”

“They would find it intolerable,” I agreed. “So when the opportunity arose to go back to piracy, you didn’t hesitate?”

“Not for an instant. I was in Piraeus when I heard that some men were setting back up in the old business. I knew they would be needing experienced men, so I took ship for Cyprus and made contact with them.”

“Cyprus?” I said. “You mean they’re based here?”

“This was six months ago. They had a base on the other side of the island then. The base changed three times just during the time I was with them: a place on the Lydian mainland called Pyrios, a little island near Rhodes, then a cove on Crete that the locals call the Beach of Crabs.”

“Who is their leader?”

“Last I heard, a man named Spurius.”

“That’s impossible. Spurius is a Roman name.”

“Well, it ought to be, since he’s a Roman. I’ve always heard that Romans will steal anything, anywhere, so why not at sea?”

I had no good answer for that. As I have said, we are not a nautical people, but there was no reason why some Roman should not set himself up as a pirate chief.

“Ariston,” Cleopatra said, “what made you leave these pirates? It sounds as if the life suits you well.” She displayed not the slightest distaste for this seafaring murderer, only a lively interest. If she wanted to see real life, she was getting it by the bucketful in this place.

“The old life suited me well, but not this. You see, in the old days we were the kings of the sea. The pirate fleets ruled the waters from the Euxine to the Pillars of Herakles and beyond. We rowed right up to Roman ports and bared our buttocks at them. Kings of the land payed us tribute just to make us go away. We blockaded whole cities and made them ransom themselves. We gilded entire ships and hoisted sails dyed with Tyrian purple. That was living the way a pirate should!” He looked morose.

“This new lot are not worthy of the old fleets. With a few, miserable Liburnians they skulk about, raid small villages, and take merchantmen-as long as there’s not another sail in sight. It’s too paltry for me. In the fleet of Lichas I rose to command a trireme! We went ship-to-ship with the fleets of Bythinia and Rhodes and sent them scurrying back home.”

“Until Rome came and swept the sea clean of you,” I said. “Rome ruins everything for everybody,” he said, then grinned crookedly. “Well, that’s how the wheel of Fortuna turns. Now Rome is at the helm, and I’d rather serve a first-rate power than despoil goatherds and take defenseless ships hauling wool. My pride won’t take it.”

“How do you propose we find these pirates?” Alpheus asked. Ariston cocked his head toward the young man. “Who’s he?” “I am a poet.”

“He’s not sailing with us, is he?”

“No,” I answered, “but she is.”

He rolled his eyes. “This is going to be an interesting voyage.” Cleopatra smiled sweetly. “Don’t expect me to bend over the rail for you, tied or untied.” A bit of the murderous Ptolemy showed through her polish.

“Alpheus’s question was a good one,” I said. “Just how do you propose we find them? It’s for just such advice that I will be hiring you.”

He lifted his cup. “I think that should wait until after I’ve taken your oath and accepted your silver denarius.”

I dipped into my purse and took out a denarius. “Here,” I said, tossing it to him. “This is your provisional enlistment, as witnessed by Princess Cleopatra, who is now one of my officers. You are now under Roman protection. When we leave here, come with us. I’ll find you a bunk in the house of Silvanus for the night. You’ve been seen talking with us, and your life is no longer worth that denarius in this port.”

He grinned, showing not a single empty space among his white teeth. I considered it a good sign that a veteran brawler of his years still had all his teeth. Then his grin faded. “I’d feel better if you gave me the oath right now.” He had a true sailor’s reverence for the supernatural powers.

“We need an altar for that,” I said. “You can take the oath tomorrow at the naval base.”

“We pass the Temple of Poseidon on the way back to the house of Silvanus,” Alpheus suggested. “Why not give him the oath there?”

“Good idea,” I said. I picked up our pitcher and peered into its faintly damp bottom. “Time for more.” I signaled for the barmaid, and she came scurrying over.

“Who knows?” said Alpheus. “We might have a whole crew of men like Ariston recruited before it is time to leave.”

“I have a feeling there are very few men around here like Ariston,” Cleopatra said, eyeing the man coolly.

He grinned again, “You have that right, Princess.”

The wine arrived quickly, and we drank to our new recruit. Cleopatra asked for another song from Alpheus, but he protested that he was sung out for the moment and reeled off in search of the jakes. So, willful as a child, she demanded pirate stories from Ariston. He complied happily, and she gave him her rapt attention.

Alpheus slipped back onto the bench beside me and whispered, “Look over there.” He nodded toward the corner where Flavia lounged, her gown fallen to her waist and no fewer than six sailors surrounding her. Her face was flushed crimson, and she laughed loudly as they took liberties with her. “Do you think she’ll take them on each in turn or all at once?”

I pondered the logistics. “Common wisdom holds that a woman can properly entertain no more than three men at once, since the gods have bestowed upon her only that many orifices suited to the task. If she is dextrous with her hands in spite of such distractions, she may deal with two more. I’ve known certain wonderfully trained courtesans who can manage five to the satisfaction of all involved. But six? I would think that unlikely.”

“I would like to watch just to find out,” he said. “Do you think she would object if I were to go over there and suggest it?”

I considered this. The evening had reached the stage where this seemed like a reasonable proposition. “Best not,” I said. “I may need to borrow money from her husband before my business here is over. The Senate has granted me its usual, niggardly budget for this project, and I may well exceed it soon.”

“Pity,” he said wistfully. “It would be a spectacle worthy of a poem in the style of Duris.” He referred not to the Samian historian, but to the Ionian poet of the same name, whose works were not only forbidden in Rome but were regularly seized and burned even in Greek cities, and you can’t get much more salacious than that. I had paid dearly in hard coin for my own collection of his works.

“What are you two talking about?” Cleopatra demanded.

“There are some aspects of real life,” Alpheus said, “that should wait upon greater maturity and sophistication, Princess.”

Before long it was clear that we would get no more recruits that night. The place began to empty, and soon I saw that even Flavia of the heroic appetites had retired somewhere with her six salty swains. Eventually, I stood.

“Time to go,” I said. “We must be at the ships early. I want to take them out on patrol, even if we’ve had no word of a pirate strike.”

“Are you sure you can walk?” Cleopatra asked.

“Princess,” I replied, “a Roman officer can walk where other men can only crawl.”

“That makes no sense whatever,” she observed.

“He is a Roman,” Alpheus told her. “He was trained in rhetoric, not logic.”

I paid our score and bought a small jug of the best-quality wine to be had at the tavern. At the door Hermes and Apollodorus took small, oil-soaked torches from the jar provided by the management.

“Apollodorus,” I said, “you walk ahead of us. Hermes, come along behind.”

“My place is at my lady’s back,” the Sicilian boy said adamantly. “You can’t talk to the senator like that!” Hermes cried. “Get up front or I’ll ram that torch up-”

“I shall lead the way,” Alpheus proclaimed grandly, seizing a torch and lighting it at the door sconce, “as Orpheus led Eurydice from the realm of Tartarus.”

“With happier outcome, I hope,” Cleopatra said, giggling girlishly. “Thanks,” I whispered to the poet.

He winked. “How are we to teach our slaves manners if not by modest acts of diplomacy?”

We set off with the poet in front and the two slaves stalking along behind, stiff-legged as a pair of Molossian fighting hounds sniffing each other’s backsides. I could see that I was going to have to do something about those two before much longer.

“His heart full of joy,” Alpheus proclaimed as he stepped forth, “the Thracian made his way from the gloomy palace of terrible Hades, and close behind followed his beloved Eurydice, at whom he durst not gaze until both should stand beneath the blessed light of Apollo.

“Past the Three Judges their steps took them, and by the lovely song of Orpheus the eyes of Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus were dazzled and their souls were filled with bliss. Monstrous Cerberus laid his three heads upon his paws and allowed them to pass unharmed, his savage heart soothed by the divine music.

“Through the sad Asphodel Fields did Orpheus lead his darling wife, victim of the serpent’s sting, and the jealous shades gathered round but hindered them not, for in the rapture of the Thracian’s song their thirst for blood was slaked, and they remembered the joys of their mortal lives, and knew peace.”

We turned a corner and climbed the main street, the voice of Alpheus echoing from the whitewashed fronts of the buildings to either side.

“At the shore of the Styx, that black river which is a terrible oath, the fingers of Orpheus drew from his lyre so sweet a tune that the turbulent waters calmed and became as polished bronze, and ancient, cankered Charon, drawn by the heavenly music, brought his ferryboat to shore, though never before had he fetched his passengers from the Tartarus shore, but only those unhappy shades destined to go there, never to return.

“From the prow of Charon’s barge stepped Orpheus onto land, his beloved Eurydice but a pace behind, amid the batlike twittering of the hopeless shades gone thither with no coin beneath the tongue to pay the ferryman.

“Up the long, long cavern they climbed, Eurydice fallen behind in the gloom, unable to see her husband, guided by his wonderful music, sweet to her ears as light. In time before them, tiny as a star in the distance, lay the mouth of the cave, at Aornum in Thesprotis.

“At last bold Orpheus, he who dared enter the dread land of Hades, went forth into the holy light of Apollo, and with a final note ended his incomparable song, and turning to let his eyes drink in the sight of his beloved wife, saw to his horror that she still stood the distance of but a single pace within the mouth of the awful cave. Alas! But a moment’s vision had he of his beloved, and with a despairing cry she faded from his view, to return to the home of the pitiless Lord of the Underworld, there to dwell forever.”

Alpheus ended his song neatly just as we arrived before the Temple of Poseidon. We applauded him heartily, even Ariston, who didn’t impress me as much of an aesthete. As lyric poems go it wasn’t all that distinguished, a minor variation on a well-worn theme. Plus, as I remembered the sequence of steps to the Underworld, Cerberus stood on guard between the Styx and the Asphodel Fields, not between the fields and the home of Hades.

But, considering that it was composed extempore, in a fog of wine fumes, and timed perfectly to end at our destination, Alpheus had earned his applause.

“Now, Ariston, come with me. Princess, I take it that you have been trained in hieratical duties?”

“I am a priestess of Isis, an initiate in the Eleusinian Mysteries, the Cult of Dionysus, and-”

“We don’t need anything that specialized. I just need you to act as witness and pour the sacrifice at the proper moment.”

So we climbed the steps to the splendid altar that stood before the temple. With Cleopatra holding the wine jar, I borrowed Hermes’s sword and, grasping it by the sheath, held it out toward Ariston, who placed his horny palm on its hilt. Then I administered the oath, which is a sacred thing and not to be written down. At the required moment, Cleopatra poured the wine onto the altar and we watched as it ran down the blood channel to the drain that would carry it to the earth below.

“That’s that, then,” I said, tossing the weapon back to Hermes. “Welcome to the service of Rome. Stay in the navy for twenty years, and you’ll be rewarded with citizenship.”

Ariston laughed loudly. “So that I can spend a few years of doddering old age privileged to vote some thief into office?”

“You could take up residence in some thriving little municipality, get elected to office, and line your own purse. Plenty of clever veterans have done that.”

“The wonders of living in a republic,” Cleopatra said bemusedly. We began to stroll across the plaza toward the governor’s mansion when I stopped in my tracks at an all too familiar sound: a triple slither of blades leaving sheaths. Hermes, Apollodorus, and Ariston had drawn in the same instant. I had heard nothing to alarm me, but that didn’t slow me down. My hands dived into my tunic and emerged with my dagger in my right fist and the spiked, bronze bar of my caestus across the knuckles of my left. I scandalized my family by brawling with such low-bred weapons, but they had saved my life in too many dark streets for me to entrust it to any others.

“How many?” I asked.

“We’ll know soon,” Hermes said.

“Hold this,” Apollodorus said, handing his torch to Cleopatra. She took it, eyes gone wide as he took his position just behind her to the right, where he could keep her in view and she would not interfere with his sword arm. He would ignore the rest of us, but nobody would touch Cleopatra while he was alive. Hermes stood back-to-back with me, and Ariston stood half crouched a few feet away, his eyes darting in all directions. Alpheus stood rigid, his torch held aloft, eyes bugged out in astonished terror.

All this was the work of an instant, and in the next instant they attacked.

With a hideous screech, they closed on us in a half circle. I had no time to make a count, but I knew they outnumbered us grievously. Well, I’d been in that situation before. The answer was to carve down their numbers as quickly as possible. I was surrounded by glittering metal and then the first of them was on me in a wash of wine-and-garlic breath. He cut high, going for my throat, and I ducked low, stepping in to drive my caestus into the bundle of nerves in his armpit. He squawked at the unexpected pain, and I drove my dagger in somewhere in the vicinity of his midriff.

The man dropped away from me just in time for me to see one dart past Cleopatra. Apollodorus thrust his sword out almost lazily, and the man stopped with a look of wonder as a great fountain of blood erupted from his throat. The really great swordsmen always seem to move slowly. Then I had no more time to appreciate his technique as another was on me. Meantime I could hear a series of grunts behind me and hoped that. Hermes was coping well, as my back would feel terribly bare otherwise.

My new admirer wore a short coat of Gallic mail and had a curved sword in one hand and a small fist shield in the other. He had come ready for war, and here I was, half naked and slow with all the wine I had put away. The sword flicked toward my eyes, and I batted it aside with the caestus, but it was a ruse. His real blow came from the little shield. Its iron edge came down on my right forearm just behind the wrist, and I heard my dagger hit the pavement an instant before the shield came in a second time, driving into my ribs and sending the wind from my lungs in a great blast.

Lights flashed before my eyes as I fell. My back hit the pavement and I saw, upside-down, Hermes fully occupied with a man who swung an iron-tipped staff in both hands. No help to be had from that direction. I tried to draw my legs in for a desperate kick, but I knew it was too late: the curved sword was already drawn back for the deathblow. All I could think was: It is good to die immediately after sacrificing. Neptune will intervene for me with the Judges. My father would have commended such a pious last thought, though he would have cursed me for a fool for dying in such a fashion.

Then a broad shape came between me and my would-be murderer. Ariston, crouched low, thrust a massive shoulder into the fellow’s midsection, bending him almost double. With a heave of powerful thighs, the ex-pirate sent him almost straight up, turning over end-for-end. Incredibly, Ariston spun and brought his broad-bladed knife down in a shearing blow, and the man landed on his back in a clashing of mail, half-beheaded.

Then there was silence until I heard a low whistle. “Will you teach me that move?” Hermes, naturally.

“I am glad,” I wheezed, “that you are so solicitous of your half-slain master.”

The boy helped me to my feet. “I’ve seen you half killed a dozen times. You don’t get to see a move like that every day.”

“Many thanks, Ariston,” I said. “I can see already that I did the right thing recruiting you.”

“What is going on here!” shouted someone. Then I saw Silvanus coming across the plaza with five or six slaves holding torches and staves. With him was Gabinius, accompanied by a grizzled man who had the look of a retired centurion. Both old soldiers held heavy, legionary swords in scarred fists.

“Just a small ambush,” I said, “nothing to concern yourself about.” My studied nonchalance was spoiled by the searing pain in my side. If I’d been fully sober it never would have happened.

“Princess!” Silvanus cried, “Are you well?”

“Perfectly unharmed,” she said, her voice breathless and excited. “I don’t believe this attack was meant for me.” Beside her, Apollodorus cleaned his blade on the tunic of the man he’d killed. I felt a hand clap my shoulder and turned to see the elated face of Alpheus.

“That was splendid! I shall compose a poem on this fight!” I wiped a hand down a half-numb face. “Poets sing of battle,” I said, “not sordid little brawls like this.”

“What do you think went on before the walls of Troy? Just a brawl.” He smiled and shrugged happily, verses already running through his head no doubt.

Gabinius examined the carnage. “Looks like the Senate steps back to the old days.” Five bodies lay there. I spotted the one Apollodorus had eliminated so elegantly, the one I had killed, and the one Ariston had eliminated. The staff man lay gurgling, bloody froth bubbling from a gaping chest wound. An unarmored man with a short sword had his hands full taking on a good man with a staff. Hermes had learned well.

“Who got this one?” I asked, pointing to an eviscerated man who lay nearby.

“He’s mine,” Ariston said. “And I sent another running with an arm cut half through. He should be dead by morning.”

“Then you get a high score for tonight’s work,” I commended him. “How many were there altogether?”

“I counted eight,” Alpheus said, “There were two who hung back and ran when they saw their companions bested.”

“Did you see anyone just standing back and watching not taking any part?”

“No, but I wasn’t looking back there in among the alleyways. I confess I was overcome with fear. I should have paid more attention.”

“You did all right. I-”

“Metellus,” Silvanus bit out, “how dare you risk the life of the princess like this? If the Senate heard-”

“Not here in front of foreigners!” Gabinius snapped. “Let’s go inside and talk.” This was eminently sensible advice.

A few louts from the night watch arrived, and Silvanus pointed to the staff man, who still breathed. “Take him to the lockup and put the hot irons to him. I want to know the name of whoever put these men up to this deed. Promise him a quick death if he talks.”

“The one I cut must be leaving a trail like a gutted boar,” Ariston said. Gabinius turned to the grizzled man. “Take two of these men and follow the blood. Bring me back a live man or a dead one, but live by preference. You know how to make them talk.” The old centurion nodded shortly, then pointed a blunt finger at two of the watch, “You and you. Come.” Off they went like hounds on a scent.

We walked back toward the mansion, Silvanus bubbling apologies the whole way. “Princess, I cannot tell you how sorry I am that this has happened. Please assure your father-”

“Nonsense. All turned out well, and it was most exhilarating. Please don’t concern yourself on my account. They were after the senator.”

“You might’ve been the target,” Gabinius said, bluntly. “I don’t see how-”

“You’re worth a good bit of change now, with your older sisters dead and you set to marry your brother after the Egyptian custom. Auletes would pay handsomely to have you back.”

“Exactly,” said Silvanus, as if he had been thinking the same thing. “Naturally these rogues would eliminate your protection, first the senator and his guard and this ugly fellow I don’t know, then Apollodorus, then just bag you and carry you off to their ship.”

“Oh,” she said, her face suddenly grave.

“Hermes,” I said, “Take Ariston back to our quarters and find him a place to bunk down.”

“Come along,” Hermes said, regarding Ariston with a certain admiration. Well, it had been quite a feat, even though it galled me that I had needed another man to save my neck.

“And now, Senator,” Silvanus said, “we need to talk.” All I wanted was a hot bath and a good night’s sleep. The hot blood of combat had cooled, the wine I had drunk was causing my head to ache, and I was pretty certain that I had a cracked rib or two. But there was no help for it. Duty comes first for any servant of the Senate and People of Rome. I followed the two into Silvanus’s study.