The Princess and the Pirates (20 page)

“It helped that he was successful,” Flavia put in.

“It goes without saying that victory is essential,” I affirmed.

“But why,” Alpheus asked, “when your General Crassus was defeated at Carrhae, did Rome not immediately pursue that war? I would think that Parthia, not Gaul, would be your first priority.”

“Crassus wanted a war with the Parthians to match Pompey in military glory. But the Parthians had done nothing to offend us, and the Senate refused to declare war. But Crassus was legendarily rich so he raised and paid for his own legions and marched out on his own. A Tribune of the Plebs named Trebonius laid a terrible curse on Crassus as he left Rome to join his army.”

“It was the terror of Rome for a while,” Flavia said. She drew a little phallus amulet from its resting place between her breasts and used it to make a complicated gesture, warding evil away from us. The tribune’s infamous curse had been terribly potent, endangering the whole citizenry.

“So when Crassus was defeated,” I continued, “most people said good riddance. We are under no obligation to avenge him and his army, and there has been no break in diplomatic relations with that kingdom, though young Cassius has been skirmishing a bit with them, or so I heard just before I left Rome. We would like to have the lost eagles back, and we want to free the survivors from captivity; but I suspect that when it happens we will just pay ransom.”

“I doubt that,” Flavia said. “Parthia is too rich a plum to resist plucking for long. When Caesar and Pompey are free of their current distractions, one of them will have a go at Parthia. Or Gabinius might when his exile is over. And none of them will blunder the way Crassus did, the senile old fool. Think how the plebs will love it when they see those freed captives marching in the Triumph, carrying their lost eagles.”

“You may well be right,” I admitted. I had known few women in Rome who were so politically astute. I looked around for her husband and saw him at a table next to some city dignitaries. Beyond him, at a table set for commoners, I saw Ariston. It annoyed me that he should expose himself in such a fashion and resolved to upbraid him for it. I turned to Alpheus.

“That was a very accomplished song you delivered,” I commended. “Especially when you consider what short notice you had.”

“You are too kind. Actually, it was just a variation on a funeral song I wrote years ago. I’ve employed it a number of times, making changes where necessary to fit the deceased. This was the first I’ve done for a Roman though. The real challenge was getting the chorus rehearsed. Luckily, I’ve had some experience in that art, and the chorus here is excellent. Of course, the whole citizenry sings, but these are the ones who take part in the theatrical productions.”

“In Rome we have nothing like your Greek choral singing,” I noted. “The closest we come is everybody piling into the Circus for a chariot race. The sounds we make there aren’t very musical I’m afraid.”

“So,” he said, “you’re thinking of putting off your pirate hunt until you’ve determined who killed Silvanus? That seems an odd sort of activity.”

I explained to him some of the reasons why it was urgent that I set the matter to rest as soon as possible. “Of course,” I added, “I cannot let an especially insolent or egregious act of piracy go unnoticed. It would be bad for Roman prestige.”

“And for your political future,” Flavia pointed out.

“Yes, there is always that. By the way, Flavia, while I realize your husband is a banker, does he, by any chance, ever deal in frankincense or have dealings with any who do?” It was clumsy, but I thought it worth a try.

She laughed. “Frankincense! Why ever would you ask that? Are you planning to go into the business yourself? Shame on you! And you a senator!” She went off into peals of laughter. Quite inappropriate at a funeral, but others were laughing as well. The wine wasn’t good, but it flowed freely.

“Well, I suppose that answers me. Believe it or not, the question is pertinent to my investigation.”

“I have little to do with my husband’s business, but I’ll ask him for you if you want. Frankincense, indeed!” She seemed to find the very idea inordinately funny. I doubted there was any aspect of her husband’s business she didn’t know about, but it was not unusual that she would deny it. Men were often suspicious of women who were too knowledgeable about such things as business, politics, and war. Of course, she had not been shy about flaunting her knowledge of the latter two subjects. Shyness was not among this woman’s attributes.

Nor was she abstemious about the food or the wine. She put away large quantities of both, apparently one of those lucky women whose immoderate gustatory habits had no effect on her figure, which was voluptuous but not quite to the point of overabundance. Like me she had brought her own wine, and frequently signaled her slave girl for a refill. Each time she did this, she slid her hand along the young woman’s body with the unconscious ease of a woman stroking a favorite pet. The girl seemed to take this quite naturally, and once leaned close to whisper into her mistress’s ear something that set them both laughing uproariously.

“Will Silvanus have funeral games?” Alpheus asked.

“I don’t believe he was that important,” I answered him. “Ordinarily,
munera
are only held in memory of the most distinguished men, consuls at the very least. At one time only former consuls who had triumphed were allowed gladiatorial displays, but our standards have slipped somewhat of late. This is at Rome, you understand. In his hometown, his family may hold any sort of funeral games they wish. For all I know, Silvanus may have been the most distinguished man in Bovillae or Lanuvium or Reate or some such place. Senators who are political nobodies in Rome are often very important men in their ancestral towns. He may have provided for games in his will.”

“He was from Ostia,” Flavia said, her words beginning to slur a bit, “same as my husband. And yes, his family is a great one in that town. There’s usually a Silvanus serving as one of the
duumviri.
I think he held the post three times. Yes, I think we can expect a good show after his ashes arrive home. I hope we’re back in time to attend. I love the fights.”

“You will be,” I assured her. “Believe me, they take time to arrange. It will be a year or two before he gets his final rites. Look at Faustus Sulla. He celebrated the Dictator’s games twenty years after his father died.

You’re lucky you live in Ostia. Women aren’t allowed to attend the
munera
in Rome.”

“Rome is so stodgy and straitlaced,” she said. “You should go to Baiae when there’s a festival. I spend the summers there when I can. They do things there that would drop Cato and his tiresome crowd dead with shock.”

“So I’ve heard,” I said enviously. “I’ve never managed to be there when anything really scandalous was going on.”

“Let me tell you what happened last time I was there,” she said, her voice dripping musk and lasciviousness. She launched into a description of her adventures with several matrons of that free-and-easy resort town during the celebration of the
Priapalia,
a festival banned from Rome generations ago because of the licentious behavior that always accompanied the worship of that rustic deity, who in Rome is confined to gardens and brothels.

“You are an adventurous lady,” I commended her, when the tale was done.

“On the island of Cythera,” Alpheus said, “which also claims to be the birthplace of Aphrodite, there are very similar practices during their annual festival of the goddess; activity that even the inhabitants acknowledge as intolerable at other times become acts of pious worship during those three days.”

“In Rome,” I pointed out, “we men of the senatorial class have always wondered what our wives get up to during the annual rites of Bona Dea. Clodius once tried to spy on the rites dressed as a woman, but he was caught and expelled before he saw anything interesting.”

“It’s all very tame I am sure,” Flavia said. “Roman women of spirit and imagination have to find their fun outside the City.”

“Speaking of women,” I said, “where is Cleopatra?” I looked around but did not see her.

“Up on the temple porch,” Alpheus said, nodding toward the noble building. I looked and saw a long table where Cleopatra reclined next to Gabinius. The city archon, the high priest of Poseidon, and Photinus were at the same table.

“I would think you would be at the highest table,” Flavia’s tone was that of the devoted troublemaker. I pushed aside my own annoyance in recognition of the fact.

“Gabinius arranged the funeral,” I pointed out, “and I am just a visiting military officer. The dining arrangements seem to be punctilious.” Gabinius was using the practice to put me in my place, but I determined to
settle the matter later. For now a united front was called for. “Where are lone and the priestesses of Aphrodite?” I asked, to change the subject.

“With the
Aphrodisia
only days away,” Alpheus explained, “they may not attend a funeral or enter a house of mourning. They would be ritually unclean, and the festival would have to be canceled for the year. It would be a terrible portent for the whole island.”

“And this island has had all the bad luck it can handle,” I said, “between Roman annexation, the pirates, and the copper trade, which has desolated large parts of it.”

“Ah, you know how the island has been ruined by mining?” Alpheus said.

“I’ve heard something of it,” I hedged.

“But it made the place rich,” Flavia pointed out. “It is the special genius of Rome,” I said, feeling the wine a bit myself and growing expansive, “that we understand the proper path to wealth.”

“What is that?” Alpheus asked. I had the distinct impression that he was humoring me.

“The way to get rich is not by ruining your own land to sell your resources abroad. Instead, you conserve your own land and go plunder somebody else’s wealth.” Flavia laughed like a jackass. Even Gabinius, on the temple porch, heard and glared in our direction. Well, his friend had just died. I tried to keep a straight face while he was looking my way.

When we had all gorged and swilled to repletion, people rose from their tables and began to circulate. Evening was drawing on and torches were brought out to illuminate the central part of the city. It was a great extravagance, but it is with these touches of excess that we hope to be remembered after we die.

Flavia, Alpheus, and I were fast friends by now, at least until the wine wore off; and like many others we began to walk off dinner, trying to make room for the sweets that had been brought out as the last course. At the funeral of Scipio Africanus, sweets were served and the extravagance was remembered for generations. His was a more austere time, and the island of Cyprus had access to such luxuries in abundance.

I met some of Flavia’s friends, a number of whom seemed to be as debauched as she. Alpheus did a bit of business, arranging to compose songs for festivals in other towns. We came to a table set up on a side street off the main plaza and I stopped, my jaw dropping in shock. “What are you doing here?” I demanded.

Ion looked back at me, not at all dismayed. “All the resident foreigners in the city were invited to the banquet, Senator, just like you.” Looking along the table, I saw the crews of my ships, my marines, and the hired mercenaries.

“You were to be at the ships, ready to sail on the instant!” I yelled. “What are we to do if there is news of an attack?”

He looked me over. “Do you really think you’re in any shape to lead us?”

“I could be carried to the ships and sober up on the voyage out!” I told him. “How I get into fighting shape is my business, not yours! What are you laughing at?” This last was addressed to Alpheus and Flavia, who seemed unreasonably amused by my embarrassment.

“Suppose the pirates were to strike the city right now!” Flavia whooped. “How would it sound in the Forum, when Pompey’s men spread the word that Metellus and his whole crew were gorged and besotted at the banquet tables when the enemy came calling!”

“If Themistocles and his men had been like this the night before Salamis,” Alpheus put in, “I’d be composing verses to Ahura-Mazda in Persian right now!”

“No one attacks at night,” Ion asserted, refilling his cup. “We’ll be ready to sail at dawn, and a sailor who can’t put to sea with a hangover is a poor excuse for a seaman anyway.”

“Well, not much to be done about it now,” I said, my indignation running out like wine from a punctured skin. Just be ready to sail at first light.”

“Let’s be away from here,” Flavia urged, pressing a great deal of soft flesh against my side. “It’s noisy in this place. My litter is somewhere around here. Let’s go find it. Come along, Decius.” There it was: the praenomen.

I looked for Alpheus and saw him making a discreet exit. The man was the soul of diplomacy. Joining Flavia in some secluded nook seemed like a fine idea, which shows the condition I was in. Abruptly, the soft flesh pressing against me was replaced by hard muscle on both sides.

“Why, here you are, Captain!” said Ariston, taking one arm in a steely grip.

“Better come along with us,” Hermes said, gripping the other. “Tomorrow comes early, as you keep reminding me.” He turned to Flavia. “My lady, we have to get the master to bed.”

She looked him over, then she gave Ariston an even longer look, up
and down. “That sounds like an excellent idea. Why don’t we all find a place to relax away from this crowd? I know a house just two streets away that provides all the amenities we could wish.”

Hermes leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Julia could be here tomorrow.” That did it. He might as well have cast me into icy water.

“Flavia,” I said, “much as I appreciate your generous offer, duty comes first for an officer of the Senate and People. I must be ready to sail at daylight.”

She looked at me with great disfavor. “I had hoped better of you, Decius.” She turned and walked away. I sighed after her twitching, Coan-veiled buttocks.

“There goes a shipwreck in woman’s form,” said Ariston. “Come along, Captain. Plenty more where that one came from and much better time for them than tonight.”