The Princess and the Pirates (23 page)

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

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

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

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

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

“Think they’ve seen us?” I asked him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll just walk in and arrest him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What would Gabinius be smuggling?” Hermes asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. He might have come back to fetch it because he was feeling safe, having beached and humiliated me. Toy navy, indeed!

Gabinius, clearly, was building a stake to finance another grab at supreme power and providing himself with the nucleus of a naval force while he was about it. While Silvanus was alive, he could provide them all with the protection they needed as well. That thought drew me up short. That being the case, why was Silvanus dead? Well, doubtless all would be made clear in time. I just needed more facts.

It has always been my habit, when investigating, to gather all the facts I could, to have them at my disposal when time came for the trial. It was this little mania of mine that made me such a curiosity to my contemporaries, most of whom never let facts get in their way. In Rome the traditional way to sue a fellow citizen was to haul him before a praetor’s court
and loudly accuse him of every criminal depravity you could think of, leaving him to prove himself innocent. This he usually did by bringing in as many high-placed friends as he could to swear what a fine, upright, honest fellow he was. The prosecutor would reply by bringing forth “witnesses” who would swear before all the gods that they had personally seen the accused performing every perversion from incest to bestiality. In the end, each would vie to outbribe the jury.

Even Cicero, who was more scrupulous than most, indulged in this sort of buffoonery. I have already mentioned his scurrilous characterization of Gabinius. At an earlier date, he had attacked a senator named Vatinius for wearing a black toga, calling it a degenerate insult to the revered Senate, where white togas are the rule except when in mourning. Later, when Cicero defended Vatinius in a lawsuit, he blandly proclaimed that the black toga was a pious austerity demanded by Vatinius’s Pythagorean beliefs.