Of Merchants & Heros (9 page)

There are men always and everywhere who will enslave the weak and the unwary. A man must make himself strong: without that there can be no other freedom.’

I gazed up at the temple with its sculpted pediment, but in my mind I saw the rocky crags of Epeiros, and my anger stirred within me. ‘But who are these traitors,’ I said, ‘who work against Scipio even as he fights for our safety?’

He smiled. ‘You are not the only one who is frustrated by them.

But they are not traitors. They are leading men in Rome – senators, even ex-consuls some of them. But they are wrong. They suppose that if only we remove the Carthaginians from Italy, we will be left in peace. “Let us stay secure within our own borders as before!” That is what they say. They are old men, and they yearn for the past, when things were simpler – or seemed so. But there is no going back.

Twice Carthage has made war on us. That is enough. There must not be a next time.’

Before we parted he took my hand and said, ‘Well, Marcus, I am glad to see you healed – and don’t worry about that limp’ (he had spotted my frustration with it as I walked), ‘it is nothing, it will be gone in a few days.’ He paused, considering, then went on, ‘But listen, I am holding a small dinner-party – just a few friends – why don’t you come? I’m sure your stepfather is too busy to do much entertaining. I will show you a side to Tarentum you have not seen.’

Caecilius was waiting with a host of questions when I returned. Had I seen the praetor? Had I been to the residence? What had we talked about? My answers did not satisfy him.

‘Always think, boy,’ he said, ‘in everything you do, what there is to be gained. A conversation with important people is never a conversation merely.’ He tapped his temple with his little finger.

‘Gain, gain, gain. Always look for gain.’

Two days later, I returned from the harbour, where I had seen off a cargo of Tarentine pots and ironware, and was passing through the entrance hall, when old Telamon beckoned me aside with a quick worried wave of his hand.

‘Oh, Marcus sir,’ he said, keeping his voice down, ‘while you were out a note came from the praetor’s residence, and a box with it. Your name was written on it. Really, it could not have been clearer.’

I glanced at the cypresswood table in the corner, where such things were usually left. But except for the tall vase of green glass that always stood there, which Telamon kept stocked with herbs and flowers from the garden, the table was empty.

‘Then where is it?’ I said. But even as I spoke I had guessed.

Poor Telamon. Whoever the previous master of the house had been – and he was too discreet to speak of him to me – he had clearly been a man of breeding and fine manners. With Caecilius, he was at a loss. Seeing this I thanked him, and said, ‘No matter; I understand.’ And then we both looked round as Caecilius’s summoning voice came from his workroom.

The note, as I had already guessed, was from Titus. It lay open on the desk, an elegant papyrus scroll with the name ‘Marcus’ in a bold hand in black ink.

‘It seems, after all, that you have made a favourable impression,’

said my stepfather, looking up. ‘Now Caeso the praetor is sure to be at this gathering: you must do your best to persuade him to grant me the supply-contract for the garrison. At the moment that fool Mummius has it; but I can offer a better price. Make sure you tell him so. Shall I write it down, with the figures? Or will you keep them in your head? And don’t forget to tell him I am already supplying the fleet in Kerkyra – though I expect he has heard that already . . .’

He talked on, but he must have seen my eyes stray to the note, for he broke off and said, ‘What now? I receive many messages each day, and of course I did not notice your name till I had opened it.’

‘No, sir.’

He peered at me and sniffed. ‘Anyway, you are my son by adoption. You are under my authority and I may do as I please.

Here, read it yourself.’

He pushed the note across the desk at me.

It said: ‘Titus to Marcus, greetings. Come the day after tomorrow, at sunset. Meanwhile here is a small token, from uncle Caeso, who fares well, and from me. Something Greek. If you like it, wear it.’

The box – a small, painted gift-box – sat on the desk. The seal was broken and the cord had been undone. Caecilius must have been busy at it when I arrived.

I lifted the lid, and pulled out a fine white tunic with a border worked in green and scarlet, and held it up to look at it. It was better than anything else I possessed.

‘Fine work,’ nodded Caecilius, rubbing it with his short, thick fingers. ‘Milesian wool. It would be hard to find such quality even at the best shops in Rome.’ And then, glancing up and giving me a sharp look, ‘This Titus, it is said, likes all things Greek. You are not a bad-looking lad, despite your scarred leg. Make sure you watch yourself at this party of his.’

Thus, in his expert way, he added vinegar to the wine. I pretended I did not know what he meant, but no doubt my reddening face betrayed my understanding. I had received a gift from a friend, nothing more. But all things, for him, had to have a base motive; and until he had uncovered it he was not content.

Titus’s dinner-party was indeed very Greek – elegant supper-couches of polished wood and striped, silk cushions; a flautist in the corner, playing a Lydian air; a dinner service of antique silverware, and, upon it, a varied meal of small exquisite portions – Sicilian sucking kid, honeyed fowl scattered with sesame, spiced fish wrapped in delicate pastries – all perfectly prepared and served by well-trained staff.

When I arrived I asked after Caeso the praetor.

‘He is in bed, and will not be joining us,’ said Titus. ‘His wound is troubling him. At last he is heeding his doctor’s advice and resting.’

He led me in among the couches, introducing me to his friends.

There were two Romans about Titus’s age, called Villius and Terentius; there was a young tribune from the garrison; and there were two Greeks from Tarentum, who were something to do with the city government.

I greeted all these people. But the person who drew my eye was seated on the couch of honour next to Titus’s place. It was all I could do not to stare at her in wonder. She must have been well over forty, but she held herself like some exquisite work of art, and was as graceful as the haunting, gentle music coming from the alcove. She wore a silk robe of the darkest blue, worked around the edges with gold filigree; her chestnut hair was bound up and plaited, and held in place with a gilded brooch fashioned in the shape of a swallow. I knew enough by now to realize that she was a courtesan. But from her presence, you might have supposed she was a queen among her subjects.

She had been speaking to one of the other guests, but as Titus led me to her couch her dark eyes flashed up. They were painted with just a hint of colour. Her look was deep and intelligent and appraising. Titus said, ‘This is my friend Pasithea. I have set you beside her.’

She smiled up at me.

‘So you are the brave young man who fought off the Carthaginians. I have been looking forward to meeting you.’

I made some shy answer. I felt like some rustic lout, who finds himself in the presence of a goddess.

But she had made it her business and her art to know how to put a man at his ease; and soon, with a few words, a look, a gesture – I could not tell quite how she did it – she made me forget my awkwardness and think only of her.

I relaxed, and began to enjoy myself.

Titus, that evening, was sharing his supper-couch with a girl called Xanthe. She too was a courtesan, as were all the women there; but I could see they were also firm friends, who enjoyed each other’s conversation as much as each other’s bodies. Now and then, with a scarcely conscious movement, she would touch his arm or hand or leg as she talked, or turn her blue-painted eyes to him and smile.

She was aware of her body, and its effect. But there was nothing crude or distasteful or grasping. Her laughter was like dewdrops, her manners faultless. She was an artist, and one look at Pasithea showed who had been her teacher.

Titus’s friend Villius was on the couch nearest mine, and while we ate he told me he had recently come from Rome, and had known Titus since they were both boys. He praised my home town of Praeneste, saying he had visited the shrine of Fortuna there; and for a while we talked of home, and places we knew in common.

Later, Titus spoke of Tarentum. It was his uncle’s wish to restore self-government to the city; he was trying to persuade the Senate in Rome to agree. The good people – the aristocrats, the men of education – had never supported Hannibal, and in his view many men had been unfairly dispossessed in the chaos following the siege.

The time had come, he said, to put right this injustice and make Tarentines not subjects of Rome, but friends and allies.

As I listened I thought of Caecilius, and how little this would please him. I was glad the praetor was not there, for it spared me from putting to him Caecilius’s embarrassing requests for business, which, in such company, would have shamed me beyond reason.

Later, when the guests stood and mingled, Pasithea asked me how I was enjoying the city and what I had seen.

I had assumed, up to now, that she was Tarentine herself, but she said that, though she had been in the city for some time, and had a number of friends here, she had come from Greece.

‘From Athens?’ I asked, imagining her home in some such great and sophisticated city.

She laughed pleasantly and dipped her eyes. ‘No, my dear. I grew up in a little place called Abydos. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of it.’

In fact I had, and told her so, for it was a city Caecilius often mentioned, lying as it did on the shipping route from Greece to the Black Sea, where his ships sometimes put in. I asked her why she had left.

‘Oh, it was so
dull
.’ She leant over and laid a hand on my arm.

Her touch was light, yet full of feeling. I caught a hint of the scent she wore; it was delicate and bright, like springtime air, with a hidden depth that lured the senses. ‘You know, when I was a girl, I used to think it was just that I was easily bored. Have you ever felt that way, Marcus? But after I had visited Korinth and Athens, I realized it was not me, it was Abydos.’

She rolled her eyes, and I laughed, as she had intended. She laughed with me, and her gold earrings flickered in the lamplight.

‘And so,’ she continued, ‘I left, and went to Korinth, that most delightful of cities. Have you been? Oh, how I adored it after Abydos! I still do. Parties, friends, theatre, music; and always something new to stimulate the mind. I have a little house there on the Kenchreai road, with a pretty garden. But I like to travel, and of course I have friends everywhere.’

She talked on, telling me about places in Tarentum I should visit, asking about my fight with the Carthaginians, and a little about my life before I came (though not much of that – I think Titus had warned her). She made me laugh; she made me wish to know her better; she drew me out of my shell and made me feel alive.

As I sat, my tunic hem had ridden up a little, as tunics do.

Without thinking I eased it back down, to hide my scar. It had become something I did.

No one noticed, or so I thought.

But a little later Pasithea placed her hand to my thigh and with a gentle tap said, ‘It is a mark of honour. No decent person could think otherwise. Do not cheapen it by being ashamed.’

She was full of such acts of attentive kindness. This one, when I was young and vulnerable, I have never forgotten.

I had heard talk, even in quiet, backward Praeneste, of these famous Greek courtesans, for the boys who had been my childhood friends used to whisper about them, and speculate. Knowing no better, I had assumed they must be like the rough whores that lived in the alleyways behind the market there, who catered for the goatherds and cattlemen when they brought their livestock up from the hills to be sold.

I realized now how wrong I was. Pasithea had a mind as sharp as a barber’s blade, and wit to go with it. So did Xanthe. The Greeks called them hetairas, which means companion; and that is what they were. Whatever they gave, they gave freely. They did not demean themselves by asking for payment, or announcing a fee. They merely accepted a gift, offered freely by those they counted as their friends.

They were women who had chosen to be their own masters, and if there was a cost to such freedom, they were prepared to pay it.

I returned my attention to the conversation around me. Titus was asking Villius about the elections in Rome, which had recently taken place.

‘Scipio was there,’ said Villius. ‘He was canvassing, and putting himself about among the people. Fabius spoke against him, of course. So did—’ and here he named a number of senior men in Rome, men from ancient and powerful families.

‘What did they say?’ asked Titus.

Villius shrugged. ‘The same as always. They say Scipio should make peace, if peace is offered. They are tired of war.’

Titus turned to me. ‘You see, Marcus; it is as I was telling you.’

And then, to Villius, ‘By the gods, we are all tired of war. But being tired of war will not turn away our enemies. Now, at last, after so many years, Carthage is at the point of defeat, and these old men want to pull back, like dogs that bark but will not bite. We made the mistake once before, and they came back, even stronger, and many men have died. No,’ he said, with an angry gesture, ‘if we ignore them now, they will be back when our attention is elsewhere, and next time we may not be so fortunate. The gods do not grant luck to fools. It is not so long ago that Hannibal was camped at the very gates of Rome. Do they forget so soon?’

Villius laughed. Something of a silence had fallen, and he broke it saying, ‘Well I see you haven’t changed. But you know what your father would say.’

‘Oh, him!’ said Titus with a dismissive wave. He drew his breath, and I thought he was going to say more. But in the end he just shook his head and took up his wine-cup. Beside him Xanthe made some light comment. He turned to her, and for a while the conversation changed.