The Princess and the Pirates (8 page)

“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.