The Princess and the Pirates(12)

“I’ve heard it’s made by worms,” I said, feeling the weave of a Greek-style peplos. It was as smooth as water. Silk was still something of a rarity in Rome.

He shrugged. “There are many stories. Nobody has ever seen the land of the Seres. What is undoubted is that it is the finest fabric on earth: stronger than a ship’s sail, light as a breath, so comfortable that a lady can go decently gowned from neck to toes and feel that she’s naked. They find this most stimulating.”

“That’s the last thing my wife needs.” Something occurred to me. “Isn’t there some sort of Parthian monopoly on the silk trade these days?”

“King Hyrodes claims that privilege, but the caravaneers are adept at avoiding his customs collectors. Just now the trade lanes are open, courtesy of your General Gabinius.”

No doubt, I thought, a large piece of the trade stuck to his fingers, too. Gabinius had been quite successful in the East, although he had not gained the sort of renown that Caesar and Pompey had acquired; but our generals were accustomed to enriching themselves at the expense of the barbarians, and Gabinius had done well out of his proconsulship.

I bade the silk merchant good-bye and continued my explorations. As one might expect in a sea-lanes emporium like Paphos, wares from the whole eastern sea were on display, some for domestic sale but most to attract other merchants who might buy in bulk for transshipment farther west. If a merchant had one fine glass vase on his table, he was sure to have a warehouse full of them down at the docks, ready to load up for you, cheap.

I stopped in the Temple of Poseidon and made the promised sacrifice and admired the wonderful statue of that maritime god, executed by Praxiteles more than three hundred years before. In the great days of the Greek colonies, each city had competed with all the others to commission the finest sculptures and paintings from the greatest artists. Paphos, it seemed, had done especially well.

“Where now?” Hermes asked, as we left the temple.

“The naval docks. It’s time to act like an official.”

The naval basin of Paphos lay to one side of the commercial harbor, just within the long breakwater built to protect the ships from the worst effects of storms. It was an artificial harbor forming a half circle lined with low-roofed stone sheds to accommodate thirty ships. Inside the sheds the floors sloped upward so that the ships could be floated in, their masts and oars removed, then hauled up out of the water for repairs: to have their bottoms scraped, tarred, and painted, or for other work. During the stormy season, the ships were stored in these sheds, high and dry.

This facility turned out to be in the care of one Harmodias, a retired naval shipmaster who took his time about responding to my shouts and door pounding. His office was a little house situated among the warehouses for naval stores next to the sheds. He opened the door, blinking his one eye and scratching in his beard, wrapped in a moth-eaten garment that was also the blanket he had been sleeping in.

“What’s all this racket?” he demanded, last night’s wine still strong on his breath.

“I am Senator Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger,” I announced grandly. “I bear a senatorial commission to scour this area for pirates.”

He removed his hand from his beard and scratched his backside. “Well, good luck.” He walked to a small fountain that bubbled into a shell-shaped basin near his doorway and plunged his face into the water, shook his head and blew a while, then straightened, wiping his face with a corner of the disreputable robe.

“I expect your cooperation,” I said.

“If I had any to give, you’d be welcome to it,” he assured me. “But, as you can see, Roman naval power on Cyprus is diminished since its days of glory.”

“I noticed. What happened to the ships?”

He sat on a stone bench and worked his toes against the pavement as if they were numb. Clearly this man woke up a part at a time. “Well, let’s see. Five years ago I had ten fine triremes, ten Liburnians, and five penteconters, perfectly immaculate and with all their gear. Then General Crassus wanted them for his Parthian war. After that, General Gabinius wanted them for his campaigns in Syria and Egypt. Last year, General Pompey requisitioned them and sent them out to support General Caesar’s war in Gaul. That’s where they are now, if they’re still afloat.”

“Generals put a high demand on Rome’s military resources,” I commiserated.

“You’ve got that right. When I first went to sea, it was admirals used the ships for sea battles. Now all the navy does is ferry supplies for the legions, get them across water obstacles, run errands for them, anything but cruise and fight. It’s no work for a real sailor, I can tell you.”