The Princess and the Pirates(22)

“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.