The Princess and the Pirates(49)
“Exactly. Copper has been mined on this island since the days of the pharaohs. The copper mines of Cyprus have been the wealth of the island, as the silver mines of Laurium were the wealth of Athens. What the goddess showed you in your dream is the result of more than two thousand years of copper mining. The land is ravaged, its soil destroyed by digging and erosion, its timber harvested for wood to smelt the ore.”
“How much of the island is ruined?” I asked her.
“Most of it,” she said sadly. “What seems so fair from offshore is a wasteland just a short walk inland. This island has enriched pharaohs and Great Kings and Macedonian conquerors and now, it seems, it is to enrich Rome. But I do not think that if Aphrodite were to choose a home now, she would pick Cyprus.”
I was shocked and saddened. If there is one thing that is sure to enrage an Italian, it is the destruction of productive land. We treat other people with great brutality at times, but we always respect and honor land. At heart we are all still small landholders, tending our few acres of field and orchard.
“Why did she reveal this to me?” I asked. “Surely there is nothing I can do about the ruination of her home.”
“Someday you may be able to,” she said. You are Roman, of a great family, and destined to hold high office. People say that Romans can do anything—that you divert rivers to serve your purposes, drain swamps to make new farmland, create harbors where there is only exposed shoreline. Perhaps such a people can restore Cyprus to the garden it once was.”
“We admit to few limitations,” I agreed. “It would be an intriguing project.” I would never admit to her that anything lay beyond the powers of Roman genius. “When I return to Rome I will speak to the College of Pontifices. Caesar is Pontifex Maximus, and he is fond of undertaking projects in the name of Venus, since she is the ancestress of his house. Venus, or Aphrodite, was the mother of the Trojan hero Aeneas, who fled the burning city and settled in Italy. The Julian gens trace their descent from his son, Julus.”
“I see. He is busy in Gaul, is he not?”
“Yes, but soon he will return to Rome. He will be incomparably rich and ready to undertake all sorts of extravagant things. That is his style. My wife is his niece.”
“Ah, then there was good reason for Aphrodite to make her wishes known to you. Rome is the new master of Cyprus, you have a great future ahead of you as a Roman statesman, and you are related by marriage to the most glorious Roman of the age, who, it seems, is her many times great grandchild.”
It always annoyed me when people spoke as if Caesar were the greatest man in Rome, but that was how he publicized himself so I suppose it was excusable.
I took my leave of lone with many thanks and a gift for the temple. I fully intended to carry out my promise to approach the pontifices, whose pronouncements the Senate would follow, as soon as I returned to Rome.
It is not every day a goddess visits you and makes her wishes known.
8
BY MID AFTERNOON THE TOWN WAS IN full uproar for Silvanus’s funeral. The house slaves were out in the plaza between the governor’s mansion and the Temple of Poseidon, wailing fit to terrify an invading army. With military thoroughness, Gabinius had organized the whole affair. Carpenters were hammering away, erecting temporary stands for the local notables, men were roping off an area for the common spectators, women were bringing in heaps of flowers, and a funeral pyre of expensive, fragrant woods was being stacked in the center of the open area.
I thought it was clever of Gabinius to make such a show of it. Surely, whatever the state of anti-Roman sentiment, nobody would start a riot amid such solemnities. Everyone loves a good funeral. Just in case, though, Gabinius’s hard-bitten veterans were everywhere to be seen. I even spotted a few on the roof of the temple. It pays to be cautious, but I couldn’t catch even the sound of anti-Roman grumbling, and I’ve been in enough newly conquered cities to develop sharp ears for that sort of talk.
Seeing that everything appeared well in hand, I walked down to the market. The place was as busy as always and there was lively conversation about the demise of Silvanus, but the mood was not ugly and nobody cast evil looks in my direction.
I passed the stalls of the silk merchants, the glass sellers, the cutlery mongers, the sellers of bronze ware, and the rest. My nose led me to a section devoted to such things as perfumes, spices, medicines, and, naturally, incense.
The largest such stall was owned by a fat Greek who clearly did not share his countrymen’s passion for athleticism.
“How may I help you, Senator? I am Demades, and I sell incense of all kinds and in all quantities. I can sell you a pinch to burn before your household gods or a year’s supply for the largest temple in Rome. I have cedar incense from Lebanon, subtle cardamom incense from India, fir gum incense from Iberia, balm incense from Judea. I even have the rarest of all, an incense compounded with oil of sandalwood. It comes from trees that grow on an island far east of India. From another island of that sea I have incomparable benzoin, as useful for embalming as for burning before the gods. I have incense of myrrh from Ethiopia, famed for its healing properties. What is your pleasure?”