The Princess and the Pirates(74)
Julia beamed. “I am so glad to meet you, Flavia. Pay no attention to my husband’s sarcasm. He has no gift for it. But he has told me so much about you.”
“He has?” Flavia was nonplussed but covered it well. “We’ve been so looking forward to your arrival.”
“I wish I could invite you to our house, but my husband has us living in a barracks, if you can believe that. I simply can’t have people of quality in to visit.”
“Nonsense! You’ve just arrived, and we’ve been here for ages. You must have dinner with us this evening. I know that Sergius has already invited the archon of Paphos, and a visiting Ethiopian prince, whose name I can’t pronounce. Cleopatra will be there, too, if she doesn’t have to go off chasing pirates with your husband.”
“Oh, it would be so unfair to ask you to have us over at the last minute like this. I am sure your couches are already full.”
“Not at all! If they are, we will just bring in more couches! This isn’t Rome after all.”
“Then we will be delighted.”
“Wonderful!” Flavia fairly glowed. Julia was right. This shameless female reprobate was flattered at attention from a patrician. She turned to me. “Senator, please ask your friend Milo to come as well. Having the three of you in my house will make me the envy of Paphos.” Such are the demands of social life in the provinces. As for Milo, I felt no apprehension about introducing him to the voracious Flavia. He was a match for anything save the massed hostility of the Senate.
“Now,” Julia said, as we walked back toward the center of the town, “we must hire a litter to take us to their house this evening, if there’s one to be had in this town.”
“There won’t be one for hire, not with every snob in the eastern sea come to visit. I’ll talk to Doson, Silvanus’s majordomo. He’ll lend us one for a small bribe. The household staff have nothing much to do now anyway.”
“Good idea. Then you must take me to see Cleopatra.”
“Yes, dear.” I was not being timidly compliant. It was just that Julia, besides being single-minded, was fearsomely competent at this sort of operation.
Our litter-arranging mission accomplished, we found Cleopatra aboard her ship. In fact her golden boat was waiting for us at the dock. “She stationed a slave to ambush us as soon as we came in sight,” Julia commented. “Wasn’t that thoughtful of her?” She seated herself amid the colorful, scented cushions. I remained standing, trying to project the image of the salty naval commander, and actually managed to retain my feet all the way to the spectacular ship.
“Julia!” Cleopatra cried, as my wife was lifted aboard expertly by a team of solicitous slaves. “How wonderful to see you again!” Julia tried to bow, but Cleopatra swept her up in a sisterly embrace.
“Princess, you overwhelm me. You can scarcely remember me. You were just a little girl, and my husband was a mere assistant to the Roman envoy.” I was a bit nettled, but Julia always knew how to do the proper thing in situations like this. I clambered up the ladder after her and held my tongue.
“I remember you wonderfully well, don’t speak nonsense. You and your friend Fausta were the first Roman ladies I ever met, and you made a profound impression on me.”
I’ll bet Fausta did, I thought. I said nothing. She seated us at a table on the fantail beneath a striped canopy, fanned by slaves equipped with palm-fiber fans. These are far more efficient than the beautiful but ineffective ostrich-feather fans affected so much by those who wish to ape Oriental standards of luxury.
“You flatter me, Princess.” I noted that Julia was ever so slightly deferential. She was Roman aristocracy, but Cleopatra was Greek-Egyptian royalty.
“Not the least. I’ve lived most of my life among the royal and noble ladies of my part of the world. Most are as silent, cowed, and ignorant as peasant women, only far sillier. Roman ladies are so much more intelligent and assertive. I long to visit Rome and be introduced to your society. I will feel that at last I am among equals.” The woman’s grasp of flattery was phenomenal.
“I would ask you to stay with us while you are in Rome,” Julia told her sadly, “but our house is far too humble. My father’s house is far finer, but you really must stay in my uncle’s house. When he is in Rome he lives in the great Domus Publica. It is actually owned by the State, but as Pontifex Maximus it is his for life and he always puts it at the disposal of visiting dignitaries and royalty.”
“Ah, yes. The great Julius Caesar is your uncle, is he not? You really must tell me all about him. The whole world is fascinated by Caesar.” There went the hook.