Fortune's Favorites (102 page)

“What do you want done with the pirate men?”

“Load them on board Pataran or Xanthian ships, and give them to me to take to Pergamum. I'm not a curule magistrate, so I have not the power to execute in the provinces. That means I must take the men to the governor in Pergamum and ask him for permission to do what I promised I would do- crucify them.”

“Then I'll put Rome's share on board my own galleys. It's a small enough cargo. The moment the seas are safe- early summer, perhaps-I'll send the money to Rome from Rhodus.” Lysander thought of something else. “I'll send four of my ships with you to Pergamum as an escort. You've brought Rhodes so much wealth that Rhodes will be delighted to oblige you in everything.”

“Just remember that I did! Who knows? One day I may need to call in the favor,” said Caesar.

The pirates were being led off toward the beach; Polygonus, last in the endless line, gave Caesar a grave salute.

“What luxury-loving fellows they were,” said Caesar, shaking his head. “I had always thought of pirates as dirty, unschooled and in love with fighting. But these men were soft.”

“Of course,” said Lysander. “Their savagery is overrated. How often do they need to fight for what they pillage, Caesar? Rarely. When they do fight it is under the supervision of their own admirals, who are remarkably skilled. The smaller pirates like Polygonus don't attack convoys. They prey on unescorted merchantmen. The pirates who sail in fleets are mostly to be found around Crete. But when you live behind the walls of the Solyma like Polygonus, you tend to regard yourself as permanently secure-literally an independent kingdom.”

“Rhodes could do more than it does to arrest the pirate menace,” said Caesar.

But Lysander shook his head, chuckled. “Blame Rome for that! It was Rome insisted we reduce the size of our fleets when Rome took on the burden of ruling the eastern end of our great sea. She thought she could police everything, including the shipping lanes. But she's too parsimonious to spend the necessary money. Rhodes is under her direction these days. So we do as we are bidden. If we were to strike out independently with sufficient naval power to eradicate the pirates, Rome would begin to think that she was hatching her own Mithridates.”

And that, reflected Caesar, was inarguable.

Marcus Junius Juncus was not in Pergamum when Caesar reached the river Caicus and moored in the city port; it was nearing the end of March by Roman reckoning, which meant that winter was not yet over, though the voyage up the coast had been uneventful. The city of Pergamum looked magnificent upon its lofty perch, but even from the lowlands of the river traces of snow and ice could be seen upon temple roofs and palace eaves.

“Where is the governor? In Ephesus?” asked Caesar when he found the proquaestor, Quintus Pompeius (closer by blood to the branch Rufus than to Pompey's branch).

“No, he's in Nicomedia,” said Pompeius curtly. “I was just on my way to join him, actually. You're lucky to catch any of us here, we've been so busy in Bithynia. I came back to fetch some cooler clothes for the governor-we didn't expect Nicomedia to be warmer than Pergamum.”

“Oh, it always is,” said Caesar gravely, and managed to refrain from asking the proquaestor of Asia Province did he not have more urgent things to do than fetch cooler clothing for Juncus? "Well, Quintus Pompeius,” he went on affably, “if you like, I'll carry the governor's clothing. I'm giving you a little work to do before you can leave. See those ships there?”

“I see them,” said Pompeius, none too pleased at being told by a younger man that he would have to do this, and not do that.

“There are some five hundred pirates on board who need to be incarcerated somewhere for a few days. I'm off to Bithynia to obtain formal permission from Marcus Junius to crucify them.”

“Pirates? Crucify?”

“That's right. I captured a pirate stronghold in Lycia- with the aid of ten ships of the Rhodian navy, I hasten to add.”

“Then you can stay here and look after your own wretched prisoners!” snapped Pompeius. “I’ll ask the governor!”

“I'm very sorry, Quintus Pompeius, but that's not the way it's done,” said Caesar gently. “I am a privatus, and I was a privatus when I captured the men. I must see the governor in person. Lycia is a part of his province, so I must explain the circumstances myself. That is the law.”

The tussle of wills was prolonged a few moments more, but there was never any doubt as to who would win; off went Caesar in a fast Rhodian galley to Nicomedia, leaving Pompeius behind to deal with the pirate prisoners.

And, thought Caesar sadly as he cooled his heels in a small palace anteroom until the busy Marcus Junius Juncus had time to see him, things had already changed almost beyond recognition. The gilding was still there, the frescoes and other objects of art which could not be removed without leaving obvious damage behind, but certain familiar and beloved statues were gone from hallways and chambers, as were several paintings.

The light was fading when Juncus flounced into the room; evidently he had paused to eat dinner before releasing a fellow senator from his long wait.

“Caesar! How good to see you! What is it?” the governor asked, holding out his hand.

“Ave, Marcus Junius. You've been busy.”

“That's right, you know this palace like the look of your hand, don't you?” The words were smooth enough, but the inference was plain.

“Since it was I sent you word when King Nicomedes died, you must know that.”

“But you didn't have the courtesy to wait here for me.”

“I am a privatus, Marcus Junius, I would only have been in your way. A governor is best left to his own devices when he has a task to do as important as incorporating a new province into Rome's flock,” said Caesar.

“Then what are you doing here now?” Juncus eyed his visitor with intense dislike, remembering their little exchanges in the Murder Court-and who had mostly won them.

“I was captured by pirates off Pharmacussa two months ago.”

“Well, that happens to many. I presume that you managed to ransom yourself, since you're standing before me. But there's nothing I can do to help you recover the ransom, Caesar. However, if you insist I will have my staff enter a complaint with the Senate in Rome.”

“I am able to do that myself,” said Caesar pleasantly. “I am not here to complain, Marcus Junius. I'm here to request your permission to crucify five hundred captured pirates.”

Juncus stared. “What?”

“As you so perceptively perceived, I ransomed myself. Then in Rhodus I requisitioned a small fleet and some soldiers, went back to the pirate stronghold, and captured it.”

“You had no right to do that! I am the governor, it was my job!” snapped Juncus.

“By the time I had sent word to Pergamum-I have just come from Pergamum, where I left my prisoners-and a message had been forwarded to you here in Nicomedia, Marcus Junius, the winter would have been over, and Polygonus the pirate vanished from his base to do his campaigning. I may be a privatus, but I acted as all members of the Senate of Rome are expected to-I proceeded to ensure that Rome's enemies did not escape Rome's retribution.”

This swift retort gave Juncus pause; he had to search for the proper answer. “Then you are to be commended, Caesar.”

“So I think.”

“And you're asking me for permission to crucify five hundred good strong men? I can't do that! Your captives are now mine. I shall sell them into slavery.”

“I pledged them my word that they would be crucified,” said Caesar, lips tightening.

“You pledged them your word?” asked Juncus, genuinely aghast. “They're outlaws and thieves!”

“It would not matter to me if they were barbarians and apes, Marcus Junius! I swore that I would crucify them. I am a Roman and my word is my bond. I must fulfill my word.”

“The promise was not yours to give! As you've pointed out, you're a privatus. I do agree that you acted correctly in moving to ensure that Rome's enemies did not escape retribution. But it is my prerogative to say what will happen to prisoners in my sphere of auctoritas. They will be sold as slaves. And that is my last word on the subject.”

“I see,” said Caesar, eyes glassy. He got up.

“Just a moment!” cried Juncus.

Caesar faced him again. “Yes?”

“I presume there was booty?”

“Yes.”

“Then where is it? In Pergamum?”

“No.”

“You can't keep it for yourself!”

“I did not. Most of it went to the Rhodians, who provided the manpower and seapower for the exercise. Some went to the citizens of Xanthus and Patara, who provided the fifty talents for my ransom. My share I donated to Aphrodite, asking that the Rhodians build a temple in her honor. And Rome's share is on its way to Rome.”

“And what about my share?”

“I wasn't aware you were entitled to one, Marcus Junius.”

“I am the governor of the province!”

“The haul was rich, but not that rich. Polygonus was no King Zenicetes.”

“How much did you send to Rome?”

“A thousand talents in coin.”

“Then there was enough.”

“For Rome, yes. For you, no,” said Caesar gently.

“As governor of the province, it was my job to send Rome's share to the Treasury!”

“Minus how much?”

“Minus the governor's share!”

“Then I suggest,” said Caesar, smiling, “that you apply to the Treasury for the governor's share.”

“I will! Never think I will not!”

“I never would, Marcus Junius.”

“I will complain to the Senate about your arrogance, Caesar! You have taken the governor's duties upon yourself!”

“That is true,” said Caesar, walking out. “And just as well. Otherwise the Treasury would be a thousand talents the poorer.”

He hired a horse and rode overland to Pergamum through a melting landscape, Burgundus and Demetrius hard put to keep up. On and on without pausing to rest he rode, his anger fueling his tired head and aching muscles. Just seven days after leaving Pergamum he was back-and two full days ahead of the Rhodian galley, still traversing the Hellespont.

“All done!” he cried cheerfully to the proquaestor Pompeius. “I hope you've made the crosses! I haven't any time to waste.”

“Made the crosses?” asked Pompeius, astonished. “Why would I cause crosses to be made for men Marcus Junius will sell?”

“He was inclined that way at first,” said Caesar lightly, “but after I had explained that I had given my word they would be crucified, he understood. So let's start making those crosses! I was due to commence studying with Apollonius Molon two months ago. Time flies, Pompeius, so up and into it!”

The bewildered proquaestor found himself hustled as Juncus never did, but could not move quickly enough to satisfy Caesar, who ended in buying timber from a yard and then set the pirates to making their own crosses.

“And make them properly, you scum, for hang on them you will! There's no worse fate than lingering for days because a cross is not well made enough to hasten death.”

“Why didn't the governor elect to sell us as slaves?” asked Polygonus, who was unhandy with tools and therefore not progressing in his cross making. “I was sure he would.”

“Then you were wrong,” said Caesar, taking the bolts from him and beginning to fasten crosspiece to tree. “How did you ever manage to forge a successful career as a pirate, Polygonus? You are hopelessly incompetent!”

“Some men,” said Polygonus, leaning on a spade, “make very successful careers out of being incompetent.”

Caesar straightened, cross bolted. “Not I!” he said.

“I realized that some time ago,” said Polygonus, sighing.

“Go on, start digging!”

“What are those for?'' Polygonus asked, allowing Caesar to take his spade while he himself pointed at a pile of wooden pins.

“Wedges,” grunted Caesar, soil flying. “When this hole is deep enough to take the weight of cross and man together, your cross will be dropped in it. But the earth here is too loose to fix it firmly upright, so we'll hammer wedges into the ground all around the base. Then when the job's done and you're dead, your cross will come out easily the moment the wedges are removed. That way, the governor can save all these wonderful instruments of an ignominious death for the next lot of pirates I capture.”

“Don't you get out of breath?”

“I have sufficient breath to work and talk at the same time. Come, Polygonus, help me drop your final resting place in the hole.... There!” Caesar stood back. “Now shove one of the wedges into the hole-the cross is leaning.” He put down the spade and picked up a mallet. “No, no, on the other side! Toward the lean! You're no engineer, are you?”

“I may not be an engineer,” said Polygonus, grinning, “but I have engineered my executioner into making my cross!”

Caesar laughed. “Do you think I'm not aware of that, friend? However, there is a price to pay. As any good pirate should know.”

Amusement fled; Polygonus stared. “A price?”

“The rest will have their legs broken. They'll die quickly.

You, on the other hand, I will provide with a little rest for your feet so there's not too much weight dragging you down. It is going to take you days to die, Polygonus!”

When the Rhodian galley which had followed Caesar from Nicomedia rowed into the river leading to the port of Pergamum, the oarsmen gaped and shivered. Men died-even by execution-in Rhodes, but Roman-style justice was not a part of Rhodian life; Rhodes was Friend and Ally, not part of a Roman province. So the sight of five hundred crosses in a field lying fallow between the port and the sea was as strange as it was monstrous. A field of dead men-all save one, the leader, whose head was adorned with the irony of a diadem. He still moaned and cried out.

Quintus Pompeius had remained in Pergamum, unwilling to leave until Caesar was gone. It was the sight of those crosses, as if a forest had been devised wherein no tree differed from its fellows in the slightest degree. Crucifixions happened-this was the death meted out to a slave, never to a free man-but never en masse. Yet there in neat rows, uniformly spaced apart, stood a regimented death. And the man who could organize and achieve it in such a short time was not a man to ignore. Or leave in charge of Pergamum, however unofficially. Therefore Quintus Pompeius waited until Caesar's fleet sailed for Rhodes and Patara.