Hostage to Fortuna

by R. W. Peake

  “Why?” I asked. “What makes them so valuable?”

  “They are used to flavor food, master.” We should not have been surprised when the merchant who was standing behind the long stall that was loaded with a variety of spices spoke to us in Greek. “This is perhaps the most valuable spice in the known world today!”

  If I had been blindfolded and this man brought before me, the instant the blindfold was removed, I would have said, “This man is a merchant.” His robes were cut in a conventional style, but it was the sheen of the fabric itself that I knew from experience was silk, my mother possessing a stola made of the material that is one of her most prized possessions. He was portly, almost obese, appearing to be in his early forties, with a closely cropped beard that was neatly trimmed, while his black hair was oiled and pulled back tightly against his skull, with gold earrings in both ears, and he smelled of some sort of exotic perfume, but more than anything, he exuded wealth.

  “What makes it so valuable?” I asked skeptically, and he beamed at me in a manner that practically proclaimed that he had hooked a large fish, so to speak.

  “Why, the taste of it, master…” His voice trailed off, and while I hesitated, I could see no harm in supplying my name. He immediately continued, “It has a…bite to it, Master Pullus. But,” he held up a pudgy hand, every finger of which had at least one ring on it, “it is not a painful bite, oh no! It is most pleasant! It is,” he offered a lascivious grin, “like the bite of a lover in the throes of passion!”

  “Maybe we should have a taste,” Gaius suggested.

  I shrugged, then nodded to Alex, since he was the only one with a purse, but when he extracted a silver sestertius, the merchant only laughed.

  “That will buy you one peppercorn, hardly enough for all of you!”

  “One?” I glanced over at Demeter, but he did not seem surprised at all.

  “As I said, it is very expensive,” he replied blandly.

  I was certain that this merchant was trying to cheat us, but when I told him flatly I was not going to spend a whole sestertius for what looks in some ways like a rat turd, being roughly the same size, black and wrinkled, although they are perfectly round, he simply shrugged.

  “As you wish,” he said indifferently, then waved a hand at the other baskets. “Perhaps some of these other spices will interest you. They are not as expensive, but they will help make your meals be more memorable and pleasing. Not,” he assured me, “like peppercorns will.”

  Oh, you slimy bastard, I thought, because despite being sure he was manipulating me, I was still turning to Alex and snapping, “Pay the man for a peppercorn for each of us.”

  Fortunately for him, and for us, the merchant did not gloat or give any indication that he had beaten me, instead just reaching down and picking up six peppercorns one at a time, and I did not miss the fact that he did not extend the hand with the peppercorns until Alex had disgustedly dropped six coins in his hand. But he did so, and we each picked one up, and as I examined it, my initial impression of it resembling a rat turd was reinforced. I took a cautious sniff and experienced a slight tickling sensation that made my eyes water slightly.

  “How do we eat it?” Bronwen asked timidly, and when the merchant turned to her, she gave him a brilliant smile; watching his reaction, I thought with a fair amount of humor, Who’s hooked now, fat man?

  “Why, beautiful lady,” he returned her smile, “there are two ways to experience the peppercorn on its own. One is to simply hold it in one’s mouth and allow it to soften, where it will release its flavor. It is true that this is slower,” he allowed, “but the taste is most pleasant. Or,” he shrugged, “you can crush it between the teeth.”

  “We don’t have much time,” I said as I popped mine into my mouth, “so I’m going to do the second thing.” Putting it between my back teeth, I crunched down…and ignited a tiny fire in my mouth, and before I could stop myself, I was coughing as I gasped, “Pluto’s cock!”

  The reactions of Alex and Septimus, while perhaps not as extreme, were similar, while Bronwen spat it out then began wiping her tongue on the sleeve of her gown. Gaius, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected, munching it contentedly, while Demeter watched on with completely unsurprised amusement.

  “You’ve tasted this before, haven’t you?” I demanded.

  “Perhaps,” he shrugged, but then he began laughing as he admitted, “and I reacted the same way the first time.”

  However, something happened after my initial reaction as I realized that, while there was a burning sensation on my tongue, it was actually not unpleasant, and there was an aftertaste that was sharp and pungent. A quick glance around at the others told me that, with one exception, they were of a like mind; only Bronwen was still intent on spitting out the little pieces and bits that remained in her mouth.

  “Can you imagine what this would taste like with garum?” Septimus asked aloud, which was exactly what I had been thinking.

  “How much would a basket that size cost?” I asked the merchant impulsively.

  “Five thousand drachmae,” he answered, without hesitation. It was an outrageous sum, but this merchant was either a mind reader or he had run into this before, because he assured me, “But if you were to sell this in Rome, you would be able to charge four, perhaps five times that much.”

  Now, when I look back on it, this was the moment that the seed of an idea was born, one that is only now as I dictate this coming to fruition, and it was helped along by the fact that both Septimus and Alex were thinking along the same lines.

  “It’s…not bad,” I said grudgingly. “Although,” I laughed ruefully, “it starts out like I put a hot coal in my mouth.”

  The merchant beamed, nodding enthusiastically. “Now you can understand, large master! Your fellow Romans would be willing to pay anything to use peppercorns!”

  While I was not sure of that, I was willing to concede, “They probably will be willing to pay what you say, four or five times as much.”

  Suddenly, the merchant moved with a nimbleness I found surprising, sliding down his stall to the opposite end, where he pointed down at another basket, but this time, he gestured to Bronwen as he called out, “Here is another delight, lovely mistress! One that, while different from the peppercorn, I believe you will appreciate at least as much!”

  Naturally, she did not hesitate, moving eagerly to the basket the merchant was indicating, and when he made a gesture, she leaned down to sniff the contents. Even from where I was standing, I saw the effect, her cheeks suddenly becoming flushed, and whereas before she had been anything but happy about the peppercorns, this time, she gave me a dazzling smile.

  “Gnaeus! Come! You must smell this!”

  I walked over to her, but this time, when I copied her and bent down to smell the contents, I was already smiling, because this was one with which I was familiar.

  “It’s kinnamon,” I told her. “My mother likes this a great deal.”

  If the merchant was disappointed that I had ruined his moment, he hid it well, bowing to me in a show of acknowledgement as he confirmed, “Master Pullus is correct, beautiful lady. This,” his voice dropped, and he leaned forward as he glanced around, giving the idea that he was imparting a great secret, “comes from lands so far away, they have no name! And,” his voice fell to a whisper, and despite the fact that I knew what he was doing, I found myself as engaged as Bronwen, “the grove from which this comes is guarded by huge, scaly beasts with wings that enable them to fly, and they can ignite the air with their own breath! It is,” he assured us, “very, very dangerous for men to attempt to steal this precious, precious item.”

  “And,” I could not resist, “let me guess. This is also very, very expensive.”

  “Of course, Master Pullus,” the merchant replied as if I was stating the obvious, which I suppose I was. “In fact, in many ways, it is more valuable than the peppercorn because it has so many uses.”

  This made sense, because my memory of
kinnamon comes from my mother’s favorite perfume that used it, but I recalled her mentioning that it had other uses. As interesting and diverting as this was, when I glanced over at Demeter, he had only to glance over at the rising sun to remind me that time was the one thing we could not afford, unless I was willing to risk that the men Alex and Septimus had bribed would keep their collective mouths shut and not blurt out how they had seen a group of men lugging what could only be described as a vast amount of money that they had taken from a rich Roman along the Heptastadion.

  “We need to be moving on,” I announced to the group, and I confess that I enjoyed the crestfallen expression on the merchant’s face as we left his stall, emptyhanded.

  Our, or I should say, my trial was not over, and I suspect that Demeter leading us past the cloth merchants was not done by accident either, although he never admitted it. Bronwen had been walking just ahead of me as I talked quietly to Alex and Septimus, when she came to a sudden stop, staring at something. The instant I followed her gaze and saw what it was, I could not stifle a groan.

  Alex and Septimus, however, had the opposite reaction, Alex nudging me to make sure I could see him grinning at me as he said, “You better find some money, Gnaeus, because I don’t think Bronwen is going to let you out of this agora without some of that silk.”

  “That’s still better than you having to explain to Algaia why Bronwen has a silk stola and she doesn’t,” I shot back, making it my turn to laugh at his sudden scowl.

  Then I walked over to my woman, who just happened to be fingering a bolt of silk that had been dyed a brilliant green that matched her eyes, and I had to acknowledge that Alex was right.

  We finally managed to get out of the agora, making our way to the Canopic Way, walking into the middle of it, and the only reason I did not feel like a gawking provincial was because nobody even seemed to notice us, making me think that the manner in which we were behaving was a common occurrence.

  “This is the longest street I have ever seen.” Septimus summed it up as we stood there, first facing the eastern gate, naturally called the Sun Gate, which was just visible in the distance, before turning to look to the western Moon Gate even farther away.

  “It’s also the cleanest city I’ve ever been in,” Alex remarked, and it reminded me of how my great-grandfather had been so disappointed by Rome because he had been here first and expected it to be the same way.

  It was the view of the Sun Gate that reminded us that our time was running short, but while I knew that the others would follow whatever direction I gave, I did not feel right about behaving as a Centurion. Therefore, I walked over to a statue of Augustus erected outside the Temple of Saturn, beckoning the others, and once they had gathered, I put a question to them.

  “Do you want to see more of the city?” I asked, “Or do you want to do something a little different?”

  “If by a ‘little different,’ you mean should we go back to the Persephone to get enough coin to buy a few sacks of peppercorns and kinnamon?” Septimus replied with a broad grin. “Then I vote for that.”

  “So do I,” Alex put in immediately; Gaius quickly added his assent, and when I looked over to Bronwen, she was nodding her head so vigorously, her magnificent head of hair shook itself out, catching the sun, and I had to restrain myself from sweeping her up and taking her right then, in front of all of Alexandria and the gods looking down.

  Naturally, she also reminded me, “Do not forget the other thing,” and I had no need to be reminded what that “other thing” was.

  However, rather than acknowledging them, I turned to Demeter, who had been silently observing this.

  “You know,” I tried to sound casual, “we came to Alexandria to retrieve the four hundred thousand sesterces Aviola stole from my family, but we recovered more than that.”

  “Yes,” he replied cautiously, his eyes fixed on mine. “That is true.”

  I briefly thought about dragging this out, but it is not in my nature, so I said, “The rest of that money is yours, Demeter. Yours and your crew’s. And,” I tried to hide my smile, “I was thinking that, if we’re going to be investing in spices,” before she could say anything, I added, “and silks, then it might make sense for you as well.”

  There is no way to know just how difficult it was for Demeter to at least appear as if he was indifferent to the idea, but he gave me a grave nod.

  “That is very generous of you, Centurion. And,” now he could not restrain himself, smiling broadly, “I think that is an excellent idea.”

  I know that we missed more of the sights of Alexandria, but this was one decision that did not rest heavily on my shoulders.

  Thanks to Demeter, who was far more experienced in such matters, he convinced us that it was much better to send a message to the merchant to come to the Persephone and bring a substantial amount of his spices to us, doing the same with the silk merchant, rather than carrying what was a substantial amount of money back up the Heptastadion and thereby tempting the Fates twice. And, given the amounts involved, neither merchant, whose names I never learned, tarried, so that not much longer past the first daylight watch that we had set aside to tour Alexandria, we spotted the spice merchant bustling down the causeway, followed by a dozen men, each of whom was carrying two baskets using a pole balanced across their shoulders with a basket on each end. After a brief discussion, it had been decided that each party, Demeter and the Pullus family, would decide about how much of each item we would purchase. Essentially, we were operating independently, although once the transaction was completed, we could easily see that our minds had been running along similar lines. Our only source of disagreement came between how much of each we purchased; I argued for more peppercorns than kinnamon, while Alex argued for the opposite, and although it was a spirited debate, it was also humorous.

  “The reason you want the peppercorns is because you always think with your stomach,” he declared, and even if I could have been heard over the laughter, this was something I could not deny. However, it was his larger point, “There are more uses for kinnamon than there are with peppercorns. It can be used as incense, in food, as perfume…”

  This was when I held up a hand in submission, and we settled on two-thirds of our purchase being the kinnamon, and the other third peppercorns, with six large sacks of the former, and four large sacks of the latter. Bronwen did not take place in this part of the discussion, but when the cloth merchant arrived shortly afterward, this time with two slaves pushing a handcart, the contents of it covered by a large piece of drab cloth, she made up for her earlier silence. The cart was pushed up the plank and onto the deck, as this merchant who, while slimmer than the spice merchant, was essentially identical in every other way, swept the cloth back with a dramatic flourish that made Bronwen squeal with delight. Or, perhaps it was the more than two dozen rolls of fabric in a startling array of colors, while my eye was caught by three or four rolls that were not only a dull white in color but did not have the sheen of the others, yet when I fingered them, they did not seem to me made of wool.

  “That is not pure silk, Master.” This merchant’s Greek was understandable, but it was heavily accented. More striking was the color of his skin, which I would liken to honey, while his eyes were not as round as the rest of ours. “It is a combination of wool and silk fibers. It is lighter than wool, heavier than pure silk, but is very durable. It,” he concluded, “is also less expensive.”

  I had not even opened my mouth when Bronwen sniffed and said, “It is ugly. And,” she looked at me and smiled sweetly, “I would never wear something this…plain.”

  Afterward, Alex congratulated me for not pointing out the fact that she was wearing her brown traveling gown, but as inexperienced as I was then, and am still learning, I was not an utter fool.

  Naturally, her favorite was the green, as it was mine as well, but there was another bolt of cloth in pale blue that, when I picked up a length of it, caused me to exclaim, “I can see my hand through this!”<
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  “Yes, Master, this is Coan silk.” The merchant sounded like a purring cat, and while he was addressing me, his eyes were on Bronwen. “It is very fine, and as you can see, it is diaphanous. It is a highly prized fabric for women of good taste and distinction. In fact,” now he turned his eyes to Bronwen, his voice dropping to a hush, and he actually glanced around, “this very pattern is known to have been a favorite of no less than Cleopatra VII Philapator. Although,” he gave her a smile that made me want to punch him, but his nose was already somewhat flat, “supposedly, it was really because it drove Marcus Antonius wild with passion whenever she wore it!”

  I was defeated, and I knew it, but perhaps the gods took pity on me because, as I would learn later, Marcus Antonius and I would have something in common. By the time Bronwen was done with her selections, we added three rolls of the green, three of a dark blue and two of a lighter shade, three red, one of the Coan, and in a minor victory, I prevailed on her to purchase two rolls of the silk wool blend. When she asked me why, I could only offer a shrug.

  “I’ll think of something,” I promised her, but I could see she did not believe me.

  It was midday when the silk merchant, who was smiling even more broadly than when he arrived, departed from the Persephone with a pushcart that was almost completely empty; he was still within view walking up the Heptastadion, when, with a shouted command by Demeter, the ropes that had moored the ship to the dock were undone and tossed aboard, followed by the pair of crewmen who hopped nimbly aboard. The Rhodian had invited us to stand with him on the stern upper deck, and we were largely silent as we watched the city gradually recede as, under sail power and one bank of oarsmen, the Persephone made its way out of the harbor, passing under the bridge nearest to Pharos Island.

  “I wish we could have visited the lighthouse,” I found myself saying, but I quickly learned I was the only one, with one exception.