Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 105, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 640 & 641, March 1995

“So you think the gambit shows Caesar’s cleverness? His enemies ascribe it to simple vanity. But I give him full credit for what he did next, which was to arrange for the release of almost everyone else in his party. His numerous secretaries and assistants were let go because Caesar insisted that the ransom of a million sesterces would have to be raised from various sources in various places, requiring the labor of his whole entourage. The only ones he kept with him were two slaves — that being the absolute minimum to see to a nobleman’s comfort — and his personal physician, whom Caesar can hardly do without because of his bouts of falling sickness.

“Well, they say Caesar spent nearly forty days in the pirates’ clutches, and treated his captivity as if it were a vacation. If he had a mind to take a nap and the pirates were making too much noise, he would send out one of his slaves to tell them to shut up! When the pirates engaged in exercises and games, Caesar joined them, and as often as not bested them, treating them as if they were not his captors but his guards. To fill his idle time he wrote speeches and composed verses, such as he had learned to do under Apollonius Molo, and when he finished a work he would make the pirates sit quietly and listen to him. If they interrupted him or made critical remarks, he called them barbarians and illiterates to their faces. He made jokes about having them whipped, as if they were unruly children, and even joked about having them put to death on the cross for insulting the dignity of a Roman patrician.”

“The pirates put up with such behavior?”

“They seemed to adore it! Caesar exercised a kind of fascination over them, by sheer power of his will. The more he abused and insulted them, the more they were charmed.

“At last, the ransom arrived, and Caesar was released. Right away he headed for Miletus, took charge of some ships, and went straight back to the island where the pirates were stationed. He took them by surprise, captured most of them, and not only reclaimed the ransom money but took the pirates’ hoard as well, claiming it as the spoils of battle. When the local governor hesitated over deciding the pirates’ fate, trying to think of some legal loophole whereby he could claim the booty for his treasury, Caesar took it upon himself to tend to the pirates’ punishment. Many times while he was their captive he boasted that he would see them crucified, and they had laughed, thinking the threat was merely a boy’s bravado — but in the end it was Caesar who laughed, when he saw them nailed naked upon crosses. ‘Let men learn to take me at my word,’ he said.”

I shivered, despite the heat of the bath. “You heard this in the Forum, Lucius?”

“Yes, it’s on everyone’s lips. Caesar is on his way back to Rome, and the story of his exploits precedes him.”

“Just the sort of moral tale that Romans love to hear!” I grunted. “No doubt the ambitious young patrician plans a career in politics. This is the very thing to build up his reputation with the voters.”

“Well, Caesar needs something to recover his dignity, after having given it up to King Nicomedes,” said Lucius with a leer.

“Yes, in the eyes of the mob, nothing enhances a Roman’s dignity like having another man nailed to a cross,” I said glumly.

“And nothing more diminishes his dignity than being nailed himself, even by a king,” observed Lucius.

“This water grows too hot; it makes me irritable. I think I could use the services of your masseur now, Lucius Claudius.”

The tale of Caesar and the pirates proved to be immensely popular. Over the next few months, as spring warmed to summer, I heard it repeated by many tongues in many variations, in taverns and on street corners, by philosophers in the Forum and by acrobats outside the Circus Maximus. It was a clear example of how terribly out of hand the problem of piracy had gotten, men said, nodding gravely, but what really impressed them was the idea of a brash young patrician charming a crew of bloodthirsty pirates with his haughtiness and in the end inflicting upon them the full measure of Roman justice.

It was on a sweltering midsummer day in the month of Sextilis that I was called to the home of a patrician named Quintus Fabius.

The house was situated on the Aventine Hill. The structure looked at once ancient and immaculately kept — a sign that its owners had prospered there for many generations. The foyer was lined with scores of wax effigies of the household ancestors; the Fabii go all the way back to the founding of the republic.

I was shown to a room off the central courtyard, where my hosts awaited me. Quintus Fabius was a man of middle age with a stem jaw and graying temples. His wife Valeria was a strikingly beautiful woman with hazel hair and blue eyes. They sat on backless chairs, each attended by a slave with a fan. A chair was brought in for me, along with a slave to fan me.