tried to fob themselves off as second-rate gods. Divine or mortal, those barges impressed the common folk no end, and since most of the population of Egypt lives within sight of the Nile, they all got to see their resident god as he drifted past in splendor.
But I had paid little attention to the Egyptian navy. They own the greatest port in the world, but the Egyptians are not a seagoing people. Ships from every land that borders the sea and even those that lie on the ocean beyond the Pillars of Hercules send their ships to Alexandria to carry away grain and other goods, but few Egyptian ships ply the waters. I had always considered Egypt a naval nonentity.
The rowers set briskly to their oars, and we fairly flew out to the waiting vessel. As we drew nearer I saw that
Serapis
was a bireme of conventional design but higher of sides and wider of beam than most: neither as lean as a typical warship nor as tubby as a merchantman. Its ram was in the shape of a cobra’s head, and the hull was painted crimson, trimmed with gilding. Along the rails I saw some serious-looking ballistas.
Cleopatra awaited me at the rail as a ladder was lowered to the boat. I scrambled aboard with little loss of dignity, closely followed by Hermes.
“Welcome aboard, Senator!” Cleopatra cried, as a little band of musicians shrilled on pipes, rattled sistra, and plucked harps. Slaves whirled small vessels of burning incense on golden chains, filling the air with fragrant smoke. A slave girl draped my neck with a wreath of lotus blossoms. Where they came from I have no idea.
“This beats anything the Roman navy has to offer,” I told the princess. She wore a plain gown of white linen, almost as short as a hunting tunic and belted with a golden cord beneath which was tucked a small dagger with a golden hilt and sheath. On her feet were plain sandals of plaited straw.
“Would you like to inspect the newest vessel in your fleet?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Lead on.”
She led me along the narrow deck that ran the length of the vessel. To each side the heads of the upper-bank rowers poked above deck level. They sat at their oars perfectly still but sweating profusely. No wonder, considering the pace she had set tham that morning. They were powerfully muscled men with typically Egyptian faces, their heads shaven but protected from the sun by head scarves of white linen.
“Egyptians live on the river,” Cleopatra said, “so we have an abundance of skilled rowers. These were chosen from the best, matched as to height and length of arm.”
The deck beneath my feet was beautifully polished. All the workmanship I could see was far superior to what I normally saw on Romanships. We climbed three steps to the forecastle, a small but crucial area of the ship where the ballistas were concentrated. Here stood about forty armed men in two ranks to each side.
“These are my marines. Their commander is Epimanondas. They are all Macedonians, chosen from my father’s guard.”
Macedonians, although they speak a dialect of Greek, are not to be confused with true Greeks, who are a degenerate and effeminate people. The Macedonians are primitive, ferocious, and probably much like our own Roman ancestors. These wore old-fashioned armor of bronze and layered linen and open-faced helmets of bronze, looking more like Homer’s heroes than modern legionaries. This made sense, as a Roman mail shirt would quickly rust under seagoing conditions. They carried small, circular shields and held half-pikes at their sides. Their captain was a scar-faced veteran whose arms were a bit fancier than the rest but were still eminently serviceable.
“A fine pack of villains,” I said approvingly. These men, at least, I was going to be glad to have with me on my pirate hunt.
“When do we commence operations?” Cleopatra asked. “I’m eager to begin.” I had to remind myself that this queenly young woman was still little more than a girl. Only the
But I had paid little attention to the Egyptian navy. They own the greatest port in the world, but the Egyptians are not a seagoing people. Ships from every land that borders the sea and even those that lie on the ocean beyond the Pillars of Hercules send their ships to Alexandria to carry away grain and other goods, but few Egyptian ships ply the waters. I had always considered Egypt a naval nonentity.
The rowers set briskly to their oars, and we fairly flew out to the waiting vessel. As we drew nearer I saw that
Serapis
was a bireme of conventional design but higher of sides and wider of beam than most: neither as lean as a typical warship nor as tubby as a merchantman. Its ram was in the shape of a cobra’s head, and the hull was painted crimson, trimmed with gilding. Along the rails I saw some serious-looking ballistas.
Cleopatra awaited me at the rail as a ladder was lowered to the boat. I scrambled aboard with little loss of dignity, closely followed by Hermes.
“Welcome aboard, Senator!” Cleopatra cried, as a little band of musicians shrilled on pipes, rattled sistra, and plucked harps. Slaves whirled small vessels of burning incense on golden chains, filling the air with fragrant smoke. A slave girl draped my neck with a wreath of lotus blossoms. Where they came from I have no idea.
“This beats anything the Roman navy has to offer,” I told the princess. She wore a plain gown of white linen, almost as short as a hunting tunic and belted with a golden cord beneath which was tucked a small dagger with a golden hilt and sheath. On her feet were plain sandals of plaited straw.
“Would you like to inspect the newest vessel in your fleet?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Lead on.”
She led me along the narrow deck that ran the length of the vessel. To each side the heads of the upper-bank rowers poked above deck level. They sat at their oars perfectly still but sweating profusely. No wonder, considering the pace she had set tham that morning. They were powerfully muscled men with typically Egyptian faces, their heads shaven but protected from the sun by head scarves of white linen.
“Egyptians live on the river,” Cleopatra said, “so we have an abundance of skilled rowers. These were chosen from the best, matched as to height and length of arm.”
The deck beneath my feet was beautifully polished. All the workmanship I could see was far superior to what I normally saw on Romanships. We climbed three steps to the forecastle, a small but crucial area of the ship where the ballistas were concentrated. Here stood about forty armed men in two ranks to each side.
“These are my marines. Their commander is Epimanondas. They are all Macedonians, chosen from my father’s guard.”
Macedonians, although they speak a dialect of Greek, are not to be confused with true Greeks, who are a degenerate and effeminate people. The Macedonians are primitive, ferocious, and probably much like our own Roman ancestors. These wore old-fashioned armor of bronze and layered linen and open-faced helmets of bronze, looking more like Homer’s heroes than modern legionaries. This made sense, as a Roman mail shirt would quickly rust under seagoing conditions. They carried small, circular shields and held half-pikes at their sides. Their captain was a scar-faced veteran whose arms were a bit fancier than the rest but were still eminently serviceable.
“A fine pack of villains,” I said approvingly. These men, at least, I was going to be glad to have with me on my pirate hunt.
“When do we commence operations?” Cleopatra asked. “I’m eager to begin.” I had to remind myself that this queenly young woman was still little more than a girl. Only the
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