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certain Cleopatra would never allow it.”
    “Just a friendly bout,” Silvanus persisted, “a little boxing or wrestling, perhaps a match with wooden swords. No worse than a few broken bones, surely.”
    “Look at those two,” said Gabinius. “It would be death for one of them if it came to blows between them.” He was right. Their faces were studiedly indifferent, but if the two had had fur, it would have been standing up. It is the nature of aggressive, superbly trained young men to challenge one another and test themselves.
    Silvanus sighed. “Too bad. It would be a fight worth seeing.”
    Then Alpheus diverted us with some extremely scabrous songs by the more disreputable Greek poets. Included among these was the poet Aristides. When a Parthian general found a volume of Aristides among the effects of an officer slain at Carrhae, he used it as proof of the depravity of the Romans. If some barbarian should ever go through my war chest, the reputation of Rome may never recover.
    I don’t remember much about the rest of the evening, which may be taken for the mark of a really successful party.

3
    I ROSE RATHER LATE THE NEXT DAY . A FTER a substantial breakfast, bath, and rubdown I was almost ready to face direct sunlight. A little fresh air in the garden finished the job, and by a little past noon I was ready for anything—ready for a cautious walk through the town, at any rate. With Hermes at my back I descended the principal street. My destination was the naval docks, but where the street emerged onto level ground there was a charming market, laid out in the artlessly casual yet orderly fashion you only see in Greek colonial cities.
    It was arranged in an irregular quadrangle, surrounded by tile-roofed stoas supported by gleaming white pillars, their rear walls decorated with beautiful paintings of historical and mythological subjects. In the shade of the stoas, small merchants offered their wares while farmers sold produce beneath colorful canopies scattered about the square.
    In the center of the square stood a wonderful marble statue of Aphrodite in the act of tying up her sandal. The white marble was so perfectly polished that it seemed transparent. Save for the hair, which was gilded, the statue was not tinted in the usual fashion; and I found this to be an improvement. Painting of statues is too often overdone, and theeffect is garish. The people of Paphos, at least, had excellent taste.
    “May I interest you in a fine gown for your lady, Senator?” The voice belonged to a little, white-bearded fellow who looked Greek except for his pointed Phoenician cap. “These are of the finest silk, brought by camels all the long way from the land of the Seres, said to be produced in the mountain fastnesses of that land by giant spiders fed upon human flesh.”
    “I’ve heard it’s made by worms,” I said, feeling the weave of a Greek-style peplos. It was as smooth as water. Silk was still something of a rarity in Rome.
    He shrugged. “There are many stories. Nobody has ever seen the land of the Seres. What is undoubted is that it is the finest fabric on earth: stronger than a ship’s sail, light as a breath, so comfortable that a lady can go decently gowned from neck to toes and feel that she’s naked. They find this most stimulating.”
    “That’s the last thing my wife needs.” Something occurred to me. “Isn’t there some sort of Parthian monopoly on the silk trade these days?”
    “King Hyrodes claims that privilege, but the caravaneers are adept at avoiding his customs collectors. Just now the trade lanes are open, courtesy of your General Gabinius.”
    No doubt, I thought, a large piece of the trade stuck to his fingers, too. Gabinius had been quite successful in the East, although he had not gained the sort of renown that Caesar and Pompey had acquired; but our generals were accustomed to enriching themselves at the expense of the barbarians, and Gabinius had done well out of his