it on this trip. He says that the scenery here is beautiful.”
“True enough,” Cicero agreed, “though not so true of the people.”
“The Greek-speaking population? I thought you adored all things Greek, Cicero.”
“All things Greek, perhaps, but not all Greeks.” He sighed. “Greek culture is one thing, Gordianus. The art, the temples, the plays, the philosophy, the mathematics, the poetry. But—well, since my other guests haven’t yet arrived, I shall speak freely, Roman to Roman. The Greeks who gave us all that marvelous culture are dust now, and have been for centuries. As for their far-flung progeny, especially in these parts—well, it’s sad to see how little they resemble their colonizing ancestors.
“Consider this city: Syracuse, once a beacon of light and learning to the whole of the Mediterranean this side of Italy—the Athens of the west, the rival of Alexandria at its peak. Two hundred years ago, Hiero ruled here, and men like Archimedes walked the beach. Now one finds only the remnants of a proud race, a degraded people, rude and uneducated, without manners or morals. The far-flung colonies of the Greeks have forgotten their forebears. The mantle of civilization has been taken up by us, Gordianus, by Rome. We are the true heir to Greek culture, not the Greeks. Only Romans nowadays have the refinement to truly appreciate, say, a statue by Polyclitus.”
“Or is it that only Romans have the money to afford such things?” I suggested. “Or the armies to bring them home by force?”
Cicero wrinkled his nose to show that he found my questions inappropriate, and called for more wine. Beside me, Eco fidgeted on his couch. The early education of my adopted son had been sorely neglected, and despite my best efforts, his progress was still hampered by his inability to speak. At fifteen, he was almost a man, but talk of culture, especially from a snob like Cicero, quickly bored him.
“Your year of foreign service has made you even more of a Roman patriot,” I remarked. “But if your term is up, and if you find the company of the Greek Sicilians so lacking, I wonder that you don’t leave the place at once.”
“Right now I’m playing tourist, actually. I was posted to the other half of the island, you see, over in Lilybaeum on the west coast. Syracuse is a stopover on my way home, a last chance to see the sights before I quit Sicily for good. Don’t misunderstand me, Gordianus. This is a beautiful island, as your son says, resplendent with natural wonders. There are many fine buildings and works of art, and many sites of great historical importance. So much has happened in Sicily in the centuries since the Greeks colonized it—the golden reign of Hiero, the great mathematical discoveries of his friend Archimedes, the Carthaginian invasions, the Roman takeover. There’s plenty for a visitor to see and do here in Syracuse.” He sipped his wine. “But I don’t suppose it’s pleasure that’s brought you here, Gordianus.”
“Eco and I are here strictly on business. A fellow back in Rome hired me to follow the trail of a business partner who absconded with the profits. I tracked the missing man here to Syracuse, but today I learned that he’s sailed on, probably east to Alexandria. My instructions were to go only as far as Sicily, so as soon as I can book passage, I plan to head back to Rome with the bad news and collect my fee.”
“Ah, but now that we’ve found one another here in a strange city, you must stay with me for a while, Gordianus.” Cicero sounded sincere, but then, all politicians do. I suspected the invitation for an extended stay was merely a polite gesture. “What a remarkable livelihood you have,” he went on, “hunting down murderers and scoundrels. Of course, one hardly meets a better class of people, being in government service, especially in the provinces. Ah, but here’s Tiro!”
Cicero’s young secretary gave me a smile and mussed Eco’s hair as he
“True enough,” Cicero agreed, “though not so true of the people.”
“The Greek-speaking population? I thought you adored all things Greek, Cicero.”
“All things Greek, perhaps, but not all Greeks.” He sighed. “Greek culture is one thing, Gordianus. The art, the temples, the plays, the philosophy, the mathematics, the poetry. But—well, since my other guests haven’t yet arrived, I shall speak freely, Roman to Roman. The Greeks who gave us all that marvelous culture are dust now, and have been for centuries. As for their far-flung progeny, especially in these parts—well, it’s sad to see how little they resemble their colonizing ancestors.
“Consider this city: Syracuse, once a beacon of light and learning to the whole of the Mediterranean this side of Italy—the Athens of the west, the rival of Alexandria at its peak. Two hundred years ago, Hiero ruled here, and men like Archimedes walked the beach. Now one finds only the remnants of a proud race, a degraded people, rude and uneducated, without manners or morals. The far-flung colonies of the Greeks have forgotten their forebears. The mantle of civilization has been taken up by us, Gordianus, by Rome. We are the true heir to Greek culture, not the Greeks. Only Romans nowadays have the refinement to truly appreciate, say, a statue by Polyclitus.”
“Or is it that only Romans have the money to afford such things?” I suggested. “Or the armies to bring them home by force?”
Cicero wrinkled his nose to show that he found my questions inappropriate, and called for more wine. Beside me, Eco fidgeted on his couch. The early education of my adopted son had been sorely neglected, and despite my best efforts, his progress was still hampered by his inability to speak. At fifteen, he was almost a man, but talk of culture, especially from a snob like Cicero, quickly bored him.
“Your year of foreign service has made you even more of a Roman patriot,” I remarked. “But if your term is up, and if you find the company of the Greek Sicilians so lacking, I wonder that you don’t leave the place at once.”
“Right now I’m playing tourist, actually. I was posted to the other half of the island, you see, over in Lilybaeum on the west coast. Syracuse is a stopover on my way home, a last chance to see the sights before I quit Sicily for good. Don’t misunderstand me, Gordianus. This is a beautiful island, as your son says, resplendent with natural wonders. There are many fine buildings and works of art, and many sites of great historical importance. So much has happened in Sicily in the centuries since the Greeks colonized it—the golden reign of Hiero, the great mathematical discoveries of his friend Archimedes, the Carthaginian invasions, the Roman takeover. There’s plenty for a visitor to see and do here in Syracuse.” He sipped his wine. “But I don’t suppose it’s pleasure that’s brought you here, Gordianus.”
“Eco and I are here strictly on business. A fellow back in Rome hired me to follow the trail of a business partner who absconded with the profits. I tracked the missing man here to Syracuse, but today I learned that he’s sailed on, probably east to Alexandria. My instructions were to go only as far as Sicily, so as soon as I can book passage, I plan to head back to Rome with the bad news and collect my fee.”
“Ah, but now that we’ve found one another here in a strange city, you must stay with me for a while, Gordianus.” Cicero sounded sincere, but then, all politicians do. I suspected the invitation for an extended stay was merely a polite gesture. “What a remarkable livelihood you have,” he went on, “hunting down murderers and scoundrels. Of course, one hardly meets a better class of people, being in government service, especially in the provinces. Ah, but here’s Tiro!”
Cicero’s young secretary gave me a smile and mussed Eco’s hair as he
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