“That’s what I want to hear! Well, sincewe’re not going to have a show today, I think I'll retire for theday. There is much I have to attend to.”
Turning his horse about, he went bouncingoff, plume fluttering behind him, leaving me to stare at hisretreating back.
As I had feared, the talk around the firesthat night was of little else other than the sight of MarcusPrimus’ helmet flying through the air. It is difficult to explainhow the mind of the Legionary works at times, but I can assure you,gentle reader, as comical as it may have seemed, this was nolaughing matter to the men. While they certainly enjoyed seeing oneof their social and military superiors humbled, such an ominousportent had almost all of them worried. Even the Centurions wereconcerned, which I suppose is not surprising, seeing how they camefrom the ranks themselves and were just as prone to thesuperstitions of the lower classes. For some reason, I am not, norhave I ever been, particularly superstitious, although myrelationship with the gods had changed drastically with the deathof Miriam and my child. While the men muttered among themselves, Ioccupied myself with scouring the city for every granary,warehouse, and storage shed, taking inventory, with Diocles in tow.Of all the jobs of the Prefect, I hated this one the most; it mademe feel little better than a merchant, but it had to be done. I haddispatched Scipio on a similar mission, except for meat, withinstructions to come to my quarters later that night with theresults. Even though I knew that Primus had been thwarted in hisdesire to set out for Thrace immediately, he would not be put offfor long. I was determined that the army would be ready as quicklyas possible.
When I retired to bed that night, I was verytired, yet feeling good about the progress we had made. That goodfeeling was not destined to last long, however. In fact, it lastedall of one night. The next morning, I went to see Marcus Primusagain, this time determined to get a better idea of exactly what hehad in mind for the coming campaign. He had shown me the map ofThrace, and it did have an area outlined that I assumed would bewhere we headed. Other than that, I had no real idea of what he hadplanned, other than the vague goal of exacting revenge. I hadrealized that this was one of the things that had been botheringme, particularly as it pertained to Octavian’s connection to thiscampaign. Octavian was never one to ignore the details, so I foundit hard to imagine that he sent Primus on this mission with just avague “Exact revenge on the Triballi” the way Primus claimed. AsScribonius had pointed out, however, it was too late for me to domuch about it, but what I could do was to demand to hear moredetails about what Primus had in mind.
I was met by the same slave as the daybefore, who gave me the same look, along with the same answer.
“The Master has not yet risen,” he said, butI was pleased to see that his haughty manner had been replaced byan air of caution. Clearly, the memory of our last encounter wasstill fresh in his mind. “May I bring you some refreshment? Somebreakfast perhaps? The bread is just out of the oven, and we havehoney that is quite excellent.”
In fact, I was extremely hungry, so I tookadvantage of the offer. The slave led me back into the serving areaattached to the house, where he handed me a thick slice of breadslathered with honey, offering a cup of water to wash it down.Unfortunately, I finished the bread quickly, and there was still nosign of Marcus Primus, but my patience had run out. I returned tothe reception area, heading for the stairs. Primus’ slave gave outa woman-like shriek, moving to block me from mounting the stairs,except that I shoved him aside, stomping up the steps to givePrimus a bit of warning.
“Please, Prefect, I beg you! Do not disturbthe Praetor! He will be most upset and will whip me for notstopping you!”
My foot hovered above the top step; theslave could not have said anything better to stop me, since I hadno desire to see a man whipped, slave or free, because of myactions. Turning to look down at the man’s tear-streaked face, Irelented, coming back down the stairs, but I still stomped downthem, making as much noise as I could.
Apparently, this had the desired effect,because I heard Primus’ voice calling out irritably, “I don’t knowwho’s making that racket, but I will have them flayed!”
“It’s me, Praetor,” I called out, sure thatI was safe from flaying.
“Prefect? What in Hades are you doing makingso much noise so early in the morning?”
“Sir, I assure you that not only I, but theentire army has been up for some time, and when we're on the march,we'll have already covered more than ten miles.”
Primus’ reply was inaudible, but he wasclearly grumbling about the intrusion. Still, I heard a commotion.A few moments later, he appeared at the top of the stairs, wrappedin what I was sure was nothing but a sheet, his eyes still puffyfrom sleep. Around his head was some sort of kerchief, I assumed toprotect his pomaded hair and I shuddered at the thought of the menever seeing their Legate in such a state while we were on themarch. I resolved to somehow get it across to this fat weaklingthat it would be tantamount to suicide to carry on in his currentmanner, but first, I had to get an idea of what he had planned forus in Thrace.
“Well? What's so important that you wake meup so early?” he demanded, trying to look dignified, which isimpossible to do wrapped in a sheet.
“I need to discuss the detailed plan for ourcampaign,” I told him.
His response was a blank stare; I felt mystomach start to knot, the bread and honey forming a hard lump.
“What’s there to discuss?” he asked finally,confirming my worst fear.
“What route are we taking? What's our
