“Not true.” Primus yawned, looking at hismanicured nails. “But when I first looked at your house as apossible residence, I did notice the very stout and well-seasonedtimbers. So when the Prefect here informed me of the need for thevery type of wood that is used in your home, I knew exactly whereto go.”
“But you destroyed my house! You tore itdown and left a pile of rubble!”
“I’m afraid that can’t be helped.” Primuslooked anything but regretful. “Although, perhaps in hindsight, youwould have been wise to accept my very generous offer to lease yourhome. It really was very lovely, and I'd hardly have consideredrazing the house I was living in.”
The Greek, evidently a wealthy merchant ofsome sort, stood there shaking in impotent rage and anguish.
Finally, he found his voice. “You mustcompensate me for my home. I know that is Roman law.”
Primus nodded, rubbing his chin in apparentthought.
“You’re right. I must compensate you.”Primus named a sum.
For a moment, I thought the Greek was goingto keel over dead right there on the spot. That would have smoothedthings over, at least.
“That is not a fourth of what it was worth,”he finally gasped, taking a staggering step backward.
“So you say,” Primus sniffed, then turned toMasala, who was standing next to the Praetor with a smirk on hisface.
“Masala, you saw the place. Do you think I'moffering a fair price?”
“Absolutely, sir. In fact, I think it’s abit too generous,” Masala said seriously.
Primus raised an eyebrow, affecting a lookof surprise, and it was clear that he was enjoying tormenting theGreek immensely.
“Really? You think so? Perhaps you’re right,maybe I should reconsider…”
Primus let the last word hang in the air.Finally, the Greek spoke in a voice choked with emotion.
“I accept your...offer, Praetor Primus.” Helifted his head to glare at the Praetor. “But I will appeal thismatter to the Senate of Rome, or to Augustus himself, if need be,”the Greek continued with bitter defiance.
Primus made a clucking sound at thisstatement, again exchanging an amused glance with Masala.
“Would that you could, I’m afraid.” Iimagine Primus was trying to sound regretful, but was making a poorjob at it. “You are not a Roman citizen, is that correct?”
“But I live here in Philippi, and this is aRoman senatorial province,” the man protested.
“Yes it is, so you are subject to Roman law,but you are not protected by Roman law unless you are a citizen.”Primus could no longer hide his glee.
“What kind of justice is that?” the Greekasked, his voice breaking with bitterness.
“Roman justice,” Primus said shortly.Clearly growing tired of this game, he turned to Masala and said,“Pay this man what he is owed and escort him out.”
Masala bowed, then walked over to the Greek,taking him firmly by the elbow. For a moment, I thought the manwould refuse to go with him, and I was afraid that I would becalled on. Suddenly, the Greek’s shoulders slumped and he allowedhimself to be led meekly away.
“That will teach him to insult MarcusPrimus,” the Praetor announced to all of us after Masala and theGreek left.
That it will, I thought grimly. It alsoshowed me how petty Primus was and how far he would go to geteven.
Fortunately, the work progressed withoutincident; the artillery was built using the timber from the Greekmerchant’s house, the auxiliaries were trained with the sling to alevel where I was reasonably sure that they would pose more of athreat to the enemy than to each other or the other men. Thebaggage train was packed with all of the supplies we would need,the men having their spare shoes and everything else they needed.The day arrived for our scheduled departure, just before the Idesof May, and Marcus Primus held an extravagant party the nightbefore, drinking and debauching himself to the point that he wasunable to sit astride the saddle of his black stallion at the headof the army, usual and customary for a Legate starting on acampaign. Instead, he rode in a wagon that he had rigged up so thatit looked more like a rolling brothel than the wagon of a Romangeneral. This wagon was so heavy that it required eight oxeninstead of the usual four, and even then was the slowest wagon ofthe entire baggage train. Since it contained our commandinggeneral, we could not leave it behind to catch up. As a result, ourprogress that first day was barely twelve miles from Philippi.Normally, when beginning a march, the men would be happy with suchslow progress; however, they had already been conditioned by themarch from Siscia, and they were chafing at the bit. The next day,Primus was sufficiently recovered to ride, but things did not getany better. We had gone barely two miles on the march when Primuswas already reeling in the saddle, sweat streaming down hisface.
“We need to call a halt to rest,” hegasped.
He was riding next to me in the column,looking like he had just ridden across Parthia instead of two milesfrom camp. I gaped at him, knowing that he was not joking, yetstill finding it hard to take him seriously. He had insisted onwearing his ridiculous armor, including the helmet, which did nothelp matters, but it was still early in the morning and cool.
“Praetor, it’s not time for our scheduledstop yet,” I pointed out.
“I don’t care, we need to stop,” he snapped.Then without waiting, he veered away from the column, bouncing overto a nearby tree.
Half-falling, half-crawling out of thesaddle, he staggered to the tree trunk, slumping to the ground andpulling off his helmet. Knowing that we could not continue marchingand leave him behind, I snapped at Primus’ bucinator tosound the call to halt. It took more than one blast of the horn toget the column halted, the men as surprised as I had been that wewere halting. The buzz of talk began immediately up and down thecolumn and I sat on Ocelus, fuming at the delay. Scriboniusregarded me with amusement.
“You look like you could chew through nailsright now.”
“I’m glad you find this so amusing,” Isnapped at him, irritated at his complacency with thesituation.
“It’s not like there’s much
