As I entered the Praetorium, I sawthat the duty Tribune was Lucullus, who was talking quietly withone of the night clerks, those creatures whose existence isprobably the worst in the army, forced to work through the night onthe mountains of paperwork that not even the small force of scribescan conquer in the daylight hours, before trying to grab what sleepthey can crammed into the back of a bouncing, jolting wagon.Because of this, they always looked haggard, with dark circlesunder their eyes to match the ink stains on their fingers. Luculluslooked up, taking in the sight of the Legionaries dragging threemen and one body into the outer office, then at me. Jumping up, hesaid only, “I will wake Primus.”
I thanked him, taking the opportunity to siton the edge of a desk, afraid that if I sat on a chair or stool Iwould not be able to get up. Lucullus returned, saying with a shrugthat he had delivered the message, not to Primus but to Masala, hisface giving nothing away. I do not know how long I waited beforethe flap that led into the private office and quarters of theLegate was finally pulled aside, Marcus Primus entering, followedby Masala. They were both dressed in what I suppose was fashionablesleeping wear in Rome, consisting of a shiny gown wrapped aroundthe waist by a matching sash. To my eyes, they looked like tartedup whores, but I tried to keep my face a professional blank andstood to come to intente.
“Camp Prefect Pullus reporting the successof your ordered mission to retrieve prisoners, Praetor,” Iannounced while rendering a salute. He returned it readily enough,but then I saw his eyes narrow at the sight of the unkempt, shaggymen who had been forced to kneel, the body of the fourth Thraciandumped behind them.
“Well, Prefect, it appears that yourdefinition of success and mine are much different, which shouldn’tsurprise me,” he said sourly. He was still trying to shake thesleep off, and I had known that waking him up was a risky move tobegin with, and he was giving every appearance of making thisdifficult. Only after he gave a cursory examination to theprisoners did he look over at me again, this time seeing the stainof the wound on my side.
“Are you wounded, Prefect?”
“Only slightly, Praetor.” True enough words,despite the fact I could feel my legs shaking.
“Well, that is unfortunate,” he replied,making it clear that it was anything but. “Still, I distinctlyremember telling you that we needed ten prisoners, and I see beforeme only four.”
His eyes narrowed, and he pointed at theprone figure behind the three Thracians.
“Is that man dead?”
No, he is just very tired and catching up onhis sleep, since we disturbed him, I wanted to say. Instead, Isimply nodded my head.
“Well,” he sniffed. “He can hardly becounted, then. So you have brought only three prisoners, Prefect.That doesn’t seem like success to me.” He turned to Masala, a smirkon his face.
“Does it to you, Masala?”
I fully expected Masala to agree with hispatron, but again, Masala proved full of surprises. He did notanswer immediately, which was an answer in itself. I do not knowwho was more surprised, me or Primus.
“Well?” the Praetor snapped. “Do you agreeor don’t you?”
“I would agree that the Prefect certainlydid not snatch the ten prisoners that you demanded,” Masala saidcarefully. He paused, clearly trying to choose the right words,Primus visibly fuming at what I am sure he thought was some sort ofbetrayal.
“However,” Masala said finally, “snatchingten prisoners was quite an ambitious undertaking. If I remember myinstructions in this matter, it is expected that it takes at leasteight men to secure one prisoner, which means that to secure theseten prisoners, would have required a full Century ofLegionaries.”
Masala looked directly at me, his faceexpressionless.
“Isn’t that so, Prefect?”
The fact is that Masala was making this up;in my almost forty years under the standard, I had never heardanything about the right ratio of men needed to snatch prisoners. Idid not know why Masala was lying to his patron and, fromeverything I had seen, his lover, but a drowning man cannot bechoosy about the rope thrown to him, so I grabbed on with all mymight.
“Quite right, Masala. You remembered yourlessons very well, indeed.”
While Masala’s face remained the same, Icould see the flash of relief in his eyes as he turned back toPrimus.
“Besides, Praetor. With the men from thetorture detachment, these three will be more than enough to tell uswhat we need to know. After all, we are only trying to determinewhat tribe they are from, are we not?”
Primus looked clearly confused as he triedto determine what was happening, looking from Masala to me, then tothe prisoners and back. I could see that he was suspicious, but Iimagine that it was hard, if not impossible for Primus to believethat Masala would be lying to him. And I had no doubt that Primushad no idea that there was in fact no such formula for snatching aprisoner, judging from his other martial abilities. I simply couldnot imagine that the fat little man had spent a full afternoon onthe Campus Martius. Despite the importance of what would come outof Primus’ mouth, my attention at that moment was also torn away bya sound behind me. It took me a moment to realize the significance;when Masala had spoken of the torture detachment, one of theThracians behind me had let out a low moan of fear.
“They understand Latin,” I muttered, thenPrimus spoke.
“Thank you, Masala, for making that clear.On reflection, I suppose you are right, and of course, as soon asyou mentioned it, I remember that very lesson about snatchingprisoners. I should have thought of it before, I know.”
“You have too many other matters on yourmind, Praetor,” Masala said smoothly, giving his mentor a way tosalvage his pride.
“Yes, I do, I do,” Primus agreed. “Well, nomatter.”
With the matter seemingly forgotten, Iheaved an internal sigh of relief, though I was still mystifiedabout Masala’s aid.
“Turn these men
