Nobody Loves a Centurion Read Online Free PDF Page B

abundantly visible by her scanty tunic, which was made of red fox pelts.
    You may take it from this that the woman made a powerful first impression. You would not be wrong. Outside the tent she stood there, a flat-bottomed jug balanced on her shoulder, quite aware of the attention she drew and quite contemptuous of it. She didn’t just look like a goddess, she stood like one. Any athlete can look good in motion, but few mortals have the ability to stand superbly. Roman statesmen struggle for years to achieve such dignity and self-possession.
    And yet, here was near divinity embodied in a German slavegirl.
    My somewhat addled thoughts were interrupted by an ugly smack of wood against flesh and the thud of a falling body. I turned to see young Burrus on the ground. Titus Vinius stood over him with his vinestaff raised. Down it came across Burrus’s shoulders. The stick must have been soaked in oil, because it bent without breaking.
    “Don’t have enough work to do, you lazy little shit?” The stick came down three more times.
    An officer is never supposed to interfere with a centurion disciplining one of his men, but this was too much. I grasped his wrist before the stick could descend again. He wore a silverbracelet, a decoration for valor in some past battle, and it flexed slightly beneath my fingers.
    “Enough, Centurion! He is a client of mine. I was giving him news from home.”
    The eyes that glared into mine were not quite sane. “I don’t care if he’s the high priest of Jupiter and I saw what he was doing! Now release my arm, Captain. You are interfering where you have no business.” He seemed to have regained self-possession so I let him go. He lowered the vinestaff, but he kicked Burrus in the ribs with his hobnailed boot.
    “Get up, Burrus! If you’ve nothing better to do here than stand and ogle my property, then go join the latrine detail.” He turned his wrathful gaze on the others. “Shall I find work for the rest of you?” But they were already working furiously, looking anywhere except at him or the woman. I noticed that they all bore bruises, although none of them was as extravagantly marked as Burrus. The slave girl herself walked past us without a glance, as if we did not even exist. Even under the circumstances, I had to force myself not to stare after her.
    Burrus got to his feet, stooped with pain, his face flaming with rage and humiliation. He would not look at me and I was acutely embarrassed to have witnessed his degradation. He gathered his arms from one of the pyramidal stacks and trudged off.
    “That was excessive, Centurion,” I said, making an effort to keep my voice level. “It’s not as if he was asleep on guard duty.”
    “My men are mine to handle as I please, Captain,” he said, giving the word an unbelievably contemptuous twist. “You had better remember that.”
    “You are getting a little above yourself, Titus Vinius,” I said, as haughtily as I could manage. Being a Caecilius Metellus, that was haughtier than most.
    His lip curled slightly. “This is Caesar’s army, Metellus. Caesar understands that the centurions run things. It is we who will bring him victories, not the political flunkies in purple sashes.”
    I would have drawn my sword on him then, but Caesar could have had me executed for it. Under military law, Vinius had done nothing wrong. I tried an appeal to reason.
    “If you don’t want your men ogling your slave, give her some decent clothes. That woman is a menace to the morale of the whole army.”
    “I do as I like with my own property.”
    “You didn’t take your vinestaff to me, Vinius,” I pointed out. “I was staring as hard as he was.”
    “You’re not one of my men,” he said, grinning crookedly. “Besides, you are a Roman officer. You may stare all you like. Just don’t touch.”
    Pulling rank hadn’t worked. Reason had failed utterly. Well, where centurions were concerned, there was always greed. I reached into the purse at my