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“No, you’re not understanding my meaning… I didn’t say that I thought you a fool… I merely implied that your methodology is a bit foolish.” Octavius Canaloni looked into the deep-set eyes of the man sitting on the bench next to him. The sounds of wood creaking and men grunting filled the room.
“Well, I still think it’s pure jealousy! How long have we been together now? I’d think a person could count on a little support.. It’s just a little disappointing, know what I mean?” The man stared forward as he grimaced, his muscles straining as he pulled in unison against the wooden oar. Caesario Romerinius tired of his companion’s constant badgering. Time for action had long since passed.
“Oh, it’s disappointing, is it? Funny… it didn’t seem so disappointing to you when I took the lashing for you when you fell asleep! You concealed your disappointment well that time the brigmaster gave you my rations by mistake! When are you going to realize you’re just not management material? Get it through your thick skull, bud…they’re not going to make you an officer simply because your mother once worked for the Emperor’s concubine. We’re slaves, you idiot, and no amount of papyrus can change that! All those home-study courses and your incessant attempts to engage the brigmaster in conversational Greek are foolish! There are days when I wish I were chained to Sphincterus—he’s an asshole, but at least he doesn’t embarrass me every ten seconds.”
Again, Caesario’s black eyes bored holes into Octavius. “So… is this how you truly feel?” The mighty oar in his hands moved in unison with the rest, sailing their small ship one stroke closer to Corinth, and a few days of leisure. “You’d begrudge me the chance to make my life easier, simply because you haven’t the fortitude to try? You accept your plight under the oars, yet sneer at others’ attempts to lighten their burden? What sort of man are you, Octavius? Suddenly, I feel as if I know little of you.”
Octavius smiled as his burly arms pulled against the awesome paddle. “Yes… I suppose that’s true… but I know much of you. Look around this galley and tell me what you see. Do you see men with arms of coiled steel and backs rippling, covered in sweat? That’s what I see… then I look at you and I see a little man whose own arms look more like a woman’s. Why do you suppose that is, Caesarius, could it possibly be that you allow us to carry your burden? I ask you, my friend, whose burden is already lighter?”
“Romerini men have long been known for our slight build. We prefer to think of it as the graceful expression of art versus structure, the lithe interpretation of maximal performance enclosed in a minimal package. No doubt, someone in the future will make the same observation and remark that dynamite comes in small packages.” Flexing his biceps, Caesario grunted ferociously, straining in his attempt to prove his Alpha-male status.
The two men stared at each other for a few seconds before Octavius broke the impasse with a snort. Shaking his head impassively, he again looked into Caesario’s eyes, and the men smiled at each other. “Blessed with the gift of omniscience, too, I see… Well, I guess whatever is to be, will be. I wish I had some of this dynamite you spoke of… whatever it is. I’ll let it pass for now… but you’re buying the first round at Happy Hour in Corinth. Et tu, Brute?”
The two high-fived as the brigmaster brought his lash down onto their backs. Just another day at the office…
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