In a Roman tavern a woman was observed fondling a man while he boasted of the Nubian slave girls he had seen down at the port… The sailor was also overheard saying: “Nolo cum Murtal. I don’t want to with Murtale.”
Later, when the lady of the night went away, the sailor called for a cup of Falernian wine.
“Hoc! Over here!
“Non Mia Est! No, that’s mine!”
The man who had spoken stood up. Of stocky build, he had an impressive scar down the sinister side of his face.
The barmaid put her hands on her hips. “Well, whoever wants it, can have it.”
The sailor shrugged, “I would not begrudge a returning hero. Let’s drink to it. Another cup, please”
The two men settled down with a duedecim scripta, which was a kind of Roman version of a backgammon board.
The sailor threw the dice.
“Ersi! I’ve got it!” said the soldier.
“Non tria duas est! That’s not a 3, it’s a 2.”
“Noxsi a me tria fui! The 3 came to me!”
“Or te fellator eco fui. Cocksucker, it was me who won it!”
As the soldier and the sailor squared up, the landlord called over:
“Itis foras rixsatis! Hey, you two! Go outside if you want to fight.”
But Murtale had already beaten them to it and broken the board over the sailor’s head.
*
“That’s a bit cryptic, isn’t it?”
“It’s a port. There’s fighting and gaming. Like any port the world over.”
“Yeh, but I don’t understand who’s fighting who.”
“I don’t think,” said Giorgio, “Murtale understands either.”
“I think she understands perfectly well. She smacked him over the head.”
“He insulted her. He’s lucky she only hit him on the head.”