"Does it look like a breast to anyone else?" My voice, harsh and stupid. "Because it looks like a breast to me. I imagine that’s the idea, of course, fertility and fecundity and so on. But you’ve got it guarded by legionaries, Julius Marcus, and sooner or later one of them is going to hump it. That’s the trouble with our soldiers being fearless: they’ve got no sense of proportion!" Everyone’s staring at me, which is what I wanted. This is an exorcism—my first of the day, so we’ll call it a warm-up. "You, soldier: where are you from?" Picking a face at random, young and starstruck.