(glances at Harald, little comprehending the diabolical fate which befell the unfortunate German)

Ugh. A transvestite. Shades of Clodius!

Here, Apil, don't try to deny your affiliation with these ostriches. You bred them. I just asked if they were for lunch.

Nausaebundus! Have you found me a suitable mantle, by the way? This toga is too drafty.

No?

Blast. Well, keep looking, man, keep looking. Do the work you were enslaved for, old fellow.