Sorting out just what Florus’ condensed work of history is has proved a significant impediment to an understanding of what it might mean. F.R.D. Goodyear's terse précis of Florus ‘The historian’—carefully decoupled from ‘The orator’ and ‘The poet’—in the Cambridge History of Classical Literature begins tellingly: ‘Florus’ outline of Roman history, ending with Augustus, was in late antiquity inaccurately described as an epitome of Livy.’ This is accurate enough. Despite the transmitted title, Epitoma(e) de Tito Liuio (also Bellorum omnium annorum septingentorum libri n. duo), Florus’ work is notably distinct from, say, Justin's abridgment of Pompeius Trogus or the Livian Periochae. Livy looms large in Florus’ history, but at no point in the text is he signaled by name, and numerous structural and thematic features mark this diminutive work's divergence from its huge predecessor. Florus’ Tableau (Jal's chosen title) simply doesn't read as mere paraphrase of Ab urbe condita. He frequently reshuffles, omits, or contradicts material found in Livy, or covers content that Livy does not include, or does not reach chronologically. Alongside Livy, Cato, Caesar, Sallust, Virgil, Seneca the Elder, Lucan, and (seemingly) Tacitus are conspicuous presences in Florus. Much has been said about how Florus fails to be a proper epitome. However, and perhaps more significantly as regards the reception of Florus’ quirky historiography, Goodyear's emphatic non-definition reinforces a summary dismissal of Florus’ value as a text. That is to say, in such a portrayal (and in that of many others), Florus suffers double punishment. He ‘has little to say which is new or remarkable’, but at the same time definitely fails as a reliable compiler. Derivative, and yet faithless: whatever Florus may be, he is something worse than epitome.