Finally regaining a bit of my composure, Icrossed the room to sweep him into a hug, Scribonius standing justin time. I have never been so relieved, and so guilty, all at thesame time.
"I hate the fact that you're here," I toldhim. "But I am so glad that you are."
"Well, I was thinking of making a trip toRome anyway," he joked, but we both knew this was not true.
The truth was that Sextus Scribonius wastaking a huge risk in showing up here, in Rome, after "dying" oncampaign. We had managed to fool Marcus Primus, and he had enteredScribonius' death in the official record of his campaign. Which, ofcourse, meant that the record of his death had reached Rome aswell, and neither Scribonius nor I harbored any illusions that thiskind of deception, if discovered, would escape the attention ofOctavian, who seemed to know the number of kernels of grain thatthe average Legionary ate on any given day. I was already neck deepin it, but by Scribonius risking detection coming back to Rome,particularly since his family was wealthy plebeian, he was taking ahuge risk.
"This time it wasn't my fault," was all Icould think to say.
I was relieved when I saw Scriboniusnod.
"I know," he agreed. "That's why I came.After I read the letter from Gaius, I made some inquiries of myown. What's happening to you is unjust. And I'm going to do what Ican to keep it from happening."
I knew better than to ask why; he was myfriend. My best, and now my longest friend, and we had shared somuch over the years that we were closer than brothers. Only anotherfighting man can understand how it is possible to be more closelybound than by blood, but it is true. I can no more explain it thanI can walk across water, but I know that it is true in a way thatis more elemental than any other thing I know. The reality is, ifthe situation were reversed, even as much as I valued my career, Iwould do the same for Scribonius without a moment's hesitation.Such is the bond between men who have shed blood with another. Isat down next to him, and we did not speak for several moments aswe looked at each other. While it was true that it had just been afew months since we had last seen each other, on that night afterour attack on the Thracians that had been trailing us, and theTribune Scipio had been killed, so much had happened that made itseem like much longer. For his part, Scribonius had crossed thewilds of Thrace, Moesia, and Macedonia, alone, before taking shipto finally reach Alexandria. As we sat there, he filled me in onwhat a letter could not have said, especially one written in theform of code as he did.
"I was wondering how much you wouldunderstand," he told me.
"You're not that clever," I snorted. "Ifigured it out almost immediately."
"I would hope so," Scribonius retorted. "Imade it simple enough that a child could figure it out."
I cannot express how reassuring andcomforting it was that we fell so easily back into our formerpattern of banter, and I could see that he was similarly pleased.Soon enough, though, he turned his attention to the problem.
"So, Diocles has informed me of wherematters stand now," he began. "You approached Agrippa aboutClaudius being your defense counsel. That was a good idea, by theway," he added, pleasing me a great deal, but he was oblivious tomy happiness as he continued, "but that just makes it more of aproblem that it didn't work out. He also tells me that you're notgiving up hope on using him?"
I shook my head.
"No, he convinced me," I shot Diocles agrin, "that it would be a bad idea to just give up on that line ofthinking."
"As usual, he's right," Scribonius told me,delighting Diocles to no end, who sat there looking insufferablypleased with himself. "But if you can't meet with him, it's onlythat, an idea."
He took a deep breath as he stared down atthe table, lost in thought, that frown on his face so oddlycomforting as a part of me fought the urge to relax now that he washere. Unbidden, the thought crept into my mind as he was talkingthat perhaps this would be the one problem Scribonius could notsolve, but I ruthlessly pushed it away, refusing to accept this aseven a remote possibility.
Sighing, Scribonius said, "My father isfriends with his father. I can reach out to Claudius that way."
Those simple words froze my blood.
"But that would put you in even morejeopardy than you already are," I protested, then shook my heademphatically. "No, I can't allow you to put yourself in that muchdanger."
"Believe it or not, Titus, you don't commandme anymore," Scribonius retorted. "And I can do as I please.Besides," his tone softened, and his face took on a somberexpression, "if I'm being honest, this trip to Rome isn't all aboutyou. As it happens, my father is ailing, and my brother doesn'tthink he'll survive much longer. He's 78 years old, after all."
Nothing more was said for a moment, then hestraightened up.
"Well, there's no time to lose. If not foryour sake, then for my father's."
Standing, he offered his hand, but I grabbedhim in a hug again. He promised that he would return as quickly ashe could and, with that, he left my quarters.
Scribonius did not return to my quartersuntil the middle of the next day, and I canceled my daily ride withOcelus while Diocles and I waited for him. Neither of us saw anypoint in Diocles skulking about Claudius' villa, such was our faithin Scribonius. Despite expecting him, when there came a banging ofthe door both of us jumped out of our chairs, chuckling at ourrespective nerves. Diocles went and opened the door, and Scriboniusstepped in. I noticed that he had kept the hood of his cloak up,which pleased me that he was not taking unnecessary risks. When hepulled the hood back, I searched his face for any sign of the newsthat he brought, but his face was closed, betraying
