"I'm not sure how to begin," he started, andI stifled an urge to snap at him. "Because it's...complicated."
"You mean more than I already thought?" Imuttered, but although I meant it as a joke, he obviously took meseriously, because he gave a grave nod.
"Yes," he told me. "It's much morecomplicated than even I could imagine."
"That's wonderful," I groaned, but heignored me, refilling his wine cup before he did anything else.
But when he turned his head to Diocles,neither of us were prepared for what Scribonius was about tosay.
"You were right, Diocles, when you counseledTitus that he should have had Claudius brought up on charges forhis role in Natalis' scheme."
It took a moment for his words to register,as I was forced to shift my mental frame of reference from thiscampaign with Primus to the one that had occurred five yearsbefore, with Marcus Crassus.
For his part, Diocles did not look verypleased that he had been right, but I saw that he seemed tounderstand Scribonius immediately.
"The money," Diocles breathed.
Scribonius nodded grimly.
"Yes, the money. Or rather," he amended,"the fact that you caught Claudius trying to take a cut."
Although I had caught up to what we weretalking about and thought I understood, I was still bewildered bywhat Scribonius and Diocles were saying.
"Wait a moment," I interrupted. "Are yousaying that somehow the fact that I didn't bring him up on chargesis working against me in some way? If anything, that should meanthat he's more than willing to help me."
"Normally, you'd be right," Scriboniusagreed. "But there's something else going on here. I don't knowwhat exactly it is, but here's what I do know. The person behindthis attempt to destroy you isn't Lucullus. It's his uncle,Claudius' father."
"His father?" Now I was thoroughly confused."Why would his father care anything about me?"
"I don't know exactly," Scribonius conceded."But I have an idea."
Apparently, so did Diocles, because I sawhis head nodding up and down, so it was with some irritation Iturned to him.
"You seem to know what he's talking about,"I said sourly. "So why don't you catch up the slowest one of thebunch?"
"You're not the slowest," Diocles protested."You just don't think the same way as someone like Claudius'father." Taking a breath, he glanced at Scribonius, who gave aslight nod. "If I'm thinking along the same lines as MasterScribonius, the very fact that you didn't prosecute Claudiusfor his...indiscretion with Natalis and his extortion scheme is whyyou're a danger to him. Consider it this way; as long as you're inthe post of Camp Prefect, and as long as your status and reputationis intact, you pose a threat to his son. But if he destroys you?"Diocles gave a shrug. "The threat goes away."
I looked over to Scribonius, who gave a grimnod.
"He's right," my friend said. "My fatheractually had a conversation with Claudius' father not too long ago,who came to ask my father what he knew about you."
That puzzled me, but Scribonius clearedmatters up, looking a little embarrassed, and a trifledefensive.
"I told you that I had started communicatingwith my father," he told me, then looked away as he continued witha shrug. "And it was only natural that I talked about yousome."
"Some?" I asked suspiciously. "Justsome?"
"All right," he snapped. "Maybe quite a bit.Titus, whether you know it or not, you're famous. My father wascurious about what the great Titus Pullus was like, and so I toldhim."
There was a time, not that long before, thatI would have puffed up my chest at hearing that I was known bymembers of Scribonius' class, but at that moment, it was anythingbut pleasing.
"And what my father told Claudius' fatherapparently convinced him that you were a threat that needed to bedealt with."
"Maybe your father should have kept hismouth shut," I grumbled, but the moment the words came out of mymouth, I regretted them.
"My father only spoke the truth," Scriboniusshot back, and I could see that I had angered him a great deal.
I immediately held my hands up in aplacating gesture.
"I'm truly sorry, Sextus," I said, and Imeant it. "I shouldn't have said that, and I know your father is anhonorable man. And I know that you told him the truth. Pleaseforgive me."
For the barest instant, I was afraid that hewould not, as he continued to glare at me, but then herelented.
"You're forgiven. As usual." He gave me atired smile. Turning back to the subject, he continued, "But whatwe don't know is how Claudius himself feels about this."
I considered this for a moment, trying torecall the young Tribune that had been so haughty at the beginningof Crassus' campaign, and the change that I thought was sincereafter I saved his life. Thinking about the conversations we hadheld, both contentious and inconsequential, I closed my eyes as Iattempted to feel some sort of sense about the youngpatrician's character. Finally, all I could do was shake my head infrustration.
"I'm going to have to talk to him," I said."That's the only way I can think of to get some sort of idea."
"And how do you propose to do that?" Dioclesdemanded, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Scribonius shiftin his seat, in a way that told me something was coming.
"Actually," he broke in. "I've thought aboutthat, and I think I know a way. But," he finished, "we have to doit immediately. As in tonight."
"That soon?" Diocles was clearly skeptical."How do you propose to get Claudius somewhere where my master canmeet with him?"
"He'll come to my father's house to pay hisrespects." Scribonius' voice was calm, but I could see the sadnessin his eyes. "And it will be tonight. My father's not likely tosurvive past sunset tomorrow."
When a Roman of the upper classes dies,
