"He actually did," Claudius cut in,surprising me a great deal. "But my father wants this as much as mycousin does. Or did," he added hastily.
Lucullus nodded, and again, if it was anact, it was a good one.
"He's right, Prefect. When I approached himabout being adopted, the moment he told me what I had to do inorder for him to agree, I tried to withdraw my request. But hewouldn't hear of it. I think he rather likes the idea of bringingall the males currently in the family under his name, as it were.Or control, to be more accurate."
I could not help but be struck by how calmlywe were discussing what was ultimately my ruin, and how I was notat this moment crushing the life out of these two young nobles.Without a doubt, if it had been ten years earlier, this would havebeen exactly what was taking place now, but I had learned so muchabout the futility of fighting certain battles. And the mosthopeless battle a Roman can fight is one against the upper classes,especially if he is not of the same class. The only way Romechanges is through blood and violence, but even then it does not doso without men clinging to the last vestiges of the old ways. Oneneed only look at the example of Cato, or Cicero, men who foughtchange that was inevitable to their literal last breath.
"Claudius! Lucullus! Where have you gottenoff to?"
The shout made all of us jump, and I do notbelieve the two youngsters could have looked more panic-strickenhad a horde of Thracians suddenly materialized.
"It's my father," Claudius whispered, andthere was no mistaking the edge of terror in his voice.
Scribonius moved quickly, opening the dooras he called out, "They're with me, sir!"
"Well, tell them to come along! We've paidour respects! There's no need to dawdle now!"
The two men started to move past Scribonius,who stepped aside to let them pass, while I all I could do waswatch helplessly as my last hope walked out the door. Just beforehe reached it, Claudius paused and turned to face me.
"Prefect, I am sorry. And, I'll keep tryingto convince my father to stop this nonsense. But he's a stubbornman."
"So am I," I replied, with sour humor. ThenI waved a hand in dismissal. "Go. I don't want you getting introuble with Tata."
His face flushed at the insult, but he onlygave a nod, then left the room. Scribonius closed the door, and thethree of us stood there as we tried to digest what this allmeant.
"Well, I'm fucked," was all I could think tosay.
As expected, Scribonius' father passed intothe shades shortly before midday the following day. A day short ofa week after his funeral rites, which I attended, the trial ofMarcus Primus began in the Forum. As expected, it was the highlightof the year, and if the veteran court observers were to bebelieved, was the biggest trial to happen in Rome in many years. Itwas sorely needed; despite the appearance of prosperity in the areaimmediately around Rome, the entire peninsula was suffering fromthe kind of weather that plays havoc with crops. Additionally, somemonths before I arrived in Rome, the Tiber had flooded, and therewere all sorts of numerous bad omens that had the people of myclass very nervous. Watching one of their social superiors fightingfor his life was just the kind of entertainment needed to taketheir collective minds off their own woes. Naturally, I could notattend, but Diocles went in my place, with a couple of wax tabletsand stylus to take notes. However, after he had been forced tostand near the very rear of the Curia Julia, the building Caesarhad started in a tribute to his daughter that Octavian finishedjust a few years before, he resigned himself to leaving my quartersbefore dawn in order to find a good seat. Primus' trial was beingheld in the Curia because it was not only a capital trial, but oneinvolving the state. At least, that was the official version; notlost on me, or anyone, I imagine, was that the essence of thecharges against Primus were based on the idea that he had disobeyedOctavian, not the Senate. As I came to learn, in his own way,Primus was as much a sacrificial beast as I was, as the lastvestiges of the old guard that had run Rome for centuries tried toexpose Octavian's fiction that he was not the sole power in Rome.Through a man named Lucius Licinius Varro Murena, a son of a Consulwho had been the Legate in Syria a couple of years before, the menwho might be considered to be the heirs of that group that calledthemselves The Boni, made their last, desperate stand against thisnew way of running Rome. I could not have been served better thanDiocles, whose intellect and appreciation of the subtleties of thepolitical landscape of Rome in those days was second only to thatof Scribonius’. And as much as there was for him to write about, Ifound his description of what was taking place to be, at the veryleast, more entertaining if not informative.
"Primus has lost quite a bit of weight. Heonly has two chins now," he told me after the first day.
As grave as the situation was, that prompteda laugh from me.
"And I will say that he looks much better ina toga than he does in armor," Diocles continued.
"That's because it hides the fat."
Pointing to the tablet that I could see wasfilled with his notes, I asked him about the first day'sproceedings.
"Well, today was the prosecution's case," hebegan, then read from his notes the outline of the state's caseagainst Primus.
Primus was being tried under the lexmaiestatis, the law concerning treason against the state, andit can be argued that, for Romans, there was no worse charge thatcould be laid against an individual. Unlike my upcoming Tribunal,this was a judicum publicum, a public trial in which a groupof citizens serve as the jury. For Primus' trial, there were morethan two hundred jurors, and these were seated on the first tworows of benches in the Curia. As I had noticed in the smallertrials, there
