Finally, Diocles broke the silence, gaspingout, "People will be talking about this for years! Decades,even!"
Shaking his head at the memory, or so Isupposed, he reached for the jug again, but this time, Scriboniusput a firm hand on his arm, stopping him.
"And?" he asked Diocles, gently. "Whathappened?"
Diocles did not answer right away, insteadreaching into his bag to withdraw a tablet, and I saw his handclearly shaking. He opened it, running his finger down the incisedlines until he found what he was looking for.
"So, you were right," he began toScribonius. "The recess was for the prosecution to send forAugustus. But," he shook his head again, his face showing a mix ofincredulity and admiration, "if Murena was surprised, he certainlydidn't act like it."
"I don't imagine he was," Scriboniusinterrupted. "It was the most obvious reason for the prosecution toask for a recess."
"That may be," Diocles replied, but hesounded a bit peeved at being interrupted. "But that's not as faras it went. He wasn't only not surprised; he wasextremely...aggressive when he was questioning Augustus. In fact,"he looked from Scribonius to me, "I heard more than one man say hewas downright insulting to the Princeps."
"How so?" Scribonius asked immediately, justbeating me to it.
Diocles' head dropped as he scanned thetablet.
"Ah, here it is. 'By what right do you showup here when you're not on the list of witnesses?'"
I felt my mouth drop open, and Scriboniuswas no less astounded. Finally, my friend let out a lowwhistle.
"I wonder how long it's been since someonesaid something like that to Augustus?"
"I don't know." I thought for a moment."Probably not since Antonius was alive."
"If that was as far as he went, that wouldhave been one thing," Diocles said, before looking down again. "Buthe was just getting started. 'Who do you think you are, that youcan flaunt the laws and customs of our ancient society and justshow up in a trial without being summoned?'"
"Wait," I interrupted, not sure Iunderstood. "But the prosecution asked for this recess to callhim."
"True," Diocles conceded. "But they didn'tactually call him. No official message was sent."
"But why not?" I was really puzzled now, butit comforted me somewhat that Scribonius looked somewhat confusedas well.
Then, his face cleared and he snapped hisfingers.
"Ah." He nodded his head. "I think I knowwhy. Because in theory, when the Praetorships were assigned lastyear, he wasn't the Consul anymore. Remember? There was a SuffectConsul who served out the rest of the year. What was his name?" Hesearched his memory for a moment, then grinned. "Lucius SestiusAlbinialis. That's it. I remember my father wrote me about it andmade a joke that it was only because Horace wrote a poem about him,and Augustus is...fond of Horace."
While I had heard that as well, andunderstood like my friend that it was not meant as a compliment, Istill did not see why Octavian throwing a bone to this Albinialismattered, and I said as much. As usual, my friend was either toogood, or too smart to show impatience at his slower-witted, lessinformed friend.
"Because," he explained, "remember howdevoted to the law Augustus is..."
"You mean the appearance of it," Dioclesinterjected, earning an irritated look from Scribonius, while I satthere helplessly, feeling like I was in a classroom.
"Yes, yes." Scribonius waved a hand atDiocles. "The appearance of legality is what's important.Anyway, speaking from a legal standpoint, Murena is absolutelyright; if anyone should have shown up, it should have beenAlbinialis, not Augustus, since in theory, he was the oneassigning Praetors to provinces." Sitting back, Scribonius took adeep breath, then finished his thought. "I think that what Murenais trying to do is expose what a total fiction our current systemof government is. I think," he looked over at me, his expressiongrave, and not a little fearful, "he's trying to show the mob thatwe have a king, even if we don't call him that."
"Pluto's cock." That was the only thing Icould think to say as I sat there, my mind racing as I thoughtthrough what he was saying.
Having long since learned the folly ofquestioning my friend's conclusions, I accepted what he had justsaid as fact. And so, I could tell, did Diocles.
"Well, it might be working," Diocles finallybroke the silence. "Because if a third of the jury acted doubtfulabout the prosecution's case, it's more than that now."
"So how did it end?" I asked him.
"It didn't, really," he replied, referringagain to his notes. "Augustus didn't arrive in the Curia untilafter the midday break. Murena's going to resume his questioningtomorrow."
"So." For the first time, I was allowingmyself to be cautiously optimistic. "Maybe I'll end up in the clearyet."
Feeling Scribonius turn to look at me, I didthe same, our eyes meeting.
"I hope so," he said, but he pursed hislips, which I knew was how he expressed doubt. "But a lot canhappen overnight. Plus," he finished somberly, "never underestimateAugustus' ability to win a crowd."
The next day passed more slowly than justabout any other day of my life that I could remember, as Scriboniusand I waited for Diocles to return. Contrary to his usual practiceof not showing up until perhaps a third of a watch before Diocles,Scribonius was there first thing in the morning, settling at thetable and helping me pick at the loaf of bread and lathering itwith butter and honey. Neither of us had much of an appetite, butwe passed the time, talking mostly of past times,
