Final Campaign

old memories goneby that we recalled with the kind of fondness one has for afavorite relative. It may strike one as odd, but the memories weconjured between us were never about the fighting, or the pain andloss that comes from it, but those funny or odd moments that canhappen under the most unlikely of circumstances. That day wasfilled with a fair bit of laughter, as we took turns reliving theantics or escapades of our comrades from days long gone. I knowthat not lost on either of us was the fact that most, if not all ofthe men that provided entertainment for us that day were dead. Evenour old comrade Vellusius had crossed over in Charon's Boat a baretwo months before the campaign with Primus, dying in his sleep,from simply being worn down by so many years under the standard. Asfar as I knew, Didius still lived, albeit with one leg; the thoughtflashed through my mind that was only true if he had managed tostay on the straight and narrow path, since he would be unable tooutrun anyone he had cheated. Otherwise, they were all gone now,all waiting for my friend and me to join them. Another thing that Iknow was not lost on either of us was that there was still thepossibility this would happen within a matter of days, and I didnot discount Scribonius from that same peril. Fortunately for bothof our hearts, we heard Diocles approaching before he opened thedoor, but when he entered this time, it was without the agitationof the day before. There was something else that was missing fromthe day before, but I forced myself to wait for him to take adrink, then pull out his notebook.

"I don't know," he said finally. "But Ithink Master Scribonius might have been right yesterday. Obviously,I can't be sure, but just from what I saw today, I think Augustusmight have won the mob back to his side."

As Diocles described what happened that day,it was quickly apparent that Murena had picked up where he had leftoff the day before, in both tone and with the specific questions.Showing absolutely no respect to Octavian, neither to the man norto the power he represented, Murena resumed hammering on thefiction, perpetrated by the Princeps himself, that he was merelythe "first among equals." Nonsense, Murena sneered, as Dioclesbecame so animated that he began acting out the roles played by thetwo combatants. It was an enthralling display and, for a moment, Iknow I forgot the stakes and just enjoyed watching as he stareddown at his empty chair, his lip curled in contempt as, barelyglancing at his notes, he rattled off the questions and accusationsMurena threw at Octavian. Wasn't it true, he demanded in a voicethat I suppose closely matched that of Murena, that far from beingjust another citizen, that Octavian was akin to a giant spider,spinning his webs that entrapped and ensnared others in silkenbonds that were so subtle that the victims did not even know theywere now little better than slaves? This was one of the morememorable accusations, and without laying eyes on him, I foundmyself admiring Murena's guts if nothing else. Slowly but surely,Murena, at least as played by Diocles, built up his case,increasing the pressure and antagonism of his line ofquestioning.

It culminated with Diocles, his voice havingrisen in volume with his retelling, finally thundering, "Well? Whydon't you admit the real reason that you're here, Caesar?" whilepointing down at the empty chair.

We were spellbound, but still playing hisroles, Diocles then took his spot in the chair, sitting upright asI presume Octavian had, his back not touching the chair, but with acalm and unruffled manner.

"I've come," I will admit that he soundedsurprisingly like Octavian, "for one reason only."

Despite it being an audience of two, Diocleshad both Scribonius and me on the edges of our chairs as he paused,turning his head to scan the imaginary Curia, as he said, "I havecome for the good of the people, and for no other reason."

We waited...and waited, for something more,but nothing else came from Diocles.

"You mean, that's all he said?" I askedincredulously.

Diocles nodded.

"That's all," he replied. "And I swear byZeus that it was as quiet in the Curia as it is right hereimmediately after he said it."

"I can imagine." Scribonius sat back.

"I can't," I protested, not seeing how whatI considered such a half-hearted reply could seem so powerful.

"He took the worst Murena had to offer,"Diocles interjected. "And Augustus didn't flinch. He listened toevery insult, every slur, every accusation and never lost hiscomposure. Then, he just..." Diocles searched for the right words,"...dismantled Murena's argument by answering calmly."

When put that way, I could more easilyunderstand, although it was still something of a stretch. Butseeing that Scribonius was of a like mind as Diocles, I just turnedto him with a question in my eyes.

"I think Augustus probably just convictedMarcus Primus," he answered my unasked question.

I considered for a moment, but it was hardto concentrate with the hard, leaden ball in my stomach. As much asI trusted these two men, I knew they were in all likelihood correctin their assessment, and if Primus' fate was sealed, then whatchance did I have?

Although the trial of Marcus Primuscontinued for another day, Diocles' assessment was that Octavianhad managed to deflect and blunt the thrust of the assault put upby Murena. More importantly, in the intervening time between therecess and Octavian's appearance in the court, the freedman witnesswho had worked for Marcellus disappeared. I imagine the only menwho were surprised at that were Murena and Primus, of course. Butthey were not the only ones disappointed, although I had assumed assoon as I heard of the witness that his days on this Earth could becounted on one hand with fingers left over. My hope, faint as itwas, had been that Murena could have put his freedman witness infront of the jury without warning, before Octavian and his agentscould have done anything to make him disappear. When the recess hadbeen announced, I knew that hope had evaporated, but it was stillsomething I did not like having confirmed.