"I think most of them believe Marcellus toldPrimus to conduct the campaign," he explained to Scribonius and me."But I just don't know how many of them are willing to take therisk of voting absolvo."
"What I don't understand," I interjected,"is why Primus or Murena didn’t bring up the gold."
"I've thought about that," Scribonius said."And I think I might have an idea why he didn't."
I sat back, waiting for him to answer as hefrowned into his cup.
"If he had entered into evidence the newsthat there were eight talents of gold, where would it go?"Scribonius gave me the answer in the form of a question, aparticularly effective, if annoying, habit of his.
"To the treasury," I replied slowly. "Whichwould mean..."
I did not finish, but Diocles did it for me."He couldn't have the money to bribe Augustus if he's foundguilty."
Sitting there looking at each other,although on the surface this made sense, something still botheredme.
"But do you really think thatAugustus," while I refer and think of him as Octavian, I hadperfected the habit of not slipping up when I spoke, "is going tocondemn a member of his class?"
"Condemn?" Scribonius asked, then shook hishead. "No, I don't think he'll condemn him. But find him guilty?"He considered for a moment, then finished, "I think that's a verystrong possibility."
My friend is still one of the cleverest menI've ever known, second only to Caesar, but Scribonius was onlyhalf right in his prediction about the fate of Marcus Primus. Afterdeliberating less than two full days, the jury voted and Primus wasfound guilty of overstepping his authority in conducting a campaignin Thrace. It will probably not surprise you, gentle reader, that Iwas not happy about hearing this news, understanding as I did thatif this did not kill my chances of being absolved of my chargesoutright, it at the very least seriously crippled them. Now, wewaited to see what the punishment was going to be, and that waseven more wearing on my nerves than the trial. Finally, I couldtake it no longer; it had been several days since I rode Ocelus,and he and I went for a long ride in the country, alone. I askedScribonius to accompany me, but he said he had other business toattend to, and while I thought there was something oddly furtiveabout the way he said it, I thought no more of it and went alone.Although I enjoyed the ride, returning back to no news put a sourtaste in my mouth, ruining the memory of the time I had enjoyedwith Ocelus, pretending I was a free man without a care in theworld.
"I've been asking around," Diocles told uswhen we met for our now customary evening meal in my quarters. "Andsomething's going on that's quite unusual. According to the peopleI talked to, who have been trial watchers for years, they've neverseen or heard about anything like this."
Apparently finished, he lowered his head andspooned a mouthful of chickpeas into his mouth. It took quite a bitof self-control not to slap the spoon out of his hand.
"Well?" I demanded, trying not to let mytemper get the best of me. "What is it that's causing all thischattering?"
Diocles did not answer immediately, thenfinally, he put the spoon down and looked at me with eyes that toldme more than his words.
"It sounds like Marcus Primus is going to beexecuted."
Even with the hint of a warning from theGreek's expression, it still hit me like a physical blow, and I letout a gasp of shock. Or perhaps Scribonius did, because he lookedno less surprised and upset than I felt.
"What?" Scribonius broke the silence. "Howcan that be? That's almost unheard of, at least in the last severalyears! Augustus has been preaching that the days of bloodlettingare over, that it's time for us to heal our wounds from all theyears of civil war!"
Shaking his head, my friend threw down hisspoon, then stood up from the table.
"I'll be back," was all he said over hisshoulder as he left Diocles and me gaping at his retreating form,watching him open the door and pause only long enough to grab hiscloak from the hook.
"Master Scribonius will get to the bottom ofthis," Diocles said with a confidence that I hoped was real.
Is that going to make any difference,though? This was the thought crowding into my brain as the two ofus tried to finish our meal. Suddenly, I did not have anyappetite.
Scribonius did not return until late thatnight, and he did not need to say a word, his face the grimmest Ihad seen it. Beckoning to us, we took our customary spots at thetable, and I waited for him to explain what happened, and mostimportantly, what he thought it meant for me.
"I don't think this is about Primus,"Scribonius said the moment we sat down. "In fact, I'm sure of it. Ithink it has everything to do with Murena. Primus just happens tobe between Augustus and his real target."
"But why?"
I was more bewildered now than at any pointin this whole sorry affair. Scribonius hesitated for a moment, thenI clearly saw his eyes scan the room around us, as if he waslooking for some hidden spy. We were alone; there were not even anyslaves, because I had dismissed them immediately after they servedthe meal. Even so, Scribonius spoke in very low tones, forcing meto lean forward to catch what he said.
"What I'm about to tell you must not berepeated, do you understand?" He looked from me to Diocles, and Iwill admit I was somewhat peeved that he felt the need to extractsomething that I would have offered without being asked. As if hesensed my consternation, he explained, "It's just that I learnedthis from Aurelia's brother, and she's married to my brother. So itcould do enormous damage to both our families if word got out."
The moment he had uttered the name of thewoman he had loved
