"There is a plot to kill Augustus,"Scribonius whispered. "A group of highly placed men don't like theway matters have played out. This group, it's led by a man namedFannius Caepio, have sworn an oath to return Rome to a republic,with a Senate and Consuls. Real Consuls, not puppets handpicked byAugustus."
"And Primus was involved?" I asked, butScribonius shook his head.
"I don't think so," he replied. "I thinkhe's a separate matter. But Murena is one of the leaders of thisconspiracy, and the rumor is that Augustus wants Murena's nameattached to Primus to set him up for a trial later."
I honestly did not know what to say to this.I suppose I should have spared some sympathy for poor, fat MarcusPrimus; if Scribonius' source was right, then he was a victim ofcircumstance just as much as I was.
"What if," Diocles spoke up, soundinghesitant as he tried to form his thoughts properly, "that's whyMarcus Primus was found guilty? Not because of what he did, butbecause of who he chose to defend him?"
Scribonius arched an eyebrow at Diocles, hissign that he was surprised by something.
"That," he nodded slowly, "may very well bethe case. Primus may just be a means to an end."
"But if Primus isn't the real objective forAugustus, why am I involved?" I asked.
Scribonius considered, then could onlyshrug.
"We may never know the real story. I thinkthat things may have started out one way, but as this trial, andthe plot against Augustus, progressed, Augustus changed hisobjective on the run."
"He's good at that," I conceded. "Not inCaesar's league in that regard, but still very good. But maybe itdid start out with Primus as the main objective, but when hepicked Murena as his defense, Augustus saw an opportunity todispose of two matters at one time?"
"Now, that," Scribonius sat back,giving me a look that I had rarely received from him, "is a very,very good thought. In fact, I think that's what's happened.Augustus has always been about making as few moves as possible, butwhen he does, it's usually with more than one goal in mind. I thinkthat's the case here."
Scribonius raised his cup to me.
"Well done, Titus. That's the kind ofdevious thinking that marks you as worthy of elevation into thepatrician class, let alone the equestrian."
I could not help laughing, and he andDiocles joined in, but it was harsh and mocking as we ruminated onthe twists, turns, and betrayals that are a normal day in Romanpolitics.
"Marcus Primus has been condemned to die."Diocles' face was ashen as he collapsed into the chair next tome.
"I...I don't believe it," Scriboniusmuttered, and three different hands reached for yet another amphoraof wine sitting in the center of the table, prompting a weak laughfor all of us.
Once we all had fully charged cups,Scribonius continued, "I knew it was possible. In fact, fromeverything I've heard, I suppose I realized that it was inevitable.Still, having it confirmed suddenly makes it real." He shrugged. "Isuppose I always thought deep down that Augustus wouldintervene."
"It's not too late," Diocles spoke up. "He'sscheduled for execution in the morning. Augustus can issue a stayof execution."
"No, he can't." Scribonius shook his head."Because if he does, he exposes the fiction that he's just acitizen like any other. It would have to come from the Senate.And," he finished grimly, "does anyone care to wager on whether ornot there are enough Senators available at this time of day to forma quorum?"
"If it weren't for my situation, I wouldactually be fairly happy with this," I said, finally. "The godsknow Marcus Primus was the biggest fool I ever served under, andhe's deserving of execution just for his ineptitude and everythinghe put the army through."
"Is he as bad as Doughboy was?" Scriboniussuddenly asked, invoking a name from our common past, and even withthe grim circumstances, I found myself roaring with laughter, whileDiocles looked on, bemused.
"Pluto's cock!" I exclaimed. "I hadforgotten about that idiot!"
I actually considered Scribonius' questionfor a moment, thinking about the most incompetent of the very firstset of Tribunes assigned to "command" the army of then-PraetorGaius Julius Caesar, back in Hispania forty years before. We hadcalled him Doughboy for not only his rotund build, but because hetended to puff up whenever any kind of friction was applied to him,just like when bread rises.
"No, I still have to go with Primus," I saidafter a moment. "If only because he commanded the whole army.Doughboy was just a Tribune, and we had Centurions that couldhandle him. Not like with Primus."
"Like Favonius." Scribonius uttered the nameof the very first Primus Pilus he and I had served under, when wewere tirones of the First Century, Second Cohort, which wascommanded by Gaius Crastinus.
"Like Favonius," I agreed, and we were lostin our reverie for a few moments, until Diocles cleared histhroat.
"I hate to interrupt the reminiscences ofyou two old soldiers," he sniffed. "But we need to talk about whatcomes next."
"For who? Primus?" I was only half-joking,but a thought occurred to me. "Is his execution going to bepublic?"
Scribonius answered, "I'd be very surprisedif it was. It will most likely be done in the Tullianum, inprivate. Not," he added, "out of any respect to Primus, but becauseAugustus doesn't want a spectacle. As we all know, mobs aresomewhat...unpredictable."
"That they are," I agreed. "Do you supposethat means they'll execute me in private as well?"
For some reason, neither of my twocompanions laughed at my joke.
My Tribunal, which had been scheduled for aweek after the conclusion of Primus' trial, was delayed by theamount of time that it had taken the jury to deliberate and thenassess his punishment. I had been informed of this by a handwrittennote from Agrippa, where he also asked who I had selected from thePraetorian
