"It's obvious that I have been outvoted," hesaid; he was hard to understand because his teeth were so tightlyclenched. He heaved a deep sigh, closed his eyes then finished,"Very well. I hereby declare that this portion of the Tribunal isover, and that the members will now deliberate on this matter."
Looking over at our table, his grimace wasperhaps the sweetest sight of the day for me.
"Prefect, we will announce our decision atthe beginning of second watch tomorrow. You are expected to be hereto hear our decision. Do I have to remind you that are bound byoath not to attempt to flee before the decision is announced?"
Standing up, I stared hard at the youngnoble, who I was pleased to see suddenly did not look so sure ofhimself.
"Senior Tribune," I said quietly, but withenough force behind my voice that I knew it carried so he couldhear it, "the last time a man asked a similar question was whenMarcus Lepidus asked me, in that office right over there," Iinclined my head in the direction of the door that led into theprivate office. "I gave him the same answer I'll give you. I'venever, ever run from a fight. Ever."
Putting every bit of the experience Iacquired over the years in intimidating men, my eyes bore intothose of the younger man as I tried to communicate to him all ofthe contempt that I was experiencing at that moment. Only now can Iadmit that it was not just contempt for him, but for all of this;patricians, politics, power...Rome. For in that moment, I was sotired of all that I had endured that I felt that adding one morenight to my burden was needlessly cruel. I was convinced that thedecision had already been made, and that this was just a show puton to give it the patina of legality, but in the end, it was simplyabout the patricians of Rome jealously guarding their status.
"Yes...well, excuse me, Prefect," the SeniorTribune mumbled. "But I'm required by regulations to tell youthis."
"Well, as long as it's only because theregulations require it, I won't take it as an insult," I saidevenly. "Because if I did, I would be honor bound to respond in away that one of us wouldn't like."
The Senior Tribune did not verbally reply,just giving a perfunctory nod instead. Lost in all of this wasScribonius, who still sat in the chair.
Finally, he spoke up. "Am I finished? If so,I'd like to be excused."
The Senior Tribune dismissed him with awave, so distracted that he did not seem the least bit interestedin anything involving my friend. Only Sulpicianus, still rooted inhis spot, was interested in Scribonius, pointing at him as myfriend walked by.
"What about him?" he asked plaintively.
Nobody appeared to be listening, and I didnot waste any more time, turning and striding to catch up withScribonius as we walked out of the room.
"That," he muttered, "was interesting."
That night, waiting for the next day to hearmy fate, Scribonius chose not to spend that time with Aurelia,despite the fact that his brother would be returning from Campaniawithin the next couple of days. We were sitting at our nowaccustomed spots at the table in my quarters, quaffing our nowaccustomed portions of wine, mine unwatered, and discussing whathad been, by anyone's account, an eventful day.
"Did you see Sulpicianus standing there?"Diocles finally brought up what I was sure we had all beenthinking, my last sight of him still standing there as he tried topuzzle out exactly what had happened.
"I think he still is," Scribonius said witha laugh. "Honestly, I don't think I've ever seen a slower Tribune,not even Doughboy."
This brought a laugh from me, but probablynot surprisingly, I was not in a truly humorous mood. However,neither was I morose; I was more contemplative than anything, andthe mention of Sulpicianus prompted my thoughts to turn to what wasstill bothering me.
"I agree," I finally spoke. "But I have towonder how someone like Sulpicianus ended up as theprosecutor."
"The gods are still looking after you,"Diocles replied, prompting a glower from me at the mention of thisaspect of my life upon which my back is still turned.
My scribe was not intimidated in the least,especially when compared to the look the Senior Tribune had on hisface earlier that day.
"Or someone else," Scribonius pointed out,quietly, instantly going to the heart of the matter that wasturning over in my mind.
"Or, someone else," I agreed. After amoment's thought, I added, "But why would Agrippa want to helpme?"
"Besides the obvious reason that you'reTitus Pullus, hero of Rome?" Scribonius teased me before turningserious. "I've been thinking about that, and the truth is, I don'tknow why he would," he admitted.
I must say I was torn when he said this;while I was still mystified, a part of me agreed with hisassessment, and I would have liked to hear a solid, tangible reasonfor what appeared to be Agrippa's actions, albeit behind thescenes.
"Maybe things between him and Augustusaren't as smooth as they're supposed to be," Diocles pointedout.
This was certainly a possibility, and givenwhat we knew at that point, it seemed the most likely. But beforewe could pursue this line of thought any further, there was aknocking at the door. I cannot lie; the sound not only startled me,it caused a spate of cold, dank fear sweat to suddenly slick myskin. Just looking at my two companions, I could see they werethinking similar thoughts. Nevertheless, Diocles stood up and movedto the door.
"I'll see who's coming at this time ofnight." His voice was remarkably calm.
Crossing the room, Diocles paused for only amoment before yanking it open. His body blocked my view of thevisitor, which made what Diocles said doubly shocking since I hadno chance to prepare.
"Tribune Claudius." My Greek's tone wascorrect and formal, but I could detect the anger lying justunderneath. "This is quite a surprise."
I must give Claudius his due; he did notappear the least bit intimidated as Diocles grudgingly steppedaside to allow him to enter. Coming to my feet, I made an effort tobe as formally
