It is a bit late for that, I thought, seeinghow I had hold of it already, and as old and enfeebled as I mayhave become, I was still fairly certain I could wrest it from hisgrasp. Nevertheless, I withdrew my hand and nodded for him tocontinue.
"You will read the message in my presence,and then you will destroy it in my presence as well. You are alsorequired by sacred oath never to speak of its contents to anyone.Is that understood?"
I realized then why the bearer of thismessage was shaking so; I could imagine how intimidating it musthave been for a slave to utter such strong words to a man like me,covered in scars, with a sword still nearby. I did not answerimmediately; despite my curiosity, and my belief that part or allof the mystery of what had transpired earlier might be solved, Iwas still so saturated with all the intrigue to the point that Iconsidered that it would just be better not knowing. Then, my mindwent in another direction, as I thought about what might happen ifI refused. Sighing, I realized that, as usual, I had no real choicein the matter.
"Very well," I said finally. "I agree to theterms."
Only then did he relinquish the scroll,which I took. Turning so that the light from the lamp was no longerblocked by my body, I examined the document. It bore no seal, whichwas slightly unusual in itself, but I unrolled it, then read thecontents. Using all of my discipline, I kept my face from betrayingany emotion as I looked up at the slave. Except I was looking at adifferent man; gone was the fear, the obsequy, and deference. Hestood there, staring directly into my eyes, without a hint of thatmanner of being that marks a slave.
"Well?" he asked softly, but this time hisvoice was as different as his physical manifestation. "Do you stillagree?"
For a moment, I actually considered sayingno, suddenly wanting to make a jump for my sword to give my answerin blood. Then, I was struck by a thought.
"You're not alone, are you?" I askedsoftly.
The smile he gave me was anything butfriendly, yet he did not seem upset by the question. In fact, Iwould say he was oddly pleased.
"I might have some...associates waitingoutside," he allowed, then his face hardened. "So I ask you again,do you still agree?"
"Yes," I said with a sigh, hating myselfbecause I knew that would be the answer I gave all along.
Without another word, I turned to the lamp,and held the scroll over it until the parchment caught. Watchingthe flames lick up the scroll, my hope was that this, finally, wasthe end to all of this and that I would finally be allowed to livein peace.
"You may tell your master," I said evenly,"that Titus Pullus agrees to the terms, and gives his sacred oaththat he will never speak of this again."
Although I cannot say for sure, I would liketo think that the bearer of this message looked slightly relieved,and that it was due to his trepidation of having to face me in theevent that I did not. But I knew there was no other choice. Whenthe flames got too close to my fingers, I let the remnants of thescroll drop to the stone floor, and the three of us watched as thefire consumed the rest, leaving nothing but the wooden spools. Theman masquerading as a slave took the extra precaution of reachingout with his foot, and smearing the ashes across the floor, Isuppose in the event that we tried to somehow piece it backtogether, although I have no idea how I would have done that.Without another word, he abruptly turned on his heel and walked tothe door, only giving a brief glance over his shoulder beforeexiting.
"What," Diocles' voice was shaky, "was thatall about?"
Turning to look him in the eye, I put bothhands on his shoulders.
"That, I will never tell you. If," Ifinished, "you want to live to a ripe old age, that is."
It was easy to see that he did not like it,but he also could see that I was not going to bend. However, I didnot release my grip until he nodded that he understood.
"Good.” I released him, " Now, we need toget busy."
"Busy? Doing what?"
"Packing," I told him. "We leave Rome atfirst light."
Because it was already November, Diocles andI were forced to take the overland route back to Siscia, ridingacross the peninsula to the veterans' colony founded by Caesar,Fanum Fortunae, before turning north. Usually riding within sightof the coast, Diocles and I, astride Thunder and Ocelusrespectively, made good time, despite the weather steadily turningnastier with every passing day. As I had been told to do, we leftRome the morning after the Tribunal, and while I could see thatDiocles was absolutely consumed with curiosity, I never talkedabout the scroll that I had read the night before. My main concernwas for Scribonius, and I regret to say that I would stay in astate of suspense for some weeks afterward. Stopping at the innsalong the Via Flaminia, it soon became apparent that we could notescape the talk of the trial of Marcus Primus and his execution. Ifwe were to believe everyone we heard, his execution in theTullianum had drawn a crowd of hundreds, since most of the peoplewe heard talking about it claimed to have gotten their news from aneyewitness. There was much made of not just his trial, but hissupposedly bad end, the one common theme in almost every tale weheard. It probably will not surprise anyone to learn that this partof his tale I gave credence to, given what I knew of the man.Nevertheless, it provided the lower classes a great deal ofpleasure as they described, in ever more lurid detail, how hemoaned and cried like a woman, soiling himself while having to bebodily dragged to the spot of execution. It seemed that the fartherwe got from Rome, the worse his behavior,
