Marching With Caesar-Final Campaign, page 58
"I don't know," he said finally. "But I think Master Scribonius might have been right yesterday. Obviously, I can't be sure, but just from what I saw today, I think Augustus might 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 left off the day before, in both tone and with the specific questions. Showing absolutely no respect to Octavian, neither to the man nor to the power he represented, Murena resumed hammering on the fiction, perpetrated by the Princeps himself, that he was merely the "first among equals." Nonsense, Murena sneered, as Diocles became so animated that he began acting out the roles played by the two combatants. It was an enthralling display and, for a moment, I know I forgot the stakes and just enjoyed watching as he stared down at his empty chair, his lip curled in contempt as, barely glancing at his notes, he rattled off the questions and accusations Murena threw at Octavian. Wasn't it true, he demanded in a voice that I suppose closely matched that of Murena, that far from being just another citizen, that Octavian was akin to a giant spider, spinning his webs that entrapped and ensnared others in silken bonds that were so subtle that the victims did not even know they were now little better than slaves? This was one of the more memorable accusations, and without laying eyes on him, I found myself 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 of questioning.
It culminated with Diocles, his voice having risen in volume with his retelling, finally thundering, "Well? Why don't you admit the real reason that you're here, Caesar?" while pointing down at the empty chair.
We were spellbound, but still playing his roles, Diocles then took his spot in the chair, sitting upright as I presume Octavian had, his back not touching the chair, but with a calm and unruffled manner.
"I've come," I will admit that he sounded surprisingly like Octavian, "for one reason only."
Despite it being an audience of two, Diocles had 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 have come 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 asked incredulously.
Diocles nodded.
"That's all," he replied. "And I swear by Zeus that it was as quiet in the Curia as it is right here immediately after he said it."
"I can imagine." Scribonius sat back.
"I can't," I protested, not seeing how what I 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 to every insult, every slur, every accusation and never lost his composure. Then, he just..." Diocles searched for the right words, "...dismantled Murena's argument by answering calmly."
When put that way, I could more easily understand, although it was still something of a stretch. But seeing that Scribonius was of a like mind as Diocles, I just turned to him with a question in my eyes.
"I think Augustus probably just convicted Marcus Primus," he answered my unasked question.
I considered for a moment, but it was hard to concentrate with the hard, leaden ball in my stomach. As much as I trusted these two men, I knew they were in all likelihood correct in their assessment, and if Primus' fate was sealed, then what chance did I have?
Although the trial of Marcus Primus continued for another day, Diocles' assessment was that Octavian had managed to deflect and blunt the thrust of the assault put up by Murena. More importantly, in the intervening time between the recess and Octavian's appearance in the court, the freedman witness who had worked for Marcellus disappeared. I imagine the only men who were surprised at that were Murena and Primus, of course. But they were not the only ones disappointed, although I had assumed as soon as I heard of the witness that his days on this Earth could be counted on one hand with fingers left over. My hope, faint as it was, had been that Murena could have put his freedman witness in front of the jury without warning, before Octavian and his agents could have done anything to make him disappear. When the recess had been announced, I knew that hope had evaporated, but it was still something I did not like having confirmed. Murena summed up his case simply, but Diocles felt he was effective in making the defense's assertion that Marcus Primus had been authorized, through Marcellus, to conduct a campaign in Thrace sound plausible. However, Diocles was not particularly optimistic about what he saw with the jury.
"I think most of them believe Marcellus told Primus to conduct the campaign," he explained to Scribonius and me. "But I just don't know how many of them are willing to take the risk 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 he frowned into his cup.
"If he had entered into evidence the news that there were eight talents of gold, where would it go?" Scribonius gave me the answer in the form of a question, a particularly effective, if annoying, habit of his.
"To the treasury," I replied slowly. "Which would mean..."
I did not finish, but Diocles did it for me. "He couldn't have the money to bribe Augustus if he's found guilty."
Sitting there looking at each other, although on the surface this made sense, something still bothered me.
"But do you really think that Augustus," while I refer and think of him as Octavian, I had perfected the habit of not slipping up when I spoke, "is going to condemn a member of his class?"
"Condemn?" Scribonius asked, then shook his head. "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 very strong possibility."
My friend is still one of the cleverest men I've ever known, second only to Caesar, but Scribonius was only half right in his prediction about the fate of Marcus Primus. After deliberating less than two full days, the jury voted and Primus was found guilty of overstepping his authority in conducting a campaign in Thrace. It will probably not surprise you, gentle reader, that I was not happy about hearing this news, understanding as I did that if this did not kill my chances of being absolved of my charges outright, it at the very least seriously crippled them. Now, we waited to see what the punishment was going to be, and that was even more wearing on my nerves than the trial. Finally, I could take 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 asked Scribonius to accompany me, but he said he had other business to attend to, and while I thought there was something oddly furtive about 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 sour taste in my mouth, ruining the memory of the time I had enjoyed with Ocelus, pretending I was a free man without a care in the world.
"I've been asking around," Diocles told us when we met for our now customary evening meal in my quarters. "And something's going on that's quite unusual. According to the people I talked to, who have been trial watchers for years, they've never seen or heard about anything like this."
Apparently finished, he lowered his head and spooned a mouthful of chickpeas into his mouth. It took quite a bit of self-control not to slap the spoon out of his hand.
"Well?" I demanded, trying not to let my temper get the best of me. "What is it that's causing all this chattering?"
Diocles did not answer immediately, then finally, he put the spoon down and looked at me with eyes that told me more than his words.
"It sounds like Marcus Primus is going to be executed."
Even with the hint of a warning from the Greek's expression, it still hit me like a physical blow, and I let out a gasp of shock. Or perhaps Scribonius did, because he looked no less surprised and upset than I felt.
"What?" Scribonius broke the silence. "How can that be? That's almost unheard of, at least in the last several years! Augustus has been preaching that the days of bloodletting are over, that it's time for us to heal our wounds from all the years of civil war!"
Shaking his head, my friend threw down his spoon, then stood up from the table.
"I'll be back," was all he said over his shoulder as he left Diocles and me gaping at his retreating form, watching him open the door and pause only long enough to grab his cloak from the hook.
"Master Scribonius will get to the bottom of this," 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 of us tried to finish our meal. Suddenly, I did not have any appetite.
Scribonius did not return until late that night, and he did not need to say a word, his face the grimmest I had seen it. Beckoning to us, we took our customary spots at the table, and I waited for him to explain what happened, and most importantly, 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. I think it has everything to do with Murena. Primus just happens to be between Augustus and his real target."
"But why?"
I was more bewildered now than at any point in this whole sorry affair. Scribonius hesitated for a moment, then I clearly saw his eyes scan the room around us, as if he was looking for some hidden spy. We were alone; there were not even any slaves, because I had dismissed them immediately after they served the meal. Even so, Scribonius spoke in very low tones, forcing me to lean forward to catch what he said.
"What I'm about to tell you must not be repeated, do you understand?" He looked from me to Diocles, and I will admit I was somewhat peeved that he felt the need to extract something that I would have offered without being asked. As if he sensed my consternation, he explained, "It's just that I learned this from Aurelia's brother, and she's married to my brother. So it could do enormous damage to both our families if word got out."
The moment he had uttered the name of the woman he had loved since he was a teenager, I understood my friend's hesitance, realizing that it had nothing to do with any doubts he held about my ability to keep my mouth shut and everything to do with his feelings for her. Giving him a firm squeeze of the arm, I promised that nothing he told us would ever pass our lips. And they did not, until now, I suppose. But I believe enough time has passed, and the danger is minimal.
"There is a plot to kill Augustus," Scribonius whispered. "A group of highly placed men don't like the way matters have played out. This group, it's led by a man named Fannius Caepio, have sworn an oath to return Rome to a republic, with a Senate and Consuls. Real Consuls, not puppets handpicked by Augustus."
"And Primus was involved?" I asked, but Scribonius shook his head.
"I don't think so," he replied. "I think he's a separate matter. But Murena is one of the leaders of this conspiracy, and the rumor is that Augustus wants Murena's name attached 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 Marcus Primus; if Scribonius' source was right, then he was a victim of circumstance just as much as I was.
"What if," Diocles spoke up, sounding hesitant as he tried to form his thoughts properly, "that's why Marcus Primus was found guilty? Not because of what he did, but because of who he chose to defend him?"
Scribonius arched an eyebrow at Diocles, his sign that he was surprised by something.
"That," he nodded slowly, "may very well be the case. Primus may just be a means to an end."
"But if Primus isn't the real objective for Augustus, why am I involved?" I asked.
Scribonius considered, then could only shrug.
"We may never know the real story. I think that things may have started out one way, but as this trial, and the plot against Augustus, progressed, Augustus changed his objective on the run."
"He's good at that," I conceded. "Not in Caesar's league in that regard, but still very good. But maybe it did start out with Primus as the main objective, but when he picked Murena as his defense, Augustus saw an opportunity to dispose 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, but when he does, it's usually with more than one goal in mind. I think that's the case here."
Scribonius raised his cup to me.
"Well done, Titus. That's the kind of devious thinking that marks you as worthy of elevation into the patrician class, let alone the equestrian."
I could not help laughing, and he and Diocles joined in, but it was harsh and mocking as we ruminated on the twists, turns, and betrayals that are a normal day in Roman politics.
"Marcus Primus has been condemned to die." Diocles' face was ashen as he collapsed into the chair next to me.
"I...I don't believe it," Scribonius muttered, and three different hands reached for yet another amphora of wine sitting in the center of the table, prompting a weak laugh for all of us.
Once we all had fully charged cups, Scribonius continued, "I knew it was possible. In fact, from everything I've heard, I suppose I realized that it was inevitable. Still, having it confirmed suddenly makes it real." He shrugged. "I suppose I always thought deep down that Augustus would intervene."
"It's not too late," Diocles spoke up. "He's scheduled for execution in the morning. Augustus can issue a stay of execution."
"No, he can't." Scribonius shook his head. "Because if he does, he exposes the fiction that he's just a citizen like any other. It would have to come from the Senate. And," he finished grimly, "does anyone care to wager on whether or not there are enough Senators available at this time of day to form a quorum?"
"If it weren't for my situation, I would actually be fairly happy with this," I said, finally. "The gods know Marcus Primus was the biggest fool I ever served under, and he's deserving of execution just for his ineptitude and everything he put the army through."
"Is he as bad as Doughboy was?" Scribonius suddenly asked, invoking a name from our common past, and even with the grim circumstances, I found myself roaring with laughter, while Diocles looked on, bemused.
"Pluto's cock!" I exclaimed. "I had forgotten about that idiot!"
I actually considered Scribonius' question for a moment, thinking about the most incompetent of the very first set of Tribunes assigned to "command" the army of then-Praetor Gaius Julius Caesar, back in Hispania forty years before. We had called him Doughboy for not only his rotund build, but because he tended 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 said after a moment. "If only because he commanded the whole army. Doughboy was just a Tribune, and we had Centurions that could handle him. Not like with Primus."
"Like Favonius." Scribonius uttered the name of the very first Primus Pilus he and I had served under, when we were tirones of the First Century, Second Cohort, which was commanded by Gaius Crastinus.
"Like Favonius," I agreed, and we were lost in our reverie for a few moments, until Diocles cleared his throat.
"I hate to interrupt the reminiscences of you two old soldiers," he sniffed. "But we need to talk about what comes next."
"For who? Primus?" I was only half-joking, but a thought occurred to me. "Is his execution going to be public?"
Scribonius answered, "I'd be very surprised if it was. It will most likely be done in the Tullianum, in private. Not," he added, "out of any respect to Primus, but because Augustus doesn't want a spectacle. As we all know, mobs are somewhat...unpredictable."
"That they are," I agreed. "Do you suppose that means they'll execute me in private as well?"
For some reason, neither of my two companions laughed at my joke.
My Tribunal, which had been scheduled for a week after the conclusion of Primus' trial, was delayed by the amount of time that it had taken the jury to deliberate and then assess his punishment. I had been informed of this by a handwritten note from Agrippa, where he also asked who I had selected from the Praetorian Tribunes. The truth was that I had not even given it any thought, so my initial reaction at this query was to consult the list, then pick a name at random. However, I was in for a surprise, when a messenger summoned me to meet with Agrippa later on the day that I had sent my answer. Hurrying, I just managed to put on my uniform and make it presentable and still be there at the appointed time. This time, the Optio in charge was not about to let me out of his sight, and I was escorted along the now-familiar route through the villa to Agrippa's office. A voice commanded entry the moment the Optio rapped on the door, and I found myself once more in front of Agrippa's desk. After the salutes, he waved me to a seat. This, I thought, is becoming a habit.
