Marching With Caesar-Final Campaign, page 65
"Ah." Piso nodded. "But you were there at the beginning of it, is that correct?"
"Yes."
Piso returned back to our table, rummaging through the stack until he found another one, and picked it up.
"So, I have here the same list that is entered into the Legion diary at the beginning of a campaign." He addressed the Tribunal. "I know that I don't have to point out to the Tribunal why this is so, but I would like to explain for the purposes of the record."
The Senior Tribune waved his permission, but admonished Piso, "This needs to go somewhere, quickly."
Piso assured him, "It will, in the next moment. The purpose of these two entries, before and after, are, of course, to provide a record of any difference, in the event that a man of Rome fails to complete a campaign. This is usually because the man has been either killed, or severely wounded. In some cases, it is due to a serious illness. Obviously, you were not killed, Sextus Scribonius. However, I do see the name of Sextus Scribonius, listed under the status of Evocatus as you described."
Piso then walked over to the Tribunes' table, holding the tablet open and pointing to where Scribonius name was incised in the wax. Every Tribune glanced at it briefly, then gave a nod. When he reached the Senior Tribune, he did not give any indication of acceptance for a moment as he stared hard at the tablet, then looked over at Scribonius, who gazed calmly back at him.
Finally, he grunted, "Very well. I see his name there, so that means there was a Sextus Scribonius on campaign. But," he pointed to my friend, "how do we know that this is the same man?"
Before I could stop myself, I uttered an oath aloud, the flare of anger at this insinuation coming so quickly that it caught me without warning. Even Piso seemed startled, if not angry. The only person who appeared unruffled by this open questioning of his honesty was Scribonius himself.
"Senior Tribune," Piso started to protest. "He's sworn an oath to the gods of Rome! He..."
"That's quite all right," Scribonius' voice, although it had a quiet tone, still cut in and silenced the others. This was something I had witnessed many times before, and I watched Scribonius reach under his tunic as he pulled out something suspended by a leather thong. "I believe this will prove who I am."
I felt a smile come to my lips, knowing that Scribonius had just established his identity in a way that could not be disputed. In all reality, it is nothing but a small, round disk of metal, but it is one of the most prized possessions any man who has marched a full enlistment for Rome has. Even as I dictate this, I am reaching down to clutch a similar disk hanging around my neck. Scribonius handed his Legion identity disk to Piso, who in turn handed it to the Senior Tribune, who acted as if it carried some sort of pox that he might catch, going so far as using his stylus to hold it up by the thong as he read it. He gave another grunt as he passed it over, but I could see that he was not pleased in the slightest. Neither, however, could he dispute it, which I suppose was the source of his displeasure. Finally, the disk was returned to Scribonius, who calmly placed it back around his neck as we all waited for the inevitable.
"Very well," the Senior Tribune said, finally. "It has been established that this is Sextus Scribonius, and that he was present for at least the beginning of this campaign and therefore may," he leaned forward as he emphasized the word, "have testimony that has relevance to these proceedings. That remains to be seen. But," he finished, "he has earned the right to at least be heard, and we will determine the rest."
"Thank you, Senior Tribune." Piso bowed, then turned back to Scribonius, who seemed secretly amused at all this fuss. "Now, Evocatus Scribonius," he resumed, "you have proven your identity and that you were present for the campaign. However, your name is missing. That leads me to believe that you were either seriously wounded, or fell ill. Am I correct in this assumption?"
For the first time, Scribonius hesitated as we exchanged a glance. This was the moment where he was going to put himself in great peril, and I did not blame him a bit for pausing. A part of me wanted him somehow to avoid answering the question, or answer in such a way that he still retained at least a possibility, however slim, of escaping punishment.
"No, that would not be correct," Scribonius answered, and I realized I was the only one who noticed the hesitation.
But his words were certainly noticed; the posture and attitude of every single participant changed as each man either leaned forward or sat up straighter, all eyes now pinned to my friend, who seemed oblivious as he continued.
"I was neither wounded, nor was I ill. In body, at least," he added.
I could see that Piso was already preparing his next question, but he had obviously based it on something other than what Scribonius said, because he froze for a moment, a frown on his face. Truthfully, I felt a great deal of sympathy for young Piso; he had proven to be an excellent advocate, but he had not bargained for any of what was about to unfold, and I could tell that he had been feeling his way along, trying to anticipate where he thought Scribonius' testimony would go. The problem was that it was not going anywhere near the direction he had thought, so now he stood there much like a startled animal that freezes as it tries to decide whether to fight or flee. Finally, he decided to take advantage of the rules that prohibit the other side from interrupting.
"Well, whatever the reason, I'm sure that it was a good one," Piso said. "But what is more important is your knowledge of what happened as it pertains to the reason that we're here. What do you know of this?"
Over the next few moments, Sextus Scribonius used the sum total of more than forty years under the standard, more than thirty of them as a Centurion, to give what I would describe as a classic after-action report, devoid of opinion and a simple recitation of the facts as he observed them. His tone was matter-of-fact, and while there were no extraneous details or observations, he left nothing out that had an impact on the disputed matter under examination. I have never been prouder of my friend's professionalism; even better, I could see that the members of the Tribunal were clearly impressed, every one of them paying close attention to everything Scribonius said. He recounted the conversations that we had in my quarters when I expressed my doubts about the orders, and the night that I demanded to see them. Most importantly, he described the almost full watch that passed after my demand to see the orders, and the circumstances under which it happened, but he also remembered me telling him about Flaminius' conviction that the seal had been lifted from another document, and the orders themselves were forged, something that I had forgotten. It did make me regret that I had not thought to get Flaminius to record his statement to that effect before I left Siscia, but that was a jug already broken. Finally, he refuted Lucullus' statement, both his original, and the testimony he had given that day, simply pointing out that since Scribonius was my closest companion and was around me all the time, that he would have recalled such meetings taking place between the two of us.
He signaled that he was finished by simply saying, "That is what I saw, and what I know transpired."
Piso did not say anything for a moment, and I could see that he was silent from being so impressed by my friend's account. Taking another surreptitious glance at the Tribunal, I was heartened at what I saw, as the members exchanged glances and whispers about what they had just heard.
"Thank you, Evocatus," Piso broke the silence. "That was very...instructive. And most impressive."
Scribonius gave a slight smile, and offered a shrug as he answered, "I've had a great deal of practice, Tribune."
That was when he looked at me and winked, and I knew that he was not talking about the report itself, but how, once more, he had rescued me from certain destruction.
Now that it was the turn for the prosecution to attack Scribonius' testimony, this was when the true gift that Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa had handed me became apparent. Tribune Sulpicianus, despite some furious whispering in his ear by Lentulus, and somewhat to my surprise, Lucullus as well, seemed completely unable to think of a question that would begin to unravel the mystery of Scribonius' name missing from the list entered into the record at the end of the campaign. When he finally managed to stand up to approach Scribonius, everyone in the room was openly fidgeting, and the Senior Tribune gave the appearance of a man who had just been forced to eat a whole lemon.
"Evocatus Scribonius," Sulpicianus began, his eyes fixed on a tablet where Lentulus had furiously scribbled something. "You testified that your name was entered in the record for the archives at the beginning of the campaign, but that your name was missing when the second record was entered in the archives at the end, isn't that correct?"
"No." Scribonius' tone was still quiet, but was clearly audible.
Sulpicianus, who had been walking in the general direction of Scribonius, suddenly stopped, only then raising his head to stare in dull surprise at my friend.
"No?" he asked, clearly puzzled.
"No," Scribonius repeated.
Then said nothing more.
"But you did," Sulpicianus exclaimed. "You said that your name was entered in the record at the beginning, but it wasn't at the end! I distinctly remember you saying this!"
"You are mistaken," Scribonius replied calmly. "I made no statement to that effect."
Before Sulpicianus could open his mouth to keep insisting, the Senior Tribune cleared his throat, making me wonder if he would wake up hoarse the next day.
"Tribune Sulpicianus, what Evocatus Scribonius says is true," he interjected, his tone akin to the way I talked to Ocelus when I was trying to soothe him after he had been spooked. "He's not the one who made that statement. That was Tribune Piso who made that statement."
"Oh," Sulpicianus was clearly nonplussed and, in desperation, he looked over to Lentulus for guidance.
Piso saw this and wasted no time.
"Senior Tribune, I must insist that Sulpicianus not look elsewhere for help! He is the Tribune in charge of the prosecution, and if he is unable to conduct it without help, then I would ask that now that we've presented our evidence, no further delays be granted!" Turning to me, he gestured as he continued, "Hasn't the Prefect been subjected to enough turmoil? There certainly can't be any doubt about the veracity, or lack of it," he laced these words with a scorn that I saw scored with Lucullus, "concerning the testimony offered by Tribune Lucullus! It's been shown to be riddled with inconsistencies, and we have an eyewitness who rebuts every claim he made! What more proof of innocence is needed?"
The Senior Tribune bore the look of the unhappiest man in Rome. Without answering immediately, he looked instead to Sulpicianus, and I could almost see him willing the Tribune to make some sort of objection. Sulpicianus did, but his reply was of the same quality as his opening question to Scribonius.
"But he hasn't answered my question. I think we need to find out why there is this discrepancy!"
"What does a clerical error have to do with the question of the innocence of Prefect Pullus?" Piso immediately shot back. If anyone else noticed how nimbly he had sidestepped the matter of Scribonius leaving the campaign by characterizing it as nothing more than an omission by a harried clerk in the Praetorium, I did not see any reaction that would lead me to believe they did. "Senior Tribune, if Tribune Sulpicianus can't ask a question of any relevance to the question that is the subject of this Tribunal, then I must insist again that this proceeding be concluded!"
"But I haven't asked anything about that part yet," Sulpicianus protested. "I'm still waiting for an answer about how Evocatus Scribonius' name was missing from the final list."
"Which we've already established has nothing to do with the question at hand." Piso's voice had raised to a level consistent with a man who is very indignant about something. "What we've heard from Evocatus Scribonius is more than enough to contradict the testimony of Tribune Lucullus. Anything else is a purely administrative matter and needs to be dealt with separately, with the clerks who are charged with the duty of keeping records for the army!"
"Enough! Stop! I've heard enough!"
I know the Senior Tribune was trying to reassert his authority and wanted to sound stern and in control, but he reminded me of a man wailing as he was having a tooth extracted. Truthfully, I was as stunned as Sulpicianus, and I could see that Scribonius was equally bemused as matters seemed to change in the amount of time it takes to blink your eyes once or twice. Leaning back in his chair, the Senior Tribune rubbed his face as he tried to gather his thoughts. That was when aid came, from the most unlikely source imaginable.
"I agree with Tribune Piso," the Tribune sitting to the Senior Tribune's right spoke up, at least audibly enough to be heard by all of us, for the first time. "I think we've heard enough to render a decision, and whatever this," he waved a hand in clear disgust in the direction of my friend, "matter is about is outside the bounds of this Tribunal."
I stared at my new ally in open disbelief. Based on everything I had seen in his attitude, posture, and disdainful glances, I had picked him as my most ardent enemy, or perhaps second next to the Senior Tribune. Everything about him stank in my nostrils, and it was not just the obviously expensive perfume he wore that competed with the scents of the other Tribunes, Piso included. He exuded privilege, and the arrogance that comes with it, yet here he was, voicing his support of Piso's demand that the Tribunal be concluded. What did not surprise me was the poisonous glare the Senior Tribune gave his compatriot, telling me much in just that look.
"Might I remind you that it's not your decision to make," the Senior Tribune replied, his tone icy. "That decision is mine."
"It may be your final decision, but we all have a say." This came from the Tribune on the opposite side who, if I am being honest, looked thoroughly bored through the entire proceeding. "And I agree. It's time we end this."
"So do I," added the Tribune on the end, who had looked at me like I was a chicken hanging from the rafter waiting to be cooked when Primus' account of our implied tryst was being read. "We've heard more than enough. And frankly," he sniffed, "I don't care to hear any more about clerical errors that don't even involve the matter at hand."
"But I haven't asked my questions yet," Sulpicianus squeaked.
It was only by accident that I had happened to look over just in time to see Lentulus give Sulpicianus a hard jab from behind just before the Tribune spoke. It made me wonder why this Lentulus seemed to be the only one, besides Sulpicianus, who I excused because of his condition of being an idiot, wanted to probe more deeply into Scribonius' part in all this.
"Silete!"
I will say that, professionally speaking, the Senior Tribune's bellow was surprisingly strong. Not, perhaps, enough to get men moving in battle, but adequate for the forum or training stakes.
"It's obvious that I have been outvoted," he said; he was hard to understand because his teeth were so tightly clenched. He heaved a deep sigh, closed his eyes then finished, "Very well. I hereby declare that this portion of the Tribunal is over, and that the members will now deliberate on this matter."
Looking over at our table, his grimace was perhaps the sweetest sight of the day for me.
"Prefect, we will announce our decision at the beginning of second watch tomorrow. You are expected to be here to hear our decision. Do I have to remind you that are bound by oath not to attempt to flee before the decision is announced?"
Standing up, I stared hard at the young noble, who I was pleased to see suddenly did not look so sure of himself.
"Senior Tribune," I said quietly, but with enough force behind my voice that I knew it carried so he could hear it, "the last time a man asked a similar question was when Marcus Lepidus asked me, in that office right over there," I inclined my head in the direction of the door that led into the private office. "I gave him the same answer I'll give you. I've never, ever run from a fight. Ever."
Putting every bit of the experience I acquired over the years in intimidating men, my eyes bore into those of the younger man as I tried to communicate to him all of the contempt that I was experiencing at that moment. Only now can I admit that it was not just contempt for him, but for all of this; patricians, politics, power...Rome. For in that moment, I was so tired of all that I had endured that I felt that adding one more night to my burden was needlessly cruel. I was convinced that the decision had already been made, and that this was just a show put on to give it the patina of legality, but in the end, it was simply about the patricians of Rome jealously guarding their status.
"Yes...well, excuse me, Prefect," the Senior Tribune mumbled. "But I'm required by regulations to tell you this."
"Well, as long as it's only because the regulations require it, I won't take it as an insult," I said evenly. "Because if I did, I would be honor bound to respond in a way 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 was Scribonius, 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 a wave, so distracted that he did not seem the least bit interested in anything involving my friend. Only Sulpicianus, still rooted in his spot, was interested in Scribonius, pointing at him as my friend walked by.
"What about him?" he asked plaintively.
Nobody appeared to be listening, and I did not waste any more time, turning and striding to catch up with Scribonius as we walked out of the room.
"That," he muttered, "was interesting."
That night, waiting for the next day to hear my fate, Scribonius chose not to spend that time with Aurelia, despite the fact that his brother would be returning from Campania within the next couple of days. We were sitting at our now accustomed spots at the table in my quarters, quaffing our now accustomed portions of wine, mine unwatered, and discussing what had 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 been thinking, my last sight of him still standing there as he tried to puzzle out exactly what had happened.
