“You would never ask payment,” Augustus said.
Bright lad, Caesar thought, and eyes did not meet, while discussing that nasty word money between clans. Cicero was clan Tullia. They were Julia. And should represent themselves. Asking another clan to do it – was a little dicey.
“We want the best,” Julius said. “And you are the best. You are absolutely impossible for Tiberius to hire – but we hope, not out of reach for us to engage on honorable grounds.”
“There is the matter of Antonius.”
“Of whom clan Julia has washed our hands. Entirely. On many grounds. You opposed me openly, siding with Pompeius – but did I hold that against you, when that side went down? You used that eloquence against me. Yet I respected you. I did not heed the advisors who wanted you dead. I was handed a list of my political enemies. I burned it.”
“After reading it?” Cicero asked pointedly, and Julius laughed, honestly.
“I knew the source, the self-seeking bastards. But your name crossed my desk repeatedly, yes, from Antonius. And I trusted Antonius less and less.”
“Would that you had not listened to him,” Cicero said to Augustus.
“What can I say? I was in a situation. I didn’t have the power to stop him. Not on that. Power – came at Actium. After that – I could have. But it was much too late.”
Cicero arched an eyebrow. “You are glib, Octavianus.”
“I was twenty years old, Marcus Tullius. I was a boy allied to Marcus Antonius. I was a boy dragged into public life by Julius’ will, with a handful of advisors and a copy of Aristotle’s Rhetoric. I did what I could on the side of justice – but I could not stop him, where his mind was made up. It gave me nightmares, what he did.”
“It gave you nightmares, First Citizen! It was more than a little inconvenient to me.”
“Yet – may we talk of favors, Marcus Tullius? Of clan Julia’s protecting you, as long as it could…”
“You did support the law,” Cicero said. “I give you that, Octavianus.”
“We are all in this together, now,” Julius said. “If that lawsuit goes forward, not only clan Julia will find the attention of the Audit directed on it – we may find those lunatics downtown assigning damages that will ruin us. That may set Tiberius in charge of the Roman establishment. And that brings Marcus Antonius, as his chief officer, and Stalenus, Dolabella and Crassus as his legal office. To an administration interested in increasing the misery of hell, that should do it.”
“Appalling,” Cicero said.
“And of course,” Augustus said, “there is no tit for tat, no recompense, and of course no shameful offer of money, but if the undying friendship of clan Julia weighs anything with clan Tullia, we shall be very glad to do this on a handshake.”
Cicero stood up and proffered his hand. Augustus stood up and took it. Julius extended a hand.
“I shall need,” Cicero said, “a letter of apology from the boys individually. And a letter from the head of clan Julia. Is that yourself, Julius, or has the burden passed –”
“– to my heir, indeed. Augustus will see to it and we shall courier all the letters to you.”
“Make it good,” Cicero said. And winced as, with a screaming passage overhead, a boom and a huge splash amid the flood – a horde of black-clad Viet Cong poured toward the garden gate, on their way back.
Galba moved fast, reached the driveway gate and opened it, allowing a yelling tide of Cong to go through and down the driveway, past the garage.
“Does this happen often?”
“Usually they keep to the other side of the park,” Julius said, and from the front of the house there was the sound of a motor revving and tires squealing. “One fears that will be your cab.”
“Damn the man,” Cicero said.
“By no means concern yourself,” Augustus said. “Shall we let a friend of the clan take a cab from our door? Perish the thought. Galba, tell Mus we shall need the limo. And we shall be couriering letters back and forth.”
Smoke was still going up, despite the rain. “They’ll do well not to make a habit of that,” Julius said. “But again – we’re being quiet for a little while. If the Cong want to get audited, let them. I believe that last one landed quite close to Tiberius’s villa.” He gestured toward the door. “Please. Let me walk you to the drive.”
Pool had proved boring. Television was a Mr. Ed marathon on the only steady channel. It was grim, and their lives were threatened if they tried to leave the house. Besides, the weather was still rotten.
So they played dice. While an English-speaking talking horse ruled the airwaves. Some miracles palled quickly.
But Julius came in – without knocking – and said, quietly, “Son. Brutus. Please come outside.”
Brutus cast a look at Caesarion, got up and left the table, out into the hall with Julius.
“We’ve met with Cicero,” Julius said. “He’s going to do it. An affair of honor, understand. To enable him to do it, and to deal with these people you’re involved with –”
“I’m not involved with that place!”
“Technically, involved, since you’re in danger of being sued by them. And bringing the whole house down, taking the Greeks and the Egyptians with us … we’re a major irregularity in hell’s accounting, and, yes, you are involved. So a dutiful and pious son will write an apology to the house of Tiberius, and I shall, and your cousin Augustus will – make it good. Anything to get us out of the likelihood of the Audit on our doorstep. Count this a defense of the house. In that light, anything is honorable. Understood. Make it short. But make it very sincere.”
It was hard to say I will. But he knew that look. He had no choice. Absolutely none, or he was going to be talked to by everybody in the house, in succession, until he said he would.
“I will, Father.”
“Good. Good lad. Send your brother out.”
“I’ll try,” he said, and went in and said, “Brother. Father asks for you.”
“So let him ask.”
He went over to the table, pulled back his chair and was quiet a moment. “I think Father is respecting your privacy. He’d like to talk to you. And it’s important. We’re in a lot of trouble, Caesarion.”
“Screw ’em. Screw ’em all.”
“Look. It’s not bad here.”
“What’s not bad? We’re stuck in a damned room with a talking horse.”
“Had you rather be hiding in an alley somewhere? We’re in a room with a roof and good food and there’s all sorts of reasons we could be in jail downtown. And you know that. So just go with it. Isn’t that what you say? Settle it so we don’t have to be stuck in a room anywhere. Father’s got a lawyer. A good one. He’s going to get us out of this.”
“Screw ’em, I say.”
“Well, I don’t! I don’t want to get locked up downtown, and you don’t either! So let’s talk sense!”
“Been there,” Caesarion said with a shrug, not looking at him.
“You want to go back?”
No answer.
“Look, brother. I’m asking you. Me. I was with you. I’ve stood by you. I’m on your side. Just – just do it.”
“What’s he want?”