THE ROBE (31 page)

'Well, I happen to know that such tales are untrue!' said Marcellus,
firmly. 'The executioners were drunk enough, but they killed the Galilean, and
when they left--he was dead! This is not hearsay with me.
I know!'

'You are speaking important words, my son!' Benjamin's voice was husky
with emotion. 'I am glad you came to-day! I shall hope to see more of you,
sir.' He raised his bony hand over Marcellus's head. His arm was trembling.
'The Lord bless you and keep you,' he intoned, reverently. 'The Lord make his
face to shine upon you, and be gracious unto you. The Lord lift up his
countenance upon you, and give you peace.'

There was a long moment of silence before Marcellus stirred. Much
perplexed, and uncertain what was expected of him, he bowed respectfully to
Benjamin; and, without further words, walked slowly through the shop and out
into the twilight.

Chapter X

Now that Diana was expected back from Capri almost any day, the Gallio
family felt that some explanation must be contrived to account for the sudden
departure of Marcellus.

Unquestionably word had already reached Tiberius that the
Vestris
had arrived with Marcellus as her most important passenger. Diana would be
eager to see him, and she had every reason to believe that he would be waiting
impatiently for her return.

Lucia was for telling her that Marcellus had come home in such frail
health that an immediate change of climate seemed imperative, though Diana
would inquire about the nature of his malady, and wonder in what respect the
climate of Athens was so highly esteemed.

Cornelia had weakly suggested that perhaps there were better physicians
in Athens. Diana might be satisfied with that, she thought, or said she did;
but this was nonsense, for everybody knew that most of the really good Athenian
physicians had been imported to Rome.

'No,' Senator Gallio had observed judicially, 'you are both in error.
When there is some serious explaining to be done, no contrivance is as
serviceable as the truth. Let her have it. If Diana and my son are in love, as
you two seem to think, she has a right to know the story and it is our duty to
tell her. It should not be difficult.' With everything thus sensibly settled,
the Senator rose and was leaving his wife's boudoir when their daughter
detained him.

'Assuming that I have it to do,' said Lucia, maturely, 'how much of the
story is to be told?'

Her father made the query of no great importance with a negligent flick
of his fingers.

'You can say that your brother was required to conduct the crucifixion
of a Jewish revolutionist; that the experience was a shock; that it plunged him
into a deep melancholy from which he has not yet fully recovered; that we
thought it best for him to seek diversion.'

'Nothing, then,' mused Lucia, 'about those dreadful seizures of remorse,
and the haunted look, and that odd question he insisted on asking, against his
will?'

'Mmm, no,' decided the Senator. 'That will not be necessary. It should
be sufficient to say that Marcellus is moody and depressed.'

'Diana will not be contented with that explanation,' declared Lucia.
'She is going to be disappointed, embarrassed, and indignant. Quite apart from
their fondness for each other, it was no small thing she did for Marcellus in
having him recalled from exile. And she will think it very strange indeed that
a Roman Tribune should be so seriously disturbed by the execution of a
convict.'

'We are all agreed on that,' glumly conceded the Senator. 'I do not
pretend to understand it. My son has never been lacking in courage. It is not
like him to fall ill at the sight of blood.'

'Perhaps it would be better,' put in Cornelia, suddenly inspired, 'if we
omit all reference to that dreadful crucifixion, and simply say that Marcellus
wanted to do some sculpturing, and attend some lectures, and--'

'So urgently,' scoffed Lucia, 'that he couldn't wait a few days to see
the girl who was responsible for bringing him home.'

Her mother sighed, added another stitch to her embroidery, and murmured
that her suggestion did sound rather silly, an afterthought accepted without
controversy.

'He promised me he would write to her,' remembered Lucia.

'Well, we cannot wait for that,' said her father. 'It might be weeks.
Diana will want to know--now! Better tell her everything, Lucia. She will get
it out of you, in any case. A young woman bright enough to extort valuable
favours from our crusty old Emperor will make her own deductions about this, no
matter what you tell her.'

'If she really loves him,' cooed Cornelia, 'she will forgive
him--anything!'

'Doubtless,' agreed her husband, dryly, moving toward the door.

'I'm afraid you do not know Diana very well,' cautioned Lucia. 'She has
had no training that would fit her to understand. She idolizes her father, who
would as lief kill a man as a mouse. I do not think she is experienced in
forgiving people for being weak.'

'That doesn't sound like you, Lucia,' reproved her mother, gently, when
the Senator was out of hearing. 'One would almost think you were not
sympathetic with your brother. Surely--you do not think Marcellus weak; do
you?'

'Oh, I don't know what to think,' muttered Lucia, dismally. 'What is
there to think?' She put both her hands over her eyes and shook her head.
'We've lost Marcellus, Mother,' she cried. 'He was so manly! I loved him so
much! It is breaking my heart.'

But if the problem of breaking the bad news to Diana was perplexing, it
was simple as compared with the dilemma that arose on the following afternoon
when an impressively uniformed Centurion was shown in, bearing an ornate,
official scroll addressed to Marcellus. It was from the Emperor. The Centurion
said he was expected to wait for instructions, adding that the royal carriage
would call early in the morning.

'But my son is not here,' said Gallio. 'He has sailed for Athens.'

'Indeed! That is most unfortunate!'

'I gather that you are acquainted with the nature of this message.'

'Yes, sir; it is no secret. The Emperor has appointed Tribune Marcellus
to be the Commander of the Palace Guard. We are all much pleased, sir.'

'I sincerely regret my son's absence, Centurion. Perhaps I should send a
message by you to the Emperor.' Gallio reflected for a moment. 'No--I shall go
and explain to him in person.'

'Very good, sir. Will it be agreeable to start at dawn?'

So they started at dawn, though it was not particularly agreeable, a swift
drive from Rome to Neapolis being counted by the Senator as a doubtful
pleasure. Moreover, he had no great relish for his errand. He was not
unacquainted with the techniques of persuasive debate, but the impending
interview with the Emperor would be unpleasant; for Tiberius had no patience
and Gallio had no case. The horses galloped over the deep-rutted cobbles, the
big carriage bounced, the painful hours dragged, the Senator's head ached. All
things considered, it was not an enjoyable excursion, and by the time he
reached the top of Capri, at midnight, there was nothing left in him but a
strong desire to go to bed.

The Chamberlain showed him to a sumptuous apartment and Gallio sank into
a chair utterly exhausted. Two well-trained Macedonians began unpacking his
effects, laying out fresh linen. Another slave drew water for his bath while a
big Nubian, on his knees, unlaced the Senator's sandals. A deferential Thracian
came with a welcome flagon of chilled wine. Then the Chamberlain reappeared.

'The Emperor wishes to see you, sir,' he reported, in an apologetic
tone.

'Now?' Gallio wrinkled his nose distastefully.

'If you please, sir. His Majesty had left orders to have Tribune
Marcellus shown into his presence immediately upon his arrival. When told that
Senator Gallio had come instead, the Emperor said he would give him an audience
at once.'

'Very well,' sighed Gallio. Signing to the Nubian to relace his sandals,
the weary man rose stiffly and followed along to the Emperor's lavishly
appointed suite.

The old man was sitting up in bed, bolstered about with pillows, his
nightcap rakishly askew. A half-dozen attendants were fluttering about,
inventing small errands.

'Out!' he yelled, as the Senator neared the imperial couch; and they
backed nimbly away--all but the Chamberlain. 'You, too!' shrilled Tiberius, and
the Chamberlain tiptoed to the door. Peering up into Gallio's face, the Emperor
regarded him with a surly look of challenge.

'What is the meaning of this?' he squeaked. 'We confer a great honour
upon your son, who has done nothing to deserve it, only to learn that--without
so much as a by-your-leave--he has left the country. You, his father, have come
to explain. Well! be about it, then! High time somebody explained!'

'Your Majesty,' began Gallio, with a deep bow, 'my son will be very
unhappy when he learns that he has unwittingly offended his Emperor, to whom he
owes so much.'

'Never mind about that!' barked Tiberius. 'Get on with it! And make it
short! I need my rest! They were a pack of fools to wake me up for no better
cause--and you were a fool to let them! You, too, should be in bed. You have
had a hard trip. You are tired. Sit down! Don't stand there like a sentry! I
command you to sit down! You are an old, old man. Sit down, before you fall
down!'

Gallio gratefully sank into the luxurious chair by the Emperor's massive
golden bed, pleased to observe that the royal storm was subsiding somewhat.

'As Your Majesty has said, it is too late in the night for a lengthy
explanation. My son Marcellus was appointed Legate of the Legion at Minoa--'

'Yes, yes, I know all about that!' spluttered Tiberius. 'We rescinded
the order of that addlepated scamp in Rome and brought your son back. And then
what?'

'From Minoa, sire, he was ordered to Jerusalem to help preserve the
peace during the Jews' annual festival. A small but turbulent revolutionary
party became active. Its leader was tried for treason and condemned to death by
crucifixion.'

'Crucifixion, eh? Must have been a dangerous character.'

'I did not understand it so, Your Majesty. He was a young Jew of no
great repute, a harmless, mild-mannered, peace-loving fellow from one of the
outlying provinces--Galilee, I believe. It seems he had grossly offended the
Temple authorities.'

'Indeed!' Tiberius leaned forward with sudden interest. 'What did he
do?'

'It is their custom, sire, to sell sacrificial animals in the court of
the Temple. The priests profit by it, demanding high prices from the poor. This
Galilean was enraged over the fraud and the sacrilege; took up a drover's whip,
and lashed the priests and the beasts out of the Temple and into the street,
and--'

'Hi! Hi!' yelled Tiberius, so loudly that the Chamberlain put his head
in at the door. 'Here--you! Worthless eavesdropper! Bring wine for Senator
Gallio. We, ourself, shall have wine! Hi! Hi! Mild-mannered, peace-loving
Galilean whipped the prating priests out into the street, eh? Not much wonder
they crucified him! He was a reckless fellow, indeed! But when does your son
appear in this story?'

'He was ordered to crucify the Jew, and it made him ill.' Gallio paused
to sip his wine slowly, while the old man snuffled and bubbled into the huge
goblet which the Chamberlain held to his lips.

'Ill?' Tiberius grinned sourly and belched. 'Sick at his stomach?'

'Sick in his head. If it is your pleasure, sire, I shall tell you about
it,' said Gallio; and when Tiberius had nodded assent, he proceeded to an
account of Marcellus's depression and strange behaviour, and their decision to
send him to Athens, where, they hoped, he might find mental diversion.

'Well!' grunted Tiberius. 'If your sensitive son cannot endure the scent
of warm blood, we would not urge him to undertake the protection of our person.
We had understood from the young daughter of Gallus that he was a brave man. In
her sight he is highly esteemed, and it was to please her that we brought him
home, and appointed him to command the Villa Guard. It is well for her that his
weakness is made manifest before he has had an opportunity to bring disgrace
upon her.'

This was too bitter a dose for Gallio to take without protest.

'Your Majesty places me in a difficult position,' he declared,
dangerously. 'It would be most unseemly in me to express a contrary opinion;
yet the Emperor would surely consider me mean and cowardly did I not venture
some defence of my own flesh and blood!'

Tiberius slobbered in the depths of his goblet for a moment that seemed
very long to Gallio. At length he came up wheezing.

'Very--hic--well! Say on!' The old man scrubbed his wet chin with the back
of a mottled hand. 'Defend your son!'

'Marcellus is not a weakling, sire. He is proud and brave; worthy of his
Roman citizenship and his rank as a Tribune. I do not fully understand why he
should have been so affected by the crucifixion of this Jew, except that--'

'Go on! Except what?'

'He thinks the Galilean was innocent of any crime deserving so severe a
punishment. The Procurator himself declared the man innocent and tried to argue
in his behalf.'

'And then condemned him to death? What manner of justice does the Empire
administer in Jerusalem? Who is the Prefect now--this sleek and slimy fellow,
what's his name--Herod?'

'They tried him before Herod, yes--but it was Pontius Pilate who
sentenced him. Pilate is the Procurator.'

Tiberius laughed bitterly, coughed, and spat on the silk sleeve of his
robe.

'Pontius Pilate,' he snarled reminiscently. 'He's the dizzy one who
built that damned aqueduct. Wife wanted gardens. Had to have water. Robbed the
Temple to build an aqueduct. Fool! Had all the Jews in turmoil. Cost us
thousands of legionaries to put down the riots. Had we to do it again, we would
let Pilate settle his own account with the Jews! I never thought much of the
fellow, letting his silly, spoiled wife lead him about by the nose.' The
Emperor paused for breath. 'An impotent nobody,' he added, 'afraid of his
wife.' Having grimly pondered this final observation, Tiberius startled his
guest by breaking forth in a shrill, drunken guffaw. 'You are at liberty to
laugh too, Gallio,' he shouted. 'Afraid of his wife! Impotent nobody, 'fraid of
wife! Hi! Hi!'