THE ROBE (32 page)

Gallio grinned obligingly, but did not join in the Emperor's noisy
hilarity over his self-debasing joke. Tiberius was drunk, but he would be sober
again, and he might remember.

'And this serpent, Herod!' The Emperor rubbed his leaky old eyes with
his fists, and rambled on, thickly. 'Well do we know of his perfidies. A
loathsome leech, fattening on the blood of his countrymen. Gallio--I have waged
war in many lands. I have enslaved many peoples. I have put their brave
defenders to death. But--though I commanded their warriors to be slain, I had
much respect for their valour. But this Herod! This venomous vulture! This
slinking jackal! pretending to represent the interests of his conquered fellow
Jews, while licking our sandal-straps for personal favours!--what a low
creature he is! Yes, yes, I know, it is to the Empire's advantage to have such
poltroons in high office throughout all our provinces--selling out their
people, betraying them--' Exhausted by his long speech, Tiberius broke off
suddenly, gulped another throatful of wine, dribbled a stream of it down his
scrawny neck, explored his lips with a clumsy tongue, retched, and muttered, 'I
hate a traitor!'

'I have sometimes wondered, sire,' remarked Gallio, thinking some
rejoinder was expected, 'whether it really is to the advantage of the Empire
when we allow treacherous scoundrels like Herod to administer the affairs of
our subjugated provinces. Is it safe? Does it pay? Our subjects are defrauded,
but they are not deceived. Their hatred smoulders, but it is not quenched.'

'Well, let them hate us, then,' growled Tiberius, tiring of the subject,
'and much good may it do them! The Roman Empire does not ask to be loved. All
she demands is obedience--prompt obedience--and plenty of it!' His voice
shrilled, truculently. 'Let them hate us! Let the whole world hate us!' He
clenched his gnarled old fists. The Chamberlain gently stroked his pillow to
soothe his passion, and ducked as one of the bony elbows shot up unexpectedly
in his direction.

Presently the heavy old head drooped. The Chamberlain ventured a
beseeching glance at the Senator, who half-rose from his chair, uncertain
whether to take the initiative in a withdrawal. Tiberius roused and swallowed
hard, making a wry face.

'We have gone far afield, Gallio,' he mumbled. 'We were discussing your
frail son. He crucified a harmless Jew, and the injustice of it put him to bed,
eh? And weeks afterwards, he is still brooding. Very peculiar! How do you
account for it?'

'The case is full of mystery, sire,' sighed Gallio. 'There is one small
matter of which I have not spoken. It concerns this Jew's robe.'

'Eh?' Tiberius leaned forward, spurred to curiosity. 'Robe? What about a
robe?'

Gallio debated with himself, for a moment, how best to proceed,
half-sorry he had alluded to the incident.

'My son was accompanied by his Greek slave, a quite intelligent fellow.
It is from him that I have this feature of the story. It seems that when the
Galilean was crucified, his discarded robe lay on the ground, and my son and
other officers--whiling the time away--cast dice for it. Marcellus won it.'

Tiberius was sagging into his pillow, disappointed with so dull a tale.

'That night,' continued Gallio, 'there was a banquet at Pilate's Insula.
According to the slave, my son was far from happy, but there was nothing
peculiar in his behaviour during or after the crucifixion. He had been drinking
heavily, but otherwise was of normal mind. At the banquet, one of his staff
officers from Minoa, far gone with wine, urged him to put on this Jew's robe.'
Gallio paused, and the old man's face showed a renewed interest.

'Well?' he queried, impatiently. 'Did he put it on?'

Gallio nodded.

'Yes, and he has never been the same since.'

'Ha!' exclaimed the Emperor, brightening. 'Now we are getting somewhere
with this story! Does your son think the Jew laid a curse on his robe?'

'It is hard to say what my son thinks, sire. He is very reticent.'

Suddenly a light shone in the old man's eyes.

'Ah, I see! That is why you sent him to Athens! He will consult the
learned astrologers, soothsayers, and those who commune with the dead! But why
Athens? There are better men at Rhodes. Or, you might have sent him here! There
are no wiser men than my Rhodesian, Telemarchus!'

'No, Your Majesty; we did not send Marcellus to Athens to consult the
diviners. We urged him to go away, for a time, so that he might not be
embarrassed by meeting friends in his unhappy state of mind.'

'So, the dead Jew's robe is haunted?' Tiberius smacked his lips. This
tale was much to his liking. 'The Jews are a queer people; very religious;
believe in one god. Evidently this Galilean was a religious fanatic, if he got
himself into trouble with the Temple; had some new kind of religion, maybe.'

'Did Your Majesty ever hear of the Messiah?' inquired Gallio.

The Emperor's jaw slowly dropped and his rheumy eyes widened.

'Yes,' he answered, in a hoarse whisper. 'He that is to come. They're
always looking for him, Telemarchus says. They've been expecting him for a
thousand years, Telemarchus says. He that is to come--and set up a kingdom.'
The old man chuckled, mirthlessly. 'A kingdom, Telemarchus says; a kingdom that
shall have no end; and the government shall be upon his shoulders. Telemarchus
says it is written. I let him prattle. He is old. He says the Messiah will
reign, one day, in Rome! Hi! Hi! I let Telemarchus prattle. Were he younger, by
a century or two, I would have him whipped for his impudence. A Messiah--huh! A
kingdom--pouf! Well'--Tiberius returned from his rumbling monologue--'what were
you starting to say about the Messiah?'

'Nothing, sire, except that there was a strong feeling among the common
people--my son's slave says--that this Galilean Jew was the promised Messiah.'

'What?' shouted Tiberius. 'You don't believe that, Gallio!'

'I am not religious, sire.'

'What do you mean--you're not religious? You believe in the gods, do you
not?'

'I have no convictions on the subject, Your Majesty. The gods are remote
from my field of study, sire.'

Tiberius scowled his stern disapproval.

'Perhaps Senator Gallio will presently be telling us that he does not
believe his Emperor is divine!'

Gallio bowed his head and meditated a reply.

'How about it?' demanded the old man, hotly. 'Is the Emperor divine?'

'If the Emperor thought he was divine,' replied Gallio, recklessly, 'he
would not need to ask one of his subjects to confirm it.'

This piece of impudence was so stunning that Tiberius was at a loss for
appropriate words. After a long, staring silence he licked his dry lips.

'You are a man of imprudent speech, Gallio,' he muttered, 'but honest
withal. It has been refreshing to talk with you. Leave us now. We will have
further conversation in the morning. We are sorry your son cannot accept our
appointment.'

'Good night, sire,' said Gallio. He retreated toward the door. Something
in his weighted attitude stirred the old man's mellowed mind to sympathy.

'Stay!' he called. 'We shall find a place for the son of our excellent
Gallio. Marcellus shall do his sculpture and attend the learned lectures. Let
him dabble in the arts and drowse over the philosophies. Let him perfect
himself in logic and metaphysics. By the gods! there are other things needful
at this court besides watching at keyholes and strutting with swords! Your son
shall be our preceptor. He shall lecture to us. We are weary of old men's
counsel. Marcellus shall give us a youthful view of the mysteries.
Gallio--inform your son of our command!'

'Your Majesty is most kind,' murmured the Senator, gratefully. 'I shall
advise my son of your generous words, sire. Perhaps this appointment may help
to restore his ailing mind.'

'Well, if it doesn't'--the old man yawned mightily--'it won't matter.
All philosophers are sick in the head.' He grinned, slowly sank back into his
pillows, and the leathery lips puffed an exhausted breath. The Emperor of Rome
was asleep.

Informed by the Chamberlain that His Imperial Majesty was not yet awake,
the Senator breakfasted in his room and set out for a walk. It had been many
years since he had visited Capri; not since the formal opening of the Villa
Jovis when the entire Senate had attended the festivities, memorable for their
expensiveness rather than their impressiveness. Although fully informed about
the enormously extravagant building operations on the island, he had not
clearly pictured the magnitude of these undertakings. They had to be seen to be
believed! Tiberius might be crazy, but he was an accomplished architect.

Walking briskly on the broad mosaic pavement to the east end of the
mall, Gallio turned aside to a shaded arbour, sank into a comfortable chair,
and dreamily watched the plume of blue smoke floating lazily above Vesuvius.
Somehow the sinister old mountain seemed to symbolize the Empire; tremendous
power under compression; occasionally spewing forth sulphurous fumes and molten
metals. Its heat was not the kind that warmed and cheered, nor did its lava
grow harvests. Vesuvius was competent only as a destroyer. They who dwelt in
its shadow were afraid.

The same thing was true of the Empire, reflected Gallio. 'Let them hate
us!' old Tiberius had growled. 'Let the whole world hate us!' Long before the
Cæsars, that surly boast had brought disaster to the Persians, the Egyptians,
and the Greeks. Nemesis had laughed at their arrogance, and swept them--cursing
impotently, into servitude.

Gallio wondered if he would be alive to witness the inevitable breakup
of the Empire. What plans had Nemesis in mind for the disposal of Rome? What
would be the shape of the new dynasty? Who would rise--and whence--to demolish
the thing that the Cæsars had built? Last night the disgusting old drunkard
Tiberius had seemed almost frightened when he rehearsed the cryptic patter of
the Jewish prophets. 'He that is to come.' Ah, yes, Tiberius saw the crisis
nearing! Maybe the superstitious old fellow had never defined his exact reasons
for being so deeply interested in the oracles and enchantments and ponderous
nonsense of his avaricious soothsayers and stargazers; but that was
it!
Tiberius saw the Empire drifting toward the cataract! 'He that is to come!'
Well, somebody would come, and the government would be upon his shoulders--but
he wouldn't be a Jew! That was impossible! That was ridiculous!

Completely absorbed by his grim speculations, Gallio did not observe
Diana's arrival until she stood directly before him, tall, slim, vital. She
smiled and graciously held out her hand.

It was the first time he had had an opportunity for conversation with
her, beyond the brief greetings they had exchanged when she came to visit
Lucia. Until lately, Diana was only a little girl, shy and silent in his
presence, but reputed to be high-spirited almost to the extent of rowdiness. In
recent weeks, apprised of a growing attachment between his son and the daughter
of Gallus, he had become somewhat more aware of her; but, this morning, it was
almost as if he had never seen her before. Diana had grown up. She had taken on
the supple grace and charming contours of a woman. She was beautiful! No wonder
that Marcellus had fallen in love with her.

He rose to his feet, bowed deeply, and was warmed by her firm handclasp.
Her steady eyes were set wide apart, framed in long, curling lashes, and arched
by exquisitely modelled brows. The red silk fillet accented the blue-blackness
of her hair, the whiteness of her patrician forehead, the pink flush on her
cheeks. Gallio looked into the level eyes with frank admiration. They were
quite disturbingly feminine, but fearless and forthright as the eyes of a man;
an inheritance from her father, perhaps. Gallus had a delightful personality,
and an enviable poise, but--just underneath his amiability--there was the
striking strength of a coiled spring in a baited trap. Diana's self-possessed
smile and confident handclasp instantly won the Senator's respect, though the
thought darted through his mind that the arrestingly lovely daughter of Gallus
was equipped with all the implements for having her own way, and, if any
attempt were made to thwart her--would prove to be a handful indeed.

'May I join you, Senator Gallio?' Diana's full lips were girlish, but
her well-disciplined voice was surprisingly mature.

'Please sit down, my dear.' The Senator noted the easy grace of her
posture as she took the chair opposite, artless but alert. 'I was hoping to
have a talk with you,' he went on, resuming his seat.

Diana smiled encouragingly, but made no rejoinder; and Gallio, measuring
his phrases, proceeded in a manner almost didactic:

'Marcellus came home from his long voyage, a few days ago, ill and
depressed. He was grateful--we are all grateful, Diana--for your generous part
in bringing him back to us. Marcellus will be eager to express his deep
appreciation. But--he is not ready to resume his usual activities. We have sent
him away--to Athens--hopeful that a change of environment may divert his gloomy
mind.'

Gallio paused. He had anticipated an involuntary exclamation of surprise
and regret, but Diana made no sound; just sat there, keenly attentive,
alternately studying his eyes and his lips.

'You see,' he added, 'Marcellus has had a severe shock!'

'Yes, I know,' she nodded, briefly.

'Indeed? How much do you know?'

'Everything you told the Emperor.'

'But--the Emperor is not yet awake.'

'I have not seen him,' said Diana. 'I had it from Nevius.'

'Nevius?'

'The Chamberlain.'

Gallio stroked his cheek thoughtfully. This Nevius must be a talkative
fellow. Diana interpreted his dry smile.

'But you had intended to tell me, had you not?' she reminded him.
'Nevius is not a common chatterer, sir: I must say that for him. He is very
close-mouthed. Sometimes,' she went on, ingenuously, 'it is difficult to make
Nevius tell you everything that is going on at the Villa.'