THE ROBE (4 page)

'She loathes him!'

'Indeed? Then she has talked with you about it?'

'No, sir. Lucia told me.'

There was a considerable interval of silence before Gallio spoke again,
slowly measuring his words.

'In your present strained relation to Gaius, my son, you would show
discretion, I think, if you made your attentions to Diana as inconspicuous as
possible.'

'I never see her anywhere else than here, sir.'

'Even so: treat her casually. Gaius has spies everywhere.'

'Here--in our house?' Marcellus frowned incredulously.

'Why not? Do you think that Gaius, the son of Agrippa, who never had an
honest thought in his life, and of Julia, who was born with both ears shaped
like keyholes, would be too honorable for that?' Gallio deftly rolled up the
scroll that lay at his elbow, indicating that he was ready to put aside his
work for the day. 'We have discussed this fully enough, I think. As for what
occurred last night, the Prince's friends may advise him to let the matter
drop. Your best course is to do nothing, say nothing--and wait developments.'
He rose and straightened the lines of his toga. 'Come! Let us ride to Ismael's
camp and look at the Hispanians. You will like them; milk-white, high-spirited,
intelligent--and undoubtedly expensive. Ismael, the old rascal, knows I am
interested in them, unfortunately for my purse.'

Marcellus responded eagerly to his father's elevated mood. It was almost
as if the shrewd Marcus Lucan Gallio had firmly settled the unhappy affair with
Gaius. He opened the door for the Senator to precede him. In the atrium,
leaning against a column, lounged Demetrius. Coming smartly to attention he
saluted with his spear and followed a few paces behind the two men as they
strolled through the vasty rooms and out to the spacious western portico.

'Rather unusual for Demetrius to be loitering in the atrium,' remarked
Marcellus in a guarded undertone.

'Perhaps he was standing there,' surmised Gallio, 'to discourage anyone
else from loitering by the door.'

'Do you think he may have had a special reason for taking that precaution?'

'Possibly. He was with you at the banquet; knows that you gave offense
to Gaius; concludes that you are in disfavor; and, by adding it all up, thinks
it is time to be vigilant.'

'Shall I ask him if he suspects that there are spies in the house?' suggested
Marcellus.

Gallio shook his head.

'If he observes anything irregular, he will tell you, my son.'

'I wonder who this is coming.' Marcellus nodded toward a uniformed
Equestrian Knight who had just turned in from the Via Aurelia. 'We're to be
honored,' he growled. 'It is Quintus, the younger Tuscus. The Prince has been
seeing much of him lately, I hear.'

The youthful Tribune, followed by a well-mounted aide, rode briskly
toward them; and, neglecting to salute, drew a gilded scroll from the belt of
his tunic.

'I am ordered by His Highness, Prince Gaius, to deliver this message
into the hands of Tribune Marcellus Lucan Gallio,' he barked, haughtily. The
aide, who had dismounted, carried the scroll up the steps and handed it over.

'His Highness might do well to employ messengers with better manners,'
drawled Marcellus. 'Are you to await an answer?'

'Imperial commands require obedience; not replies!' shouted Quintus. He
pulled his horse about savagely, dug in his spurs, and made off, pursued by his
obsequious aide.

'Gaius is prompt,' commented the Senator. There was satisfaction on his
face as he watched his son's steady hands, and the cool deliberateness with
which he drew his dagger and thrust the point of it through the wax. Unrolling
the ostentatious document, Marcellus held it at an angle where his father might
share its contents. Gallio read it aloud, in a rasping undertone.

Prince Gaius Drusus Agrippa to Trib. Marcellus Lucan Gallio:

Greeting:

The courage of a Military Tribune should not be squandered in
banquet-halls. It should be serving the Empire in positions where reckless
audacity is honorable and valorous. Tribune Marcellus Lucan Gallio is commanded
to report, before sunset, at the Praetorium of Chief Legate M. Cornelius
Capito, and receive his commission.

Marcellus rolled up the scroll, tossed it negligently to Demetrius, who
thrust it into the breast of his tunic; and, turning to his father, remarked,
'We have plenty of time to go out and see Ismael's horses.'

The Senator proudly drew himself erect, gave his son a respectful bow,
strutted down the marble steps; and, taking the bridle reins, mounted his
mettlesome black gelding. Marcellus beckoned to Demetrius.

'You heard that message?' he queried, abruptly.

'Not if it was private, sir,' countered Demetrius.

'Sounds a bit malicious,' observed Marcellus. 'The Prince evidently
wishes to dispose of me.'

'Yes, sir,' agreed Demetrius.

'Well--I brought this upon myself,' said Marcellus. 'I shall not order
you to risk your life. You are at liberty to decide whether--'

'I shall go with you, sir.'

'Very good. Inspect my equipment--and look over your own tackle, too.'
Marcellus started down the steps, and turned to say, soberly, 'You're going to
your death, you know.'

'Yes, sir,' said Demetrius. 'You will need some heavier sandals, sir.
Shall I get them?'

'Yes--and several pairs for yourself. Ask Marcipor for the money.'

After a lively tussle with the bay, who was impatient to overtake her
stable-mate, Marcellus drew up beside the Senator, and they slowed their horses
to a trot.

'I tarried for a word with Demetrius. I shall take him with me.'

'Of course.'

'I told him he might decide.'

'That was quite proper.'

'I told him he might never come back alive.'

'Probably not,' said the Senator, grimly, 'but you can be assured that
he will never come back alone.'

'Demetrius is a very sound fellow--for a slave,' observed Marcellus.

The Senator made no immediate rejoinder, but his stern face and flexed
jaw indicated that his reflections were weighty.

'My son,' he said at length, staring moodily down the road, 'we could
use a few men in the Roman Senate with the brains and bravery of your slave,
Demetrius.' He pulled his horse down to a walk. '"Demetrius is a sound
fellow--for a slave"; eh? Well--his being a slave does not mean that what
he thinks, what he says, and what he does are unimportant. One of these days
the slaves are going to take over this rotted Government! They could do it
tomorrow if they were organized. You might say that their common desire for
liberty should unite them, but that is not enough. All men want more liberty
than they have. What the Roman slaves lack is leadership. In time, that will
come. You shall see!' The Senator paused so long, after this amazing
declaration, that Marcellus felt some response was in order.

'I never heard you express that opinion before, sir. Do you think there
will be an uprising--among the slaves?'

'It lacks form,' replied Gallio. 'It lacks cohesion. But some day it
will take shape; it will be integrated; it will develop a leader, a cause, a
slogan, a banner. Three-fourths of this city's inhabitants either have been or
are slaves. Daily our expeditionary forces arrive with new shiploads of them.
It would require a very shrewd and powerful Government to keep in subjugation a
force three times its size and strength. But--look at our Government! A mere
hollow shell! It has no moral fiber! Content with its luxury, indolence, and
profligacy, its extravagant pageants in honor of its silly gods; ruled by an
insane dotard and a drunken nonentity! So, my son, Rome is doomed! I do not
venture to predict when or how Nemesis will arrive--but it is on its way. The
Roman Empire is too weak and wicked to survive!'

Chapter II

Cornelius Capito was not in when Marcellus called at three to learn what
Gaius had planned for him. This was surprising and a bit ominous too. The
conspicuous absence of the Chief Legate, and his deputizing of a young
understrapper to handle the case, clearly meant that Capito had no relish for
an unpleasant interview with the son of his lifelong friend.

The Gallios had walked their horses for the last two miles of the
journey in from Ismael's camp where the Senator had declined to purchase the
Hispanian mares at the exorbitant price demanded by the avaricious old Syrian,
though it was plain to see that the day's events had dulled his interest in the
negotiation.

The Senator's mind was fully occupied now with speculations about
Cornelius. If anybody in Rome could temper the punitive assignment which Gaius
intended for his son, it would be the Commander of the Praetorian Guard and
Chief of the Legates who wielded an enormous power in the making of
appointments.

Slipping into a reminiscent--and candidly pessimistic--mood, the elder
Gallio had recited the deplorable story they both knew by heart, the dismal
epic of the Praetorian Guard. Marcellus had been brought up on it. As if his
son had never heard the tale before, the Senator began away back in the time
when Julius Caesar had created this organization for his own security. Picked
men they were, with notable records for daring deeds. As the years rolled on,
the traditions of the Praetorian Guard became richer. A magnificent armory was
built to house its battle trophies, and in its spacious atrium were erected
bronze and marble tablets certifying to the memorable careers of its heroes. To
be a member of the Praetorian Guard in those great--long since outmoded--days
when courage and integrity were valuable property, was the highest honor the
Empire could bestow.

Then, Gallio had continued gloomily, Augustus--whose vanity had swollen
into a monstrous, stinking, cancerous growth--had begun to confer honorary
memberships upon his favorites; upon Senators who slavishly approved his
mistakes and weren't above softening the royal sandal-straps with their saliva;
upon certain rich men who had fattened on manipulations in foreign loot; upon
wealthy slave-brokers, dealers in stolen sculpture; upon provincial
revenue-collectors; upon almost anybody indeed who could minister to the diseased
Augustan ego, or pour ointment on his itching avarice. And thus had passed away
the glory and distinction of the Praetorian Guard. Its memberships were for
sale.

For a little while, Tiberius had tried to arrest its accelerating
descent into hell. Cornelius Capito, who had so often led his legion into
suicidal forays that a legend had taken shape about him--for were not the gods
directing a man whose life was so cheaply held and so miraculously
preserved?--was summoned home to be Commander of the Praetorian Guard. Capito
had not wanted the office, but had obeyed the command. With the same kind of
recklessness that had won him honors on many a battlefield, he had begun to
clean up the discredited institution. But it hadn't been long until hard
pressure on Tiberius made it necessary for the Emperor to caution the
uncompromising warrior about his honest zeal. He mustn't go too far in this
business of cleansing the Praetorian Guard.

'It was then,' declaimed Gallio, 'that brave old Capito discovered, to
his dismay, why Tiberius had called him to be the Commander; simply to use his
name as a deodorant!'

Marcellus had realized, at this juncture of his father's painful
reflections, that the remainder of the story would be somewhat embarrassing;
for it concerned the Military Tribunes.

'If Augustus had only been content'--the Senator was proceeding
according to schedule--'with his destruction of the Praetorian Guard! Perhaps,
had he foreseen the result of his policy there, not even his rapacious greed
could have induced him to work the same havoc with the Order of Tribunes. But
you know what happened, my son.'

Yes--Marcellus knew. The Order of Tribunes had been honorable too. You
had to be a Tribune, in deed and in truth, if you wanted to wear its insignia.
Like the Praetorian Guard, it too was handsomely quartered. Tribunes, home on
furlough or recovering from injuries or awaiting orders, took advantage of the
library, the baths, the commissary that the Empire had provided for them. Then
Augustus had decided to expand the Order of Tribunes to include all sons of
Senators and influential taxpayers. You needn't ever have shouted an order or
spent a night in a tent. If your father had enough money and political weight,
you could wear the uniform and receive the salute.

Marcellus liked to think that his own case was not quite so indefensible
as most of them. He had not been a mere playboy. At the Academy he had given
his full devotion to the history of military campaigns, strategy, and tactics.
He was an accomplished athlete, expert with the javelin, a winner of many
prizes for marksmanship with the bow. He handled a dueling sword with the skill
of a professional gladiator.

Nor had his recreations been profitless. Aristocratic youths, eligible
to the hierarchy of public offices, disdained any actual practice of the fine
arts. They affected to be critics and connoisseurs of painting and sculpture,
but would have experienced much embarrassment had they been caught with a brush
or chisel in hand. Independent of this taboo, Marcellus had taken a serious
interest in sculpture, much to the delight of his father, who--upon observing
that he had a natural genius for it--had provided him with competent tutors.

But--sometimes he had been appropriately sensitive about his status as a
Military Tribune when, as happened infrequently, some
real
Tribune
showed up at the ornate clubhouse, bronzed and battered and bandaged, after
grueling months on active duty.

However--Marcellus said to himself--it wasn't as if he had no
qualifications for military service. He was abundantly prepared to accept a
commission if required to do so. Occasionally he had wished that an opportunity
for such service might arise. He had never been asked to take a command. And a
man would be a fool, indeed, to seek a commission. War was a swinish business,
intended for bullies who liked to strut their medals and yell obscenities at
their inferiors and go for weeks without a bath. He could do all this if he had
to. He didn't have to; but he had never been honestly proud of his title.
Sometimes when Decimus addressed him as Tribune'--which was the surly fellow's
custom on such occasions as serving him his late breakfast in bed--Marcellus
was tempted to slap him, and he would have done so had he a better case.