THE ROBE (6 page)

'Packing his kit, I think,' muttered Gallio. 'He is ordered to leave at
once. A galley will take him to Ostia where a ship sails tomorrow.'

'A ship? What ship? If he must go, why cannot he travel in a manner
consistent with his rank? Surely he can charter or buy a vessel, and sail in
comfort as becomes a Tribune.'

'There is no time for that, my dear. They are leaving tonight.'

'They? Marcellus--and who else?'

'Demetrius.'

'Well--the gods be thanked for that much!' Cornelia broke out again into
tempestuous weeping. 'Why doesn't Marcellus come to see me?' she sobbed.

'He will, in a little while,' said Gallio. 'He wanted me to tell you
about it first. And I hope you will meet him in the spirit of a courageous
Roman matron.' The Senator's tone was almost severe now. 'Our son has received
some very unhappy tidings. He is bearing them manfully, calmly, according to
our best traditions. But I do not think he could bear to see his mother destroy
herself in his presence.'

'Destroy myself!' Cornelia, stunned by the words, faced him with
anguished eyes. 'You know I could never do a thing like that--no matter what
happened to us!'

'One does not have to swallow poison or hug a dagger, my dear, to commit
suicide. One can kill oneself and remain alive physically.' Gallio rose, took
her hand, and drew Cornelia to her feet. 'Dry your tears now, my love,' he said
gently. 'When Marcellus comes, let him continue to be proud of you. There may
be some trying days ahead for our son. Perhaps the memory of an intrepid mother
will rearm him when he is low in spirit.'

'I shall try, Marcus.' Cornelia clung to him hungrily. It had been a
long time since they had needed each other so urgently.

After Marcellus had spent a half-hour alone with his mother--an ordeal
he had dreaded--his next engagement was with his sister. Father had informed
Lucia, and she had sent word by Tertia that she would be waiting for him in the
pergola whenever it was convenient for him to come.

But first he must return to his rooms with the silk pillow his mother
had insisted on giving him. It would be one more thing for Demetrius to add to
their already cumbersome impedimenta, but it seemed heartless to refuse the
present, particularly in view of the fine fortitude with which she had accepted
their mutual misfortune. She had been tearful, but there had been no painful
breakup of her emotional discipline.

Marcellus found the luggage packed and strapped for the journey, but
Demetrius was nowhere to be found. Marcipor, who had appeared in the doorway to
see if he might be of service, was queried; and replied, with some reluctance
and obvious perplexity, that he had seen Demetrius on his horse, galloping furiously
down the driveway, fully an hour ago. Marcellus accepted this information
without betraying his amazement. It was quite possible that the Greek had
belatedly discovered the lack of some equipment necessary to their trip, and
had set off for it minus the permission to do so. It was inconceivable that
Demetrius would take advantage of this opportunity to make a dash for freedom.
No, decided Marcellus, it wouldn't be that. But the incident needed
explanation, for if Demetrius had gone for additional supplies he would not
have strapped the luggage until his return.

Lucia was leaning against the balustrade, gazing toward the Tiber where
little sails reflected final flashes of almost horizontal sunshine, and galleys
moved so sluggishly they would have seemed not to be in motion at all but for
the rhythmic dip of the long oars. One galley, a little larger than the others,
was headed toward a wharf. Lucia cupped her hands about her eyes and was so
intent upon the sinister black hulk that she did not hear Marcellus coming.

He joined her without words, and circled her girlish waist tenderly. She
slipped her arm about him, but did not turn her head.

'Might that be your galley?' she asked, pointing. 'It has three banks, I
think, and a very high prow. Isn't that the kind that meets ships at Ostia?'

'That's the kind,' agreed Marcellus, pleased that the conversation
promised to be dispassionate. 'Perhaps that is the boat.'

Lucia slowly turned about in his arms and affectionately patted his
cheeks with her soft palms. She looked up, smiling resolutely, her lips
quivering a little; but she was doing very well, her brother thought. He hoped
his eyes were assuring her of his approval.

'I am so glad you are taking Demetrius,' she said, steadily. 'He wanted
to go?'

'Yes,' replied Marcellus, adding after a pause, 'Yes--he quite wanted to
go.' They stood in silence for a little while, her fingers gently toying with
the knotted silk cord at the throat of his tunic.

'All packed up?' Lucia was certainly doing a good job, they both felt.
Her voice was well under control.

'Yes.' Marcellus nodded with a smile that meant everything was
proceeding normally, just as if they were leaving on a hunting excursion. 'Yes,
dear--all ready to go.' There was another longer interval of silence.

'Of course, you don't know--yet'--said Lucia--'when you will be coming
home.'

'No,' said Marcellus. After a momentary hesitation he added, 'Not yet.'

Suddenly Lucia drew a long, agonized 'Oh!'--wrapped her arms tightly
around her brother's neck, buried her face against his breast, and shook with
stifled sobs. Marcellus held her trembling body close.

'No, no,' he whispered. 'Let's see it through, precious child. It's not
easy; but--well--we must behave like Romans, you know.'

Lucia stiffened, flung back her head, and faced him with streaming eyes
aflame with anger.

'Like Romans!' she mocked. 'Behave like Romans! And what does a Roman
ever get for being brave--and pretending it is fine--and noble--to give up
everything--and make-believe it is glorious--glorious to suffer--and die--for
Rome! For Rome! I hate Rome! Look what Rome has done to you--and all of us! Why
can't we live in peace? The Roman Empire--Bah! What is the Roman Empire? A
great swarm of slaves! I don't mean slaves like Tertia and Demetrius; I mean slaves
like you and me--all our lives bowing and scraping and flattering; our legions
looting and murdering--and for what? To make Rome the capital of the world,
they say! But why should the whole world be ruled by a lunatic like old
Tiberius and a drunken bully like Gaius? I hate Rome! I hate it all!'

Marcellus made no effort to arrest the torrent, thinking it more
practical to let his sister wear her passion out--and have done with it. She
hung limp in his arms now, her heart pounding hard.

'Feel better?' he asked, sympathetically. She slowly nodded against his
breast. Instinctively glancing about, Marcellus saw Demetrius standing a few
yards away with his face averted from them. 'I must see what he wants,' he
murmured, relaxing his embrace. Lucia slipped from his arms and stared again at
the river, unwilling to let the imperturbable Greek see her so nearly broken.

'The daughter of Legate Gallus is here, sir,' announced Demetrius.

'I can't see Diana now, Marcellus,' put in Lucia, thickly. 'I'll go down
through the gardens, and you talk to her.' She raised her voice a little.

'Bring Diana to the pergola, Demetrius.' Without waiting for her
brother's approval, she walked rapidly toward the circular marble stairway that
led to the arbors and the pool. Assuming that his master's silence confirmed
the order, Demetrius was setting off on his errand. Marcellus recalled him with
a quiet word and he retraced his steps.

'Do you suppose she knows?' asked Marcellus, frowning.

'Yes, sir.'

'What makes you think so?'

'The daughter of Legate Gallus appears to have been weeping, sir.'

Marcellus winced and shook his head.

'I hardly know what to say to her,' he confided, mostly to himself, a
dilemma that Demetrius made no attempt to solve. 'But'--Marcellus sighed--'I
suppose I must see her.'

'Yes, sir,' said Demetrius, departing on his errand.

Turning toward the balustrade, Marcellus watched his sister's dejected
figure moving slowly through the arbors, and his heart was suffused with pity.
He had never seen Lucia so forlorn and undone. It was not much wonder if she
had a reluctance to meet Diana in her present state of collapse. Something told
him that this impending interview with Diana was likely to be difficult. He had
not often been alone with her, even for a moment. This time they would not only
be alone, but in circumstances extremely trying. He was uncertain what attitude
he should take toward her.

She was coming now, out through the peristyle, walking with her usual
effortless grace, but lacking animation. It was unlike Demetrius to send a
guest to the pergola unattended, even though well aware that Diana knew the
way. Damn Demetrius!--he was behaving very strangely this afternoon. Greeting
Diana might be much more natural and unconstrained if he were present.
Marcellus sauntered along the pavement to meet her. It was true, as Lucia had
said; Diana was growing up--and she was lovelier in this pensiveness than he
had ever seen her. Perhaps the bad news had taken all the adolescent bounce out
of her. But, whatever might account for it, Diana had magically matured. His
heart speeded a little. The elder-brotherly smile with which he was preparing
to welcome her seemed inappropriate if not insincere, and as Diana neared him,
his eyes were no less sober than hers.

She gave him both hands, at his unspoken invitation, and looked up from
under her long lashes, winking back the tears and trying to smile. Marcellus
had never faced her like this before, and the intimate contact stirred him. As
he looked deeply into her dark eyes, it was almost as if he were discovering
her; aware, for the first time, of her womanly contours, her finely sculptured
brows, the firm but piquant chin, and the full lips--now parted with painful
anxiety--disclosing even white teeth, tensely locked.

'I am glad you came, Diana.' Marcellus had wanted this to sound
fraternal, but it didn't. He was intending to add, 'Lucia will want to see you
presently'--but he didn't; nor did he release her hands. It mystified him that
she could stand still that long.

'Are you really going--tonight?' she asked, in a husky whisper.

Marcellus stared into her uplifted eyes, marveling that the tempestuous,
teasing, unpredictable Diana had suddenly become so winsome.

'How did you know?' he queried. 'Who could have told you so soon? I
learned about it myself not more than three hours ago.'

'Does it matter--how I found out?' She hesitated, as if debating what
next to say. 'I had to come, Marcellus,' she went on, bravely. 'I knew you
would have no time--to come to me--and say good-bye.'

'It was very--' He stopped on the verge of 'kind,' which, he felt, would
be too coolly casual, and saw Diana's eyes swimming with tears. 'It was very
dear of you,' he said, tenderly. Marcellus clasped her hands more firmly and
drew her closer. She responded, after a momentary reluctance.

'I wouldn't have done it, of course,' she said, rather breathlessly--'if
the time hadn't been so short. We're all going to miss you.' Then, a little
unsteadily, she asked, 'Will I hear from you, Marcellus?' And when he did not
immediately find words to express his happy surprise, she shook her head and
murmured, 'I shouldn't have said that, I think. You will have more than enough
to do. We can learn about each other through Lucia.'

'But I shall want to write to you, dear,' declared Marcellus, 'and you
will write to me--often--I hope. Promise!'

Diana smiled mistily, and Marcellus watched her dimples deepen--and
disappear. His heart skipped a beat when she whispered, 'You will write to me
tonight? And send it back from Ostia--on the galley?'

'Yes--Diana!'

'Where is Lucia?' she asked, impetuously reclaiming her hands.

'Down in the arbors,' said Marcellus.

Before he realized her intention, Diana had run away. At the top of the
stairs she paused to wave to him. He was on the point of calling to her--to
wait a moment--that he had something more to say; but the utter hopelessness of
his predicament kept him silent. What more, he asked himself, did he want to
say to Diana? What promise could he make to her--or exact of her? No--it was
better to let this be their leave-taking. He waved her a kiss--and she vanished
down the stairway. It was quite possible--quite probable indeed--that he would
never see Diana again.

Moodily, he started toward the house; then abruptly turned back to the
pergola. The girls had met and were strolling, arm in arm, through the rose
arbor. Perhaps he was having a final glimpse of his lovable young sister, too.
There was no good reason why he should put Lucia to the additional pain of
another farewell.

It surprised him to see Demetrius ascending the stairway. What errand
could have taken him down to the gardens, wondered Marcellus. Perhaps he would
explain without being queried. His loyal Corinthian was not acting normally
today. Presently he appeared at the top of the stairs and approached with the
long, military stride that Marcellus had often found difficult to match when
they were out on hunting trips. Demetrius seemed very well pleased about
something; better than merely pleased. He was exultant! Marcellus had never seen
such an expression on his slave's face.

'Shall I have the dunnage taken down to the galley now, sir?' asked
Demetrius, in a voice that betrayed recent excitement.

'Yes--if it is ready.' Marcellus was organizing a question, but found it
difficult, and decided not to pry. 'You may wait for me at the wharf,' he
added.

'You will have had dinner, sir?'

Marcellus nodded; then suddenly changed his mind. He had taken leave of
his family, one by one. They had all borne up magnificently. It was too much to
ask of them--and him--that they should undergo a repetition of this distress in
one another's presence.