Authors: Unknown
Marcellus was more eager than the shambling horses to return to the
city, but even at their plodding gait it was an uncomfortable ride, certainly
not conducive to the pleasant perusal of letters, for the dusty, deep-rutted
highway was crammed with lumbering wagons and overburdened camel-trains,
requiring frequent excursions to the ill-conditioned roadside.
He slit the seal of his father's bulky scroll, happy to note that it
contained also messages from his mother and Lucia. Diana's letter--he was
surprised to find it addressed from Capri--might have been read first had the
circumstances been more favourable. Marcellus revolved the scroll in his hands
and decided he would enjoy it later in private.
'Evidently the daughter of Gallus had occasion to reopen her letter
after sealing it,' he remarked, more to himself than Demetrius, who sat idly
observant as his master inspected the scroll.
'The overlaid wax seems of a slightly different colour, sir,' commented
Demetrius.
More painstakingly, Marcellus examined the scroll again, picking at the
second application of wax with the point of his dagger.
'You're right,' he muttered. 'The letter has been tampered with.'
'By a woman,' added Demetrius. 'There is her finger-mark.'
Frowning with annoyance, Marcellus tucked Diana's scroll into the breast
of his tunic, and began silently reading his father's letter. He had just
returned from Capri (he wrote) where he had explained his son's sudden
departure.
'It was imperative that I should be entirely frank with the
Emperor'--the letter went on--'because you had no more than reached open sea
before a message arrived appointing you--'
'Demetrius, I bid you listen to this!' exclaimed Marcellus. 'The Emperor
has appointed me Commander of the Guard--at Capri! Doubtless that is the import
of the message I am receiving to-day. Commander of the Guard at Capri! What do
you suppose the Commander of the Capri Guard has to do?'
The intimate tone meant that Demetrius was not only temporarily
emancipated, but would probably be reproached if he failed to make prompt use
of his privilege to speak on terms of equality.
'Taste soup, I should think,' he ventured. 'And sleep in his
uniform--with one eye open.'
'While his slave sleeps with both eyes open,' remarked Marcellus in the
same manner. 'I dare say you're right. The island is a hotbed of jealousy and
conspiracy. One's life wouldn't be worth a punched denarius.' Resuming the
letter, he read on for a time with a deepening scowl.
'I am not receiving that appointment,' he glanced up to say. 'My father
advises me that the Emperor has something else in mind. Let me read what he
says:--"He was much interested in what I felt obliged to tell him of your
unpleasant experience in Jerusalem. And when I informed him that this crucified
Jew was thought by some to have been the Messiah--"' Marcellus suddenly
broke off and stared into Demetrius's face. 'How do you suppose my father found
that out?' he demanded.
'I told him,' said Demetrius, with prompt candour. 'Senator Gallio
insisted on a full account of what happened up there. I thought it due to you,
sir, that an explanation be made--seeing you were in no condition to make it
yourself.'
'That's true enough,' admitted Marcellus, grimly. 'I hope you did not
feel required to tell the Senator about the Galilean's robe.'
'Yes, sir. The robe was responsible for your--your illness. The
story--without the robe--would have been very confusing.'
'You mean--it was quite clear--with the robe included?'
'No, sir. Perhaps that part of it will always be a mystery.'
'Well, let us get on with this.' Marcellus took up the scroll and
resumed his reading aloud: '"The Emperor was stirred to an immense
curiosity, for he is deeply learned in all of the religions. He has heard much
about the messianic prophecies of the Jews. He wishes you to pursue your studies
in Athens, especially concerning the religions, and return to Capri as a
teacher." A
teacher!'
Marcellus laughed, self-derisively; but
Demetrius did not smile. 'Do not you think this funny, Demetrius?' he insisted.
'Can you picture
me
--lecturing to that menagerie?'
'No, sir,' replied Demetrius, soberly, 'I do not think this is funny. I
think it is a disaster!'
'You mean--I'll be bored?'
'Worse than bored!' exclaimed Demetrius, recklessly. 'It is a
contemptible position, if you ask me, sir! The Emperor is said to have a large
contingent of astrologers, diviners of oracles, ghost-tenders,
dream-mechanics--and all that sort of thing--clustered about him. It would be a
sorry business for my master to be engaged in!'
Marcellus had begun to share the Corinthian's seriousness.
'You think he wants me to teach a mess of superstitious nonsense?'
'Yes,' nodded Demetrius. 'He wants to hear some more about that robe.'
'But that isn't superstitious nonsense!' objected Marcellus.
'No--not to us--but it will be little else than that by the time Emperor
Tiberius and his soothsayers have finished discussing it.'
'You feel deeply about this, Demetrius,' said Marcellus, gently.
'Well, sir, I don't want to see the robe reviled by that loathsome old
man--and his crew of lunatics!'
Marcellus pretended to be indignant.
'Are you aware, Demetrius, that your references to the Emperor of Rome
might be considered bordering on disrespect?' They both grinned, and Marcellus
took up his father's letter again, reading aloud, slowly:
'"I doubt whether you would have any relish for this employment, my
son. The Emperor is of strange, erratic mind. However, this is his command, and
you have no choice but to obey. Fortunately, you are permitted to remain in
Athens for a reasonable length of time, pursuing your studies. We are all eager
to have you back in Rome, but I cannot counsel you to speed your return."'
There was no reference to Diana. Marcellus thought this odd, for surely
Diana must have been at the Villa Jovis while his father was there. He was
anxious to read her letter. It disquieted him to know that she was a guest on
that sinister island. Someone had opened her scroll. Someone was spying on her.
It was not a safe place for Diana.
The House of Eupolis was apparently in a great state of excitement. It
was not every day that a flashily uniformed Tribune arrived with a message from
the Emperor of Rome; and the whole establishment, habitually reserved, was
undeniably impressed by the occasion.
Dion, grave-faced and perspiring freely, was pacing up and down the
driveway as the battered old port-wagon entered the gate.
'You must make haste, Marcellus!' he pleaded, in a frightened voice, as
they pulled up beside him. 'There is a message from the Emperor! The Tribune
has been waiting in a rage, shouting that if you did not soon arrive he would
report our house to the Tetrarch!'
'Be at ease, Dion,' said Marcellus, calmly. 'You are not at fault.'
Dismissing the carriage, he proceeded up the driveway, passing a huddle of
scared garden-slaves who stared at him with awe and sympathy. Theodosia and her
Aunt Ino hovered about her mother, who sat stiffly apprehensive in the swing.
The pompous figure of the Tribune strutted imperiously before the entrance to
the house.
Instantly Marcellus recognized Quintus Lucian! So that was why the
fellow was showing off. Gaius's pet--Quintus! Doubtless the creature had had no
stomach for his errand. That explained his obnoxious conduct on the ship. Gaius
was probably in a red-hot fury because the old man at Capri had gone over his
head with orders for Marcellus's return from Minoa; and now the Emperor had
sent this detestable Quintus with a message--and there hadn't been anything
that Quintus, or Gaius, either, could do about it.
'And how long shall the Emperor's envoy be kept waiting?' he snarled, as
Marcellus drew nearer with Demetrius following at a few paces.
'I had not been advised to be on the alert for a message from His
Majesty,' rejoined Marcellus, trying to keep his temper. 'But now that I am
here, Tribune Quintus, I suggest that you perform your errand with the courtesy
that a Roman expects from an officer of his own rank.'
Quintus grunted crossly and handed over the gaudily gilded imperial
scroll.
'Are you to wait for a reply?' inquired Marcellus.
'Yes, but I advise you not to keep me waiting long! His Majesty's envoys
are not accustomed to wasting their time at Greek inns.' The tone was so
contemptuous that it could have only one meaning. Demetrius moved forward a
step and stood at attention. Marcellus, white with anger, made no retort.
'I shall read this in private, Quintus,' he said, crisply, 'and prepare
a reply. You may wait--or you may return for it--as you prefer.' As he strode
away, he muttered to Demetrius, 'You remain here.'
After Marcellus had disappeared, on his way to his suite, Quintus
swaggered toward Demetrius and faced him with a surly grin.
'You his slave?' He nodded in the general direction Marcellus had taken.
'Yes, sir.'
'Who is the pretty one--by the swing?' demanded Quintus, out of the
corner of his mouth.
'She is the daughter of Eupolis, sir,' replied Demetrius, stiffly.
'Indeed! We must make her acquaintance while we wait.' Shouldering past
Demetrius, he stalked haughtily across the lawn, accenting each arrogant step
with a sidewise jerk of his helmet. Dion, pale and flustered, scurried along
toward the swing. Demetrius slowly followed.
With elegantly sandalled feet wide apart and arms akimbo, Quintus halted
directly before Theodosia, ignoring the others, and looked her over with an appraising
leer. He grinned, disrespectfully.
'What's your name?' he demanded, roughly.
'That is my daughter, sir!' expostulated Dion, rubbing his hands in
helpless entreaty.
'You are fortunate, fellow, to have so fair a daughter. We must know her
better.' Quintus reached for her hand, and Theodosia recoiled a step, her eyes
full of fear. 'Timid, eh?' He laughed contemptuously. 'Since when was the
daughter of a Greek innkeeper so frugal with her smiles?'
'But I implore you, Tribune!' Dion's voice was trembling. 'The House of
Eupolis has ever been respectable. You must not offend my daughter!'
'Must not--indeed!' crowed Quintus. 'And who are you--to be advising the
envoy of the Emperor what he must not do? Be gone, fellow!' He thrust out an
arm toward Phoebe and Ino. 'You, too!' he barked. 'Leave us!'
Deathly white, Phoebe rose unsteadily and took a few steps, Ino
supporting her. Dion held his ground for a moment, panting with impotent anger,
but began edging out of range as their enemy fumbled for his dagger.
'What are you doing here, slave?' shouted Quintus, turning savagely to
Demetrius.
'My master ordered me to remain, sir,' replied Demetrius; then, to
Theodosia, 'You had better go with your father to the house.'
Purple with rage, Quintus whipped out his dagger and lunged forward.
Demetrius sprang to meet the descending arm, which he caught at the wrist with
a tiger-claw grip of his right hand while his left crashed into the Tribune's
face. It was a staggering blow that took Quintus completely by surprise. Before
he could regain his balance, Demetrius had sent another full-weight drive of
his left' fist into the Tribune's mouth. The relentless finger-nails cut deep
into his wrist and the dagger fell from his hand. The battle was proceeding too
rapidly for Quintus. Dazed and disarmed, he struck wildly, blindly, while
Demetrius, pressing forward step by step, continued to shoot stunning blows
into the mutilated face.
Quintus was quite at his mercy now, and Demetrius knew it would be
simple enough to administer the one decisive uppercut to the jaw that would
excuse the Emperor's envoy from any further participation in the fight; but a
strong desire had laid hold on him to see how much damage could be inflicted on
the Tribune's face before he finally put him away. It was becoming a very
sanguinary engagement. Both of Demetrius's fists were red with blood as they
shot into the battered eyes and crashed against the broken nose. Quintus was
making no defence now. Bewildered and blinded with blood, he yielded ground with
staggering steps until he had been driven backwards to a huge pine, where he
put out a hand for support. He breathed with agonized, whistling sobs.
'You'll die for this!' he squeaked, through swollen lips.
'Very well!' panted Demetrius. 'If I'm to die for punishing you--!'
Grabbing Quintus by the throat-strap of his helmet, he completed the
ruin of his shockingly mangled face. Then, satisfied with his work, he
deliberately drew back his arm and put his full strength behind an ultimate
drive at the point of the Tribune's jaw. The knees buckled and Quintus sank
limply to the ground.
The Eupolis family had withdrawn some distance while the punishment was
being administered. Now Dion came running up, ghastly pale.
'Have you killed him?' he asked, hoarsely.
Demetrius, breathing heavily, was examining his bruised and bleeding
hands. He shook his head.
'We will all be thrown into prison,' moaned Dion.
'Don't think of trying to escape,' advised Demetrius. 'Stay where you
are--all of you. You had nothing to do with it. That can be proved.' He started
to walk away toward his master's suite.
'Shall I do anything for this fellow?' called Dion.
'Yes--bring a basin of water and towels. He will be coming round
presently. And if he shows fight, send for me--and tell him that if I have to
do this again, I shall kill him!'
Very much spent, Demetrius walked slowly to their quarters and proceeded
through to the peristyle where Marcellus sat at the table writing, his face
brightly animated. He did not look up from his letter.
'Demetrius! The Emperor commands me to go to Palestine and learn what is
to be known--at first hand--about the Galilean!' Marcellus's voice was vibrant.
'Could anything have been more to my liking? Tiberius wants to know how much
truth there is in the rumour that Jesus was believed to be the Messiah. As for
me--I care naught about that! I want to know what manner of man he was! What a
chance for us, Demetrius! We will pursue our Aramaic diligently with old
Benjamin. Come early spring, we will journey into Galilee!' He signed his name
to the letter, put down his stylus, pushed back his chair, looked up into
Demetrius's pale face. 'Why--what on earth have you been doing?' he demanded.
'The Tribune,' said Demetrius, wearily.
Marcellus sprang to his feet.
'What? You haven't been fighting--with Quintus!'
'Not exactly fighting,' said Demetrius. 'He insulted the
family--Theodosia in particular--and I rebuked him.'
'Well, from the look of your hands, I should say you had done a good
job. But Demetrius! this is very serious! Greek slaves can't do that--not to
Roman Tribunes--no matter how much it is needed!'
'Yes, I know, sir. I must run away. If I remain here, you will try to
defend me--and get into trouble. Please--shall I not go--at once?'
'By all means!' insisted Marcellus. 'But where will you go? Where can
you go?'
'I don't know, sir. I shall try to get out into the country, into the
mountains, before the news spreads.'
'How badly is Quintus hurt?' asked Marcellus, anxiously.
'He will recover,' said Demetrius. 'I used no weapons. His eyes are
swollen shut--and his mouth is swollen open--and the last few times I hit him
on the nose, it felt spongy.'
'Has he gone?'
'No, he was still there.'
Marcellus winced and ran his fingers through his hair.
'Go, wash your hands--and pack a few things for your journey.' Walking
past Demetrius, he went to his bedroom and unlocking his strong-box filled a
silk bag with gold and silver talents and other coins of smaller value.
Returning, he sat down at the table, took up his stylus, wrote a page, stamped
it with his heavy seal ring, rolled it, and thrust it into a scroll. 'Here you
are,' he said, when Demetrius reappeared. 'This money will befriend you for the
present--and this scroll contains your manumission. I shall remain here until spring;
the Ides of March, approximately. Then I shall go to Jerusalem. I cannot tell
how long I may be touring about in the Palestinian provinces; all summer,
certainly; perhaps longer. Then I am to return to Capri and report to the
Emperor. For that I have no relish; but we will not borrow trouble.'
'Would I were going with you, sir!' exclaimed Demetrius.
'I shall miss you, Demetrius; but your first duty now is to put yourself
quickly out of danger. Try to let me know, as soon as safety permits, where you
are in hiding. Remember that I shall be burning to learn that you have not been
caught! Notify me of your needs. If you are captured, I shall leave no stone
unturned to effect your deliverance.'
'I know that, sir.' Demetrius's voice was unsteady. 'You are very kind.
I shall take the money. As for my freedom--not now.' He laid the scroll on the
table. 'If I were caught with this on me, they might think you had rewarded me
for punishing Quintus.' Drawing himself stiffly to attention, he saluted with
his spear. 'Farewell, sir. I am sorry to go. We may never meet again.'
Marcellus reached out his hand.
'Good-bye, Demetrius,' he said, huskily. 'I shall miss you sorely. You
have been a faithful friend. You will be much in my thoughts.'
'Please tell Theodosia why I did not tarry to bid her farewell,' said
Demetrius.
'Anything between you two?' inquired Marcellus, with sudden interest.
'That much--at least,' admitted Demetrius.
They silently gripped each other's hands, and Demetrius sped away
through the rose garden.
Marcellus moved slowly back into the house, relocked his strong-box, and
went out by the front door. Dion was approaching, pale and agitated.
'You have heard, sir?' he asked, anxiously.
'How is he?' inquired Marcellus.
'Sitting up--but he is an unpleasant sight. He says he is going to have
us all punished.' Dion was shaken with fear.
'Tell me--what really happened?'
'The Tribune showed much disrespect for Theodosia. Your slave
remonstrated, and the Tribune lunged at him with his dagger. After
that--well--your Demetrius disarmed him and began striking him in the face with
his fists. It was a very brutal beating, sir. I had not thought your
gentle-spoken slave could be so violent. The Tribune is unrecognizable! Has
your slave hidden himself?'
'He is gone,' said Marcellus, much to Dion's relief.
Proceeding through the grove, they came upon the wretched Quintus,
sitting hunched under the tall pine, dabbing at his mutilated face with a
bloody towel. He looked up truculently and squinted through the slim red slit
in a purpling eye.
'When I inform the Tetrarch,' he declaimed, thickly, 'there will be
prison for you--and beheadings for the others.'
'What had you thought of telling the Tetrarch, Quintus?' inquired
Marcellus, with a derisive grin. 'And what do you think they will say, at the
Insula, when you report that after you had insulted a respectable young woman,
and had tried to stab a slave who intervened, you let the fellow disarm you and
beat you with his bare hands until you couldn't stand up? Go, Quintus, to the
Insula!' went on Marcellus, mockingly. 'Let them all see how you look after
having had a duel with a Greek slave! The Tetrarch will probably tell you it
was disgraceful enough for a Roman Tribune to be engaged in a fight with a
slave, even if he had come out of it victorious! Come, then; let us go to the
Insula, Quintus. I shall accompany you. I wouldn't miss it for the world.'
Quintus patted his face gingerly.
'I shall not require your assistance,' he muttered.
'Let me put you up, sir,' wheedled Dion, 'until you feel better.'
'That is a good suggestion,' advised Marcellus. 'Dion certainly owes you
nothing for playing the scoundrel on his premises, but if he is willing to give
you shelter until you are fit to be seen, you would be wise to accept his
offer. I understand you are sailing on the
Vestris,
the day after
tomorrow. Better stay under cover here, and go directly to the ship when she
is ready to put off. Then none of your acquaintances at the Insula will have an
amusing story to tell about you, next time he visits Rome.'
'I shall have that slave of yours whipped to ribbons!' growled Quintus.
'Perhaps you might like to do it yourself!' retorted Marcellus. 'Shall I
summon him?'
The grey days were short, cold, and tiresome. Marcellus had discovered
how heavily he had leaned on his Corinthian slave, not only for personal
service but for friendship and entertainment. Demetrius had become his
alter
ego.
Marcellus was lost and restless without him.
Nothing interesting happened. The days were all alike. In the morning he
went early to old Benjamin's shop for his regular ration of Aramaic, offered
mostly in the form of conversation. At noon he would return to the inn and
spend the rest of the daylight in his studio, hacking away without much enthusiasm
or inspiration on a marble head that resembled Diana Gallus less and less,
every day. It was still apparent that she was a girl, a Roman girl, a quite
pretty girl; but no one would have guessed that she was Diana.
And perhaps this was to be accounted for, surmised Marcellus, by the
increasing vagueness of Diana on the retina of his imagination. She was very
far away--and retreating. He had had two letters from her. The first, from
Capri, had been written in haste. She knew all about the Emperor's orders that
he was to continue his studies in Athens, and then proceed to Jerusalem and the
northern provinces of Palestine for authentic information about that mysterious
young Jew.
As for herself, Diana said, the Emperor had insisted on her remaining at
Capri for a few weeks; and, in view of his valued favours, she had decided to
do so. He had been very kind; he was lonely; she must stay.
Her second letter had been written from home. It, too, sounded as if the
carriage were waiting and someone were reading the words over her shoulder. The
letter was friendly enough, solicitous of his welfare, but wanting in the
little overtones of tenderness and yearning. It was as if their love had been
adjourned to await further development in some undated future. Marcellus re-read
this letter many times, weighing and balancing its phrases, trying to decide
whether Diana had been taking extra precautions in case the scroll were read by
a third party, or whether she was losing interest in their affection. It might
be one or the other: it might indeed be both. Her words were not softly
whispered. They were gentle--but clearly audible. And they made him feel very
lonely.
It was an important occasion, therefore, when the long letter arrived
from Demetrius. A light snow had fallen in the night and the sky was heavily
overcast. Marcellus had stood for a long time at the studio window debating
whether to go to Benjamin's shop to-day. But the light was too poor for
sculpturing. And the old man would be expecting him. With a mood to fit the
sullen sky, he made his way to the shop where Benjamin greeted him with
bright-eyed excitement.
'Here is a letter for you!'
'Indeed! Why was it sent here?'
'In my care. Addressed to me--but intended for you. It was brought by a
slave attached to a caravan, and delivered here last night by Zenos, the noisy
boy who runs errands for my friend Popygos. Demetrius, as you will see, is in
Jerusalem. I read that much of it. Your slave is prudent. Fearing a letter
addressed to you might be examined and reveal his whereabouts, he has sent it
to me.' Benjamin laughed as he handed over the scroll. 'Now you will have an
opportunity to put your Aramaic to practical use. It's very good Aramaic, too!'
he added proudly.
Marcellus drew up a stool beside the worktable, unrolled the end of the
long sheet of papyrus, and began reading aloud, with occasional hesitations and
appeals to Benjamin who delightedly came to his rescue.