Authors: Unknown
'Rubbish!' grunted Tiberius. 'What do you know about it?'
'This Galilean, sire,' said Marcellus, quietly. 'He will live forever.'
'The man you killed? He will live forever? How do you make that out?'
'The Galilean came to life, sire.'
'Nonsense! You probably bungled the crucifixion. Your father said you
were drunk. Did you stay until it was over--or can't you remember?'
Yes, Marcellus had stayed. A Centurion had driven his spear deep into
the dead man's heart, to make doubly sure. There was no question about his
death. The third day afterwards, he had come to life, and had been seen on many
occasions by different groups of people.
'Impossible!' yelled Tiberius. 'Where is he now?'
Marcellus didn't know. But he did know that this Jesus was alive; had
eaten breakfast with friends on a lake-shore in Galilee; had appeared in
people's houses. Tiberius propped himself up on both elbows and stared, his
chin working convulsively.
'Leaves footprints when he walks,' resumed Marcellus. 'Appears
unexpectedly. Talks, eats, shows his wounds which--for some curious reason--do
not heal. Doesn't bother to open the door when he enters. People have a queer
feeling of a presence beside them; they look about, and there he is.'
Tiberius glanced toward the door and clapped his dry old hands. The
Chamberlain slipped in noiselessly and instantly, as if, upon being summoned,
he hadn't had far to come.
'Lights, stupid one!' shouted the old man, shrilly. He snuggled down,
shivered, and drew the covers up over his emaciated shoulder. 'Proceed,' he
muttered. 'Doesn't open the door, eh?'
'Two men are walking along the highway, late afternoon, discussing him,'
went on Marcellus, relentlessly. 'Presently he falls into step with them. They
invite him to supper at an inn, some twelve miles from Jerusalem.'
'Not a ghost, then!' put in Tiberius.
'Not a ghost; but this time he does not eat. Breaks the bread, murmurs
thanks to his God, and disappears. Enters a house in Jerusalem, a few minutes
later; finds friends at supper--and eats.'
'Might reappear almost anywhere, eh?' speculated Tiberius, adding, half
to himself, 'Probably not if the place were well guarded.' And when Marcellus
had let this observation pass without hazarding an opinion, the old man
growled, 'What do you think?'
'I think it wouldn't make any difference,' ventured Marcellus. 'He will
go where he pleases. He opens the eyes of the blind and the ears of the deaf;
heals lepers, paralytics, lunatics. I did not believe any of these things, Your
Majesty, until it was impossible not to believe them. He can do anything!'
'Why, then, did he let them put him to death?' demanded Tiberius.
'Your Majesty, well versed in the various religions, will remember that
among the Jews it is customary to make a blood offering for crimes. It is
believed that the Galilean offered himself as an atonement gift.'
'What crimes had
he
committed?' asked Tiberius.
'None, sire! He was atoning for the sins of the world.'
'Humph! That's an ingenious idea.' Tiberius pondered it gravely, his
eyes on the ceiling. 'All the sins; everybody's sins! And, having attended to
that, he comes alive again, and goes about. Well, if he can make atonement for
the sins of the whole world, it's presumable that he knows what they are and
who has committed them. Cosmic person, eh? Knows all about the whole world, eh?
Are you fool enough to believe all that?'
'I believe, Your Majesty'--Marcellus was proceeding carefully, spacing
his words--'that this Jesus--can do whatever he wills to do,
whenever--wherever--and to whomever he pleases.'
'Including the Emperor of Rome?' Tiberius's tone recommended prudence.
'It is conceivable, sire, that Jesus might visit the Emperor, at any
time; but, if he did, it would surely be in kindness. Your Majesty might be
greatly comforted.'
There was a long, thoughtful moment before Tiberius wanted more
information about the strange appearances and disappearances. 'Quite absurd,
making himself visible or invisible at will. What became of him, while
invisible? Did he--did he blot himself out?'
'The stars do not blot themselves out, sire,' said Marcellus.
'Your reasoning is, then, that this person might be in the room
now,
and we unable to see him.'
'But Your Majesty would have nothing to fear,' said Marcellus. 'Jesus
would have no interest in the Emperor's throne.'
'Well, that's a cool way to put it, young man!' growled Tiberius. 'No
interest in the throne, eh? Who does this fellow think he is?'
'He thinks he is the Son of God!' said Marcellus, quietly.
'And you!' Tiberius stared into his eyes. 'What do you think?'
'I think, sire, that he is divine; that he will eventually claim the
whole world for his kingdom; and that this kingdom will have no end.'
'Fool! Do you think he will demolish the Roman Empire?' shouted the old
man.
'There will be no Roman Empire, Your Majesty, when Jesus takes command.
The empires will have destroyed one another--and themselves. He has predicted
it. When the world has arrived at complete exhaustion, by wars and slaveries,
hatreds and betrayals, he will establish his kingdom of good will.'
'Nonsense!' yelled Tiberius. 'The world can't be ruled by good will!'
'Has it ever been tried, Your Majesty?' asked Marcellus.
'Of course not! You're crazy! And you're too young to be as crazy as all
that!' The Emperor forced a laugh. 'Never has so much drivel been spoken in our
presence. We are surrounded by wise old fools who spend their days inventing
strange tales; but you have outdone them all. We will hear no more of it!'
'Shall I go, then, Your Majesty?' inquired Marcellus, moving to the edge
of his chair. The Emperor put out a detaining hand.
'Have you seen the daughter of Gallus?' he asked.
'Yes, Your Majesty.'
'You are aware that she loves you, and has waited these past two years
for your return?'
'Yes, Your Majesty.'
'She was deeply grieved when you came back to Rome, a year ago, and were
ashamed to see her because of the sickness in your head. But, hopeful of your
recovery, she has had eyes for no one else. And now, you return to her polluted
with preposterous nonsense! You, who are so infatuated with kindness and good
will--what does Diana think of you now? Or have you informed her how cracked
you are?'
'We have not talked about the Galilean, sire,' said Marcellus, moodily.
'This young woman's happiness may mean nothing to you--but it means
everything to us!' The Emperor's tones were almost tender. 'It is high time, we
think, that you take some steps to deal fairly with her. Let there be no more
of this folly!'
Marcellus sat with clouded eyes, making no reply when Tiberius paused to
search his face.
'We now offer you your choice!' The old voice was shrill with anger.
'You will give up all this Jesus talk, and take your rightful place as a Roman
Tribune and the son of an honoured Roman Senator--or you will give up the
daughter of Gallus! We will not consent to her marriage with a fool! What say
you?'
'Will Your Majesty permit me to consider?' asked Marcellus, in an
unsteady voice.
'For how long?' demanded Tiberius.
'Until noon tomorrow.'
'So be it, then! Noon tomorrow! Meanwhile, you are not to see Diana. A
woman in love has no mind. You might glibly persuade her to marry you. She
would repent of it later. This decision is not for the daughter of Gallus to
make. It is all yours, young man! . . . That will do! You may go!'
Stunned by the sudden turn of affairs and the peremptory dismissal,
Marcellus rose slowly, bowed, and moved toward the door where the old man
testily halted him.
'Stay! You have talked of everything but the haunted robe. Let us hear
about that before you go. We may not see you again.'
Returning to his chair, Marcellus deliberately reported his own strange
restoration, traceable to the robe; told also of Lydia's marvellous recovery.
Having secured the Emperor's attention, he recited tales of other mysterious
occurrences in and about Capernaum; spoke of the aged Nathanael Bartholomew;
and Tiberius--with an old man's interest in another old man's story--showed
enough curiosity about the storm on the lake to warrant the telling of it--all
of it. When they wakened Jesus at the crest of the tempest, Tiberius sat up.
When Jesus, wading through the flooded boat, mounted the little deck and
stilled the storm as a man soothes a frightened horse--
'That's a lie!' yelled the Emperor, sinking back into his pillows; and
when Marcellus had no more to say, the old man snorted: 'Well!--go on! Go on!
It's a lie--but a new lie! We will say that for it! Plenty of gods know how to
stir up storms: this one knows how to stop them! . . . By the way, what became
of that haunted robe?'
'I still have it, sire.'
'You have it here with you? We would like to see it.'
'I shall send for it, Your Majesty.'
The Chamberlain was instructed to send for Demetrius. In a few moments,
he appeared: tall, handsome, grave. Marcellus was proud of him; a bit
apprehensive, too, for it was easy to see that the Emperor was instantly
interested in him.
'Is this the Greek who slaughters Roman Tribunes with his bare hands?'
growled Tiberius. 'Nay, let him answer for himself!' he warned Marcellus, who
had begun to stammer a reply.
'I prefer to fight with weapons, Your Majesty,' said Demetrius, soberly.
'And what is your favourite weapon?' barked Tiberius. 'The broadsword?
The dagger?'
'The truth, Your Majesty,' replied Demetrius.
The Emperor frowned, grinned, and turned to Marcellus.
'Why, this fellow's as crazy as you are!' he drawled; then, to
Demetrius, 'We had thought of keeping you as one of our bodyguard, but--' He
chuckled. 'Not a bad idea! The truth, eh? Nobody else on this island knows how
to use that weapon. You shall stay!'
Demetrius's expression did not change. Tiberius nodded to Marcellus, who
said, 'Go, and fetch the Galilean robe.' Demetrius saluted deeply and made off.
'What manner of miracle will be wrought upon the Emperor, do you think?'
inquired Tiberius, with an intimation of dry bravado.
'I do not know, sire,' replied Marcellus, gravely.
'Perhaps you think we would better not experiment with it.' Tiberius's
tone made a brave show of indifference, but he cleared his throat huskily after
he had spoken.
'I should not presume to advise Your Majesty,' said Marcellus.
'If you were in our place--' Tiberius's voice was troubled.
'I should hesitate,' said Marcellus.
'You're a superstitious fool!' growled the Emperor.
Demetrius was re-entering with the brown robe folded over his arm.
Tiberius's sunken eyes narrowed. Marcellus rose; and, taking the robe from
Demetrius, offered it to the old man.
The Emperor reached out his hand, tentatively. Then, slowly recoiling,
he thrust his hand under the covers. He swallowed noisily.
'Take it away!' he muttered.
Many a Roman of high distinction would have been overwhelmed with joy
and pride by a summons to have breakfast at the bedside of the Emperor, but
Diana's invitation distressed her.
Since late yesterday afternoon she had been dreamily counting the hours
until she could keep her early morning engagement with Marcellus. She was so
deeply in love with him that nothing else mattered. Now the happy meeting would
have to be postponed; perhaps abandoned altogether, if last night's prolonged
interview in the imperial bedchamber had turned out badly.
Until after midnight, Diana--disinterestedly jabbing uneven stitches
into an embroidery pattern--had listened to every footfall in the corridors,
alert for a message. At length she had persuaded herself that Marcellus thought
it too late to disturb her. After a restless night, she had welcomed the dawn;
had stood at the window, impatient, ecstatic, waiting for the moment when, with
any degree of prudence, she might slip out of the Villa Jovis and speed to her
enchanted pergola.
And now the message had come from the Emperor. Concealing her
disappointment from the servants, Diana made ready to obey the summons. While
her maids fluttered about, helping her into the gay colours which usually
brightened the old man's dour mood, she tried to imagine what might have
happened. Perhaps Tiberius had proposed some project for Marcellus which would
amount to his imprisonment on this wretched island. Knowing how anxious she was
to leave Capri, Marcellus might have tried to decline such an offer. In that
case, Diana, under deep obligation to the Emperor, would be asked to use her
influence. Her intuition warned her that this breakfast with Tiberius might be
a very unhappy occasion.
Dispatching Acteus to inform Marcellus that she could not keep her
engagement, Diana practised a few bright smiles before her mirror; and,
resolutely holding on to one of them, marched into the imperial presence.
'How very good of Your Majesty!' she exclaimed. 'I hope I have not kept
you waiting. Are you famished?'
'We have had our breakfast,' sulked Tiberius, 'an hour ago.' He jabbed a
sharp brown thumbnail into the ribs of the Chamberlain who was fussing with the
pillows. 'Pour a goblet of orange juice for the daughter of Gallus--and then
get out! All of you!'
'Not feeling so well?' purred Diana.
'Don't try to joke with us, young woman!' snorted the old man. 'That
will do now!' he yelled, at the Chamberlain. 'Stop pottering--and be gone! And
close the door!'
'I wish I could do something,' sympathized Diana, when they were alone.
'Well, perhaps you can! That's why we sent for you!'
'I'll do my best, Your Majesty.' Diana held her big goblet in both hands
to keep it from trembling.