Authors: Unknown
'Your brother is alive!' said Gallio, when they were alone.
Lucia started, put both hands to her face, and gaped with surprise, but
no words came. She clutched at her father's sleeve.
'Marcipor has gone for him,' murmured Gallio, continuing to administer
the hot wine with the spoon. 'I hope he gets here--in time.'
'Marcellus, alive!' whispered Lucia, incredulously. 'Where is he?'
Gallio frowned darkly.
'In the Catacombs!' he muttered.
'Oh--but he can't be!' exclaimed Lucia. 'He mustn't! Those people are all
to be killed! Father!' she moaned. 'That's where Tullus is! He has been ordered
to raid the Catacombs!'
Gallio passed his hand over his forehead as to rub away the stunning
blow. Tertia pushed the door open to admit Sarpedon, who walked to the bed
without speaking, and pushed up Demetrius's eyelids with a practised thumb. He
pressed the back of his hand against the feeble beating in the throat, shook
his head, laid his palm against his patient's heart.
'Hot water,' he ordered. 'Fomentations. It may be useless, but--we can
try.'
No explanations were needed to account for Diana's employment in the
vineyard. Everybody in Arpino knew her story; had known it and discussed it for
nearly three weeks. The villa had not tried to make a secret of her presence
there; and the villagers, pleased at being trusted, had felt a partnership in
her protection.
Kaeso was proud of his town. It was no small thing, he thought, for all
Arpino to hold its tongue in the face of the reward offered for information
leading to Diana's discovery. There were, however, a couple of good reasons for
this unanimous fidelity.
In the first place, a reward promised by the Emperor was a doubtful
claim, even if you had earned it honourably. When had the officials ever kept
their promises to the people? In the opinion of Arpino, the fewer dealings you
had with the Government, the better you were off. It was crammed with deceit
and subterfuge, all the way from the Emperor and the other great ones, down to
the lazy drunkard who rode over from Alatri once a year to collect the
poll-tax. The Arpinos hadn't a scrap of respect for the Government, either
local or national, believing it to be operated by fools and rascals. Even if
you were mean enough to disclose the whereabouts of Marcellus's girl, you could
be sure that whoever got the reward it wouldn't be you. So reasoned the younger
men, lounging of an evening on the green, after arguing idly for an hour on
what one might do with a thousand sesterces.
But--according to Antonia--there was a better reason than that why
Arpino had kept its secret. Marcellus was gratefully remembered for the many
benefits he had contrived. He was already in a fair way to become a legendary
character. They had never known anyone like him. It was generally believed--for
Arpino was amenable to superstitions--that Marcellus was under the special
protectorate of this new Galilean god, who, albeit devoted to peace and good
will, had been known to enter people's houses without knocking; and you didn't
care to risk having him appear at your bedside, some dark night, to shake you
awake, and inquire why you had sold his friend Marcellus's promised bride to
Caligula.
Early in the morning of Diana's first day in the vineyard, Vobiscus
halted a few of the older men and women as they entered, informing them that
she would presently arrive for work--and why. They were to spread the word
among the others that the daughter of Legate Gallus was to be treated as they
treated one another. She was not to be favoured or questioned or stared at; nor
was she to be shunned. If the legionaries should appear in the vineyard,
everyone was to attend to his own business and make no effort to protect Diana,
which might only draw attention to her.
When Metella came in, Vobiscus detained her at the gate, explaining that
she was to wait until Diana arrived. Then she was to conduct her to a section
of the vineyard farthest from the highway, and show her what to do.
'She needn't really work, you know,' grinned Vobiscus, 'but she ought to
know how, in case--'
'I don't see why you picked on me,' complained Metella. 'Shall I be
expected to carry her basket, so she won't soil her lily-white hands?'
'She will not impose on you,' said Vobiscus. 'I should think you would
like to make friends with someone of her sort. You liked Marcellus, didn't
you?'
'Make friends, eh?' sniffed Metella. 'I can just see her wanting to know
anybody like me!'
'Don't be so touchy!' said Vobiscus. 'Here she comes now. Take her with
you. Don't be embarrassed. Treat her as if she was--a nobody.'
'A nobody, like me, eh?' commented Metella, bitterly.
'Here I am, Vobiscus,' announced Diana. 'Tell me where I am to go,
please.'
'Metella will look after you.' Vobiscus pointed his thumb at the girl,
who stood by, scowling. She handed Diana a basket and stiffly led the way,
Diana quickly coming abreast of her.
'I hope I'm not going to be a nuisance, Metella. Maybe, if you show me
how you do it--'
'You won't need any showing,' said Metella, crisply, staring straight
ahead as they passed between rows of curious eyes. 'You'll be just pretending
to work.'
'Oh, I shall want to do better than that,' protested Diana, in the low
voice that made everything she said sound like a secret.
'It will spoil your hands,' said Metella, sourly, after a long delay.
'Come, now!' coaxed Diana. 'If you'll tell me what I'm doing or saying
that makes me seem a snob, I'll try to stop it.'
Metella gave a slow, reluctant smile that lighted her face a little.
Then the scowl returned, as she plodded along doggedly.
'You had decided you weren't going to like me,' said Diana, 'and I don't
think that's fair. That isn't the way one girl should treat another.'
'But we aren't just two girls together,' objected Metella. 'You're
somebody, and I'm nobody.'
'That's partly true,' agreed Diana, soberly. 'I
am
somebody--and
I thought you were, too. You certainly don't look like a nobody, but you ought
to know.'
Metella gave her a quick glance out of the tail of her eye, shrugged and
grinned.
'You're funny,' she said, half to herself.
'I don't feel very funny,' confided Diana. 'I'm frightened, and I want
to go home to my mother.'
Metella's steps slowed, and she regarded Diana with an almost
sympathetic interest.
'They will not look for you in the vineyard,' she said. 'But they might
find you in the night, at the villa.'
'I have thought of that,' said Diana, 'but there's nowhere else where I
can sleep.'
Metella mumbled 'That's so,' and put down her basket. She handed Diana a
pair of short, heavy shears. 'All you have to do,' she demonstrated, 'is to
clip off the bunch close to the branch, and be careful not to bruise it.' For
some time they worked side by side in silence.
'Have you any room to spare in your house, Metella?' asked Diana.
'I'm sorry,' said Metella. 'It's only a little house, with two small
bedrooms. One for my father and mother.' There was a long pause. 'You wouldn't
want to share my kennel.'
'Why not?' said Diana. 'Would you let me?'
'It would make me very happy,' said Metella, wistfully.
'I would pay you, of course.'
'Please!' murmured Metella. 'Don't spoil it'
Diana laid her hand gently on the girl's thin shoulder, and looked
squarely into her face.
'You told me you were a nobody,' she murmured. 'Aren't you ashamed?'
Metella gave an embarrassed little chuckle and rubbed the corner of her
eye with a tanned finger.
'You're funny, Diana,' she whispered.
Marcipor rode swiftly, for his errand was urgent. The night air was
chilly. The horses were lively, especially the Senator's black gelding,
capering alongside. Old Marcipor, who in recent years was not often in the
saddle, wished he had chosen to ride Gallio's mount. He could have controlled
him better.
Crossing the river on the imposing stone bridge that Julius had built to
serve the Via Appia, Marcipor left the celebrated highway and turned off to the
right on a rutted road that angled southerly toward the extensive tufa
quarries.
It was altogether too hazardous an adventure, he felt, to approach the
Catacombs by the usual entrance. If the tunnel in the cypress grove were being
watched, even from a distance, a man with two horses in charge would most
certainly be challenged.
He had never used the secret entrance when alone, and was far from sure
that he would be able to find it, for it was skilfully concealed in one of the
long-abandoned quarries. He knew he would recognize the quarry, when he came to
it, for it was the next one beyond an old tool-house beside the road. Arriving
there, he tied the horses and made his way slowly down the precipitous slope to
the floor of the quarry. Feeling his way carefully along the wall in the feeble
light of a quarter-moon, the old man came upon a shallow pool, and remembered
having waded through it. Beyond the pool there was a cleft in the jutting rock.
He entered the narrow aperture and was moving cautiously into its deeper
darkness when a gruff voice halted him. Marcipor gave his name, and the sentry,
whom he recognized, told him to proceed.
'I came for Marcellus Gallio,' he said. 'His Greek slave, also one of
us, lies dying of wounds. It is a hard trip for an old man, Thrason. Will you
go and find Marcellus, giving him this message?'
'If you will stand guard, Marcipor.'
It seemed a long time, waiting in the stifling darkness, hearing no
sound but the dull thump of his own ageing heart. He strained to listen for the
scrape of sandals on the rough tufa. At length he saw the frail glow of a
taper, far down the slanting tunnel. As it approached, Marcipor saw that two
men were following Thrason; Marcellus first, and--The Big Fisherman!
There was a brief, low-voiced colloquy. It was agreed that Marcellus and
Peter were to take the horses. Marcipor would spend the night in the Catacombs.
'You told my father I was out here?' asked Marcellus.
'Yes, but he is so rejoiced to know you are alive, sir, that he was not
disturbed by your being with the Christians. You may be sure he will keep your
secret. Go now, sir. Demetrius has not long to live!'
Lentius led the hot horses away. Lucia, waiting on the portico, ran down
the steps and threw herself into her brother's arms, weeping softly and
clutching his sleeves in her trembling fingers.
'Is Demetrius still alive?' asked Marcellus urgently.
'He is still breathing,' said Lucia, 'but Sarpedon says he is losing
ground very fast and can't live more than another hour.'
Marcellus turned and beckoned to his companion.
'This is Simon Peter, Lucia. He is lately come from Galilee. He, too,
knows Demetrius.'
The huge, heavily bearded outlander bowed to her.
'Your servant, my sister!' he said, in a rich, deep voice.
'Welcome,' said Lucia, tearfully. 'Come--let us lose no time.'
Gallio, aged and weary, met them at the top of the stairs, embracing his
son in silence. Cornelia, much shaken by the night's events, swayed weakly into
his arms, whimpering incoherent endearments. Peter stood waiting on the
stairway. The Senator turned toward him with a challenging stare. Lucia
indifferently supplied the introduction.
'A friend of Marcellus,' she said. 'What is your name, please?'
'Peter,' he said, in his deep guttural voice.
The Senator nodded coolly, his attitude signifying that the ungroomed
stranger was out of his proper environment. But now Peter, who had grown
impatient over the delay, had a surprise for Senator Gallio. Advancing, the
huge Galilean confronted his haughty Roman host with the authoritative air of
one accustomed to giving commands.
'Take me to Demetrius!' he demanded.
At the sound of this strange, insistent voice, Cornelia released
Marcellus and gazed at the big foreigner with open-mouthed curiosity. Gallio,
dwarfed by the towering figure, obediently led the way to Demetrius's room.
They all followed, and ranged themselves about the bedside, Marcellus laying
his hand gently on the tousled head. At a sign from Gallio, who was obviously
impressed by the determined manner of their mysterious guest, Sarpedon rose
from his chair by the bed and made way for the newcomer. With calm
self-assurance, Peter took up Demetrius's limp hands in his great, brown fists
and shook them.
'Demetrius!' he called, as if he were shouting to him at a vast
distance; as if the dying Greek were miles and leagues away. There was no
response; not so much as the flicker of an eyelid. Peter called again, in a
booming voice that could easily have been heard over on the avenue,
'Demetrius!
Return!'
Nobody breathed. The company about the bed stood statuesque, waiting.
Suddenly Peter straightened to his full height and faced them with extended
arms and dismissing hands.
'Go!' he commanded. 'Leave us--alone together!'
They silently obeyed, filing out into the corridor; all but Marcellus,
who lingered to ask if he should go too. Peter nodded. He was stripping off his
homespun robe as Marcellus closed the door. They all drifted along the corridor
to the head of the stairway where, for some time, they stood silently listening
for further loud calls from the big Galilean who had taken possession of their
house. Marcellus expected to hear some whispers of protest, but no one spoke. A
tense silence prevailed. No sound came from Demetrius's room.
After a while the Senator broke the tension by turning toward the
stairs. With the cautious tread of a frail old man he slowly descended.
Sarpedon sullenly followed, and lowered himself into a chair in the atrium.
Cornelia took Marcellus by the arm and led him into her bedchamber, Lucia
following. No one was left in the corridor now but Tertia, who tiptoed back to
Demetrius's door. Crouching beside it, she waited and listened, hearing nothing
but her own stifled sobs.