Authors: Unknown
Shortly after dawn, Marcipor appeared. He bore himself with the gravity
and weariness of a very old man. The guards retired after admitting him, their
demeanour indicating that no effort would be made to listen to their
conversation. Marcipor's hands were cold and shaky. His eyes were full of
trouble.
'I would rather die, my son,' he quavered, 'than see you subjected to
this grievous persecution.'
'Marcipor, it has sometimes been found necessary for a man to give up
his life in defence of a great cause. I am sorely troubled, but not for myself.
I sorrow for those who love me.'
'Let me send for Peter!' entreated Marcipor. 'He has great power. He
might even be able to deliver you from prison.'
Marcellus shook his head.
'No, Marcipor; Peter's life is too valuable to be put in jeopardy.'
'But the Christos! Might he not come to your rescue--and Peter's?' asked
the old man, tearfully.
'It is not right to put the Christos to a test, Marcipor.'
'Here is the robe, sir.' Marcipor unlaced his tunic and drew out the
seamless garment.
Marcellus held it in his arms.
'Let not your heart be troubled, Marcipor,' he said, gently, laying his
hand on the old slave's bowed shoulder. 'Come again, tomorrow. There may be
better tidings.'
What hurt Diana most, as she sat at the high table beside the drunken
Emperor, was the baffled look of disappointment in Senator Gallio's eyes. He
had come alone to the banquet, and only because he must. They had seated him at
a distant table, but he and Diana had exchanged glances, and it was plain to
see that he believed she had forsaken his son in his hour of peril. She longed
to go to him and explain her predicament, but it was quite impossible. Their
situation was already much too precarious.
Caligula was giving most of his attention to Salome. He had tried, without
success, to have her repeat some of her ribald stories; but Salome, suspecting
that she was being used as a catspaw, had assumed an air of virtue. Little
Boots, not having seen her in this rôle, was at a loss to know what to do with
her. His plan for his entertainment at this tedious banquet was getting quite
out of hand. With Diana on his right, coldly dignified and taciturn, and Salome
on his left, refusing to conspire with him for Diana's discomfiture, the
Emperor--who had arrived at the surly stage of his drunkenness--decided to
better his position.
Turning to Salome, he remarked, with intention that Diana should
overhear:
'We have captured one of these Christians who seem bent on overturning
the government. His case is of special interest because he is a Tribune. Would
it amuse you, sweet Salome, to see a Christian Tribune recant--in the presence
of the Praetorian Guard and the Senate?'
Salome gave him an enigmatic smile, over her shoulder.
'Unless the Emperor means to see it through,' she drawled, 'it is risky.
These Christians do not recant, Your Majesty. My father once undertook to
humiliate a Christian before our court; and the fellow, instead of recanting,
delivered an address that practically ruined the reputation of the whole
family! Me--especially! You should have heard the things he said about me! It
was intolerable! We had to punish him.'
Caligula's malicious little close-set eyes sparkled.
'Whip him?' he asked--making sure Diana heard.
'We beheaded him!' rasped Salome.
'Well!' responded Caligula. 'You
did
punish him; didn't you? What
do you do to people, up there in Galilee, when they say something
false
about you?' He laughed loudly, punching Salome in the ribs with his elbow. Then
he turned about to see how Diana was liking the conversation. She was deathly
white.
Quintus, acting as Praetor, arose to announce Cornelius Capito, who
proceeded to make the worst speech of his life; for it was inevitable that it
should be a eulogy of Caligula, and old Capito was an honest man. A chorus
choir filed in and sang an ode. An Egyptian Prince delivered an address which
all but put Caligula to sleep. He beckoned to Quintus, and Quintus whispered to
an aide.
'Now,' said Little Boots to Salome, 'we will look into the loyalty of
our Christian Tribune. They have gone to fetch him.'
'Remember what I said, sire! These people have no fear.'
'Would you like to lay a little wager?'
'Anything you say, Your Majesty,' she shrugged.
Caligula unclasped an emerald bracelet from his wrist and laid it on the
table.
Salome unfastened a gold locket from the chain about her neck and opened
it.
'Humph!' grunted Caligula. 'What is it--a lock of hair, eh?'
'From the head of the only honest man I ever met,' declared Salome. 'He
was also the bravest.'
Caligula struggled to his feet and the entire assembly of Roman
dignitaries rose and bowed. With a benevolent sweep of his arm, he bade them
resume their seats. He was moved, he said, by the many expressions of fidelity
to the Crown. It was apparent, he went on, thickly, that the Praetorian Guard
and the Senate appreciated the value of a united loyalty to the Emperor and the
Empire. They cheered him, briefly.
It had lately come to the Emperor's notice, he said, that a secret party
of seditionists, calling themselves Christians, had been giving themselves to
vain talk about a King--one Jesus, a Jewish brawler--who for treason and
disturbance of the peace had been put to death in Jerusalem. His disciples, a
small company of ignorant and superstitious fishermen, had spread the word that
their dead chieftain had come to life and intended to set up a Kingdom.
'This foolishness,' continued Caligula, 'would hardly deserve our
recognition were it confined to the feeble-minded fanatics and the brawlers who
fan the flame of such superstitions in hope of gain. But it now comes to our
attention that one of our Tribunes, Marcellus Gallio--'
Slowly the eyes of the banquet guests moved toward Senator Gallio. He
did not change countenance; but sat staring, grey-faced, at Caligula, his mouth
firm-set, his deep eyes steady.
'We are reluctant to believe,' went on Caligula, 'that these reports
concerning Tribune Marcellus are true. It is his right, under our law, to stand
up before you--and make his defence!'
Diana was elated; her heart swelled with pride as Marcellus marched,
head erect, in the hollow square of Palace Guards as they stalked into the
banquet-hall and came to a halt before the Emperor's high table. The guards
were all fine specimens of manhood, in their late twenties and early thirties;
athletes, square-jawed, broad-shouldered, bronzed; yet--in every way,
Marcellus, thought Diana, was the fittest of them all; and if ever this Jesus,
whose own heroism had inspired her beloved Marcellus to endure this trial--if
ever this Jesus was to have a champion worthy of him, surely he could ask for
none more perfect than her Marcellus!
She had been so afraid he might not understand her being here beside
this sick and drunk and loathsome little wretch, with the pasty skin and beady
eyes and cruel mouth. But no--but no!--Marcellus understood. Their eyes met,
his lighting up in an endearing smile. His lips pantomimed a kiss! Diana's
heart beat hard--and her eyes were swimming.
Marcellus was asked to stand forth, and he stepped forward to face the
Emperor. Everybody stood. The silence in the hall was oppressive. Outside in
the Palace plaza the procession was forming that would convey Rome's lawgivers
to the Temple of Jupiter. The triumphal music was blaring discordantly from a
dozen gaudily decorated equipages in the waiting cavalcade, and the sweating
crowds that had massed in the avenue were shouting drunkenly; but, within the
spacious banquet-hall, the silence was tense.
'Tribune Marcellus Gallio,' began Caligula, with attempted dignity, 'you
have been accused of consorting with a party of revolutionists known as
Christians. It is said that these promoters of sedition--for the most part
slaves and vandals--have proclaimed the kingship of one Jesus, a Palestinian
Jew, who was put to death for treason, blasphemy, and disturbances of the
public peace. What have you to say?'
Diana searched her beloved's impassive face. There was not a trace of
fear. Indeed, to judge by his demeanour, the Emperor might have been bestowing
an honour. How handsome he was in his Tribune's uniform! What was that brown
garment that he held tightly in his folded arms? Diana's throat tightened as
she identified the Robe. A hot tear rolled down her cheek. Oh, please,
Christos! Marcellus is carrying your Robe! Please, Christos--Marcellus loves
you so! He has given up so much for you! He is trying so hard to atone for what
he did to you! Please, Christos! Do something for my Marcellus!
'It is true, Your Majesty,' Marcellus was replying, in a steady voice
that could be heard through the banquet-hall, 'I am a Christian. But I am not a
seditionist. I am not engaged in a plot to overthrow the Government. This
Jesus, whom
I
put to death on a cross, is indeed a King; but his Kingdom
is not of this world. He does not seek an earthly throne. His Kingdom is a
state of mind and heart that strives for peace and justice and good will among
all men.'
'You say
you
put this Jew to death?' barked Caligula. 'Why, then,
are you risking your life to serve as his ambassador?'
'It is a fair question, sire. This Jesus was innocent of any crime. At
his trial, the Procurator, who sat in judgment, entreated the prosecutors to
release him. He had gone about among the country people advising them to be
kind to one another, to be honest and truthful, merciful and forbearing. He had
healed their sick, opened the eyes of the blind, and had spoken simple words of
consolation to the distressed. They followed him--thousands of them--from place
to place--day by day--hanging on his words and crowding close to him for
comfort. They forsook their synagogues, where their priests had been interested
in them only for their tithes and lambs, and banded themselves together to
barter only with men who weighed with honest scales.' Marcellus paused, in his
lengthy speech.
'Proceed!' commanded the Emperor. 'You are an able advocate!' He smiled
contemptuously. 'You are almost persuading us to be a Christian.'
'Your Majesty,' went on Marcellus, in a remorseful tone, 'I was ordered
to conduct the execution. The trial had been held in a language I did not
understand; and not until my crime had been committed did I realize the
enormity of it.'
'Crime, you say?' shouted Caligula, truculently. 'And was it a crime,
then, to obey the command of the Empire?'
'The Empire, Your Majesty, is composed of fallible men who sometimes
make mistakes. And this, sire, was the greatest mistake that was ever made!'
'So! the Empire makes mistakes, then!' growled Caligula. 'Perhaps you
will be foolhardy enough to say that the Emperor himself might make a mistake!'
'It is I, Your Majesty, who am on trial; not the Emperor,' said
Marcellus, bowing.
Caligula was not quite prepared to deal with that comment. He flushed
darkly. A throaty little chuckle came up from Salome's direction, spurring his
anger.
'What is that brown thing you have clutched in your arms?' he demanded,
pointing his finger.
'It is his Robe, Your Majesty.' Marcellus held it up for inspection. 'He
wore it to the cross.'
'And you have the impudence to bring it along to your trial, eh? Hand it
to the Commander of the Guard.'
Marcellus obeyed. The Centurion reached out a hand, rather reluctantly,
and in effecting the transfer, the robe fell to the floor. The Centurion
haughtily waited for the prisoner to pick it up, but Marcellus made no move to
do so.
'Hand that garment to the Commander!' ordered Caligula. Marcellus
stooped, picked up the robe, and offered it to the Commander who motioned to
the guard beside him to receive it. The guard took it--and dropped it. All
breathing was suspended in the banquet-hall.
'Bring that thing here!' shouted Caligula, with bravado. He extended his
hand with fingers outspread. Marcellus moved to obey. Salome glanced up
suddenly, caught Caligula's eye, and ventured a warning frown. 'Hand it to the
daughter of Legate Gallus,' he commanded. 'She will keep it for you--as a
memento.'
It was a most impressive moment. Marcellus reached up and handed the
robe to Diana, who leaned forward eagerly to receive it. They exchanged an
intimate, lingering smile just as if they were alone together. Marcellus
stepped back to his place beside the Commander, and all eyes were fixed on
Diana's enraptured face as she gathered the robe to her bosom, regarding it
with a tenderness that was almost maternal.
Little Boots was not easily embarrassed, but it was plain to see that
the situation was becoming somewhat complicated. He had intended it as a drama
to impress the Senate. These great ones needed to learn that their new Emperor
expected unqualified loyalty and obedience, and plenty of it, whether the subject
be a penniless nobody or a person of high rank. The play hadn't gone well. The
other actors were neglecting to furnish cues for the imperial speeches. His
face was twisted with a mounting rage. He glared at Marcellus.
'You seem to attach a great deal of significance to this old coat!'
'Yes, Your Majesty,' replied Marcellus, quietly.
'Are you fool enough to believe that there is some magic in it?'
'It does possess a peculiar power, Your Majesty, for those who believe
that it was worn by the Son of God.'
There was a concerted stir throughout the great room; sound of a quick,
involuntary intake of breath; throaty sound of incredulous murmurs; metallic
sound of sidearms suddenly jostled in their scabbards as men turned about to
dart inquiring glances at their neighbours.
'Blasphemer!' bellowed Caligula. 'Have you the effrontery to stand
there--at this sacred feast in honour of Jupiter--and calmly announce that your
crucified Jew is divine?'