The Robe

by Lloyd C. Douglas

  ‘The stare 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 that crazy!’ 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, coming 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 tone was 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 honored 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! Meantime—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 marvelous 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 appréhensive, 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 favorite 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’ 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’ 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’ 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’ 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.

  Chapter XXI

  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 Jov
is 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 gay colors—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—deeply obligated 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 practiced 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 Callus—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.

  ‘We had a long talk with your handsome fool.’ Tiberius boosted his tired bones over to the edge of the big bed, and scowled into Diana’s anxious eyes. ‘You said that old Dodinius was crazy. Compared to this Marcellus, Dodinius is a ray of light!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ murmured Diana. ‘I was with him for an hour, yesterday afternoon, and he talked sensibly enough.’

  ‘Perhaps you did not discuss the one thing that touches him off. Do you know he has become convinced that this Jesus is divine—and has intentions to rule the whole world?’

  ‘Oh, no—please!’ entreated Diana, suddenly sickened.

  ‘You ask him! You won’t have to ask him! You just say, “Jesus”—and see what happens to you!’

  ‘But—naturally’—stammered Diana, loyally—‘Marcellus would want to tell Your Majesty everything about this poor dead Jew, seeing that’s why he was sent abroad.’

  ‘Poor dead Jew—indeed!’ shrilled Tiberius. ‘This Galilean came to life again! Went about the country! Walked, talked, ate with people! Still going about, they think! Likely to turn up anywhere!’

  ‘Perhaps they didn’t kill him,’ suggested Diana.

  ‘Of course they killed him!’ snarled Tiberius.

  ‘And Marcellus thinks he came to life: did he see him?’

  ‘No—but he believes it. And he has it that this Jesus is a god, who will take command of the world and rule it without armies.’

  Diana winced and shook her head.

  ‘I thought he was fully recovered,’ she said, dismally. ‘This sounds as if he were worse off than ever. What are we to do?’

  ‘Well—if there is anything to be done, you will have to do it yourself. May we remind you that our interest in this mad young Tribune is solely on your account? It was for your sake that we brought him back from that fort at Minoa. For your sake, again, we found an errand for him outside the country to give him time to recover his mind. We see now that we sent him to the wrong place—but it is too late to correct that mistake. He knows that he is under a heavy obligation to you. Besides—he loves you. Perhaps you can prevail upon him to abandon his interest in this Galilean.’ The old man paused, shook his head slowly, and added, ‘We doubt whether you can do anything. You see, my child, he really believes it!’

  ‘Then—why not let him believe it?’ insisted Diana. ‘I love him—no matter what he believes about that—or anything! He won’t pester me with this crazy idea; not if I tell him I have no interest in it.’

  ‘Ah—but there’s more to it than that, young woman!’ declared Tiberius, sternly, it isn’t as if Marcellus, as a casual traveler in Galilee, had happened upon this strange story and had become convinced of its truth. In that case, he might regard it as a seven-day wonder—and let it go at that. As the matter stands, he probably considers himself bound to do something about it. He crucified this Jesus! He has a debt to pay! It’s a bigger debt—by far—than the one he owes you!’

  ‘Did he say that, Your Majesty?’ asked Diana, deeply hurt.

  ‘No—he did not say that. But your Marcellus, unfortunately, is a young man of strong will and high integrity. This is going to cause him a great deal of trouble—and you, too, we surmise. He will feel obligated to take part in this Jesus movement.’

  ‘Movement?’ echoed Diana, mystifiedly.

  ‘Nothing less—and it has in it the seeds of revolution. Already, throughout our Palestinian provinces, thousands are professing that this Jesus is the Christos—the Anointed One—and are calling themselves Christians. The thing is moving rapidly, up through Macedonia, down through Mesopotamia; moving quietly, but gathering strength.’

  Diana listened with wide, incredulous eyes.

  ‘You mean—they might try to overthrow the Empire?’

  ‘Not by force. If some foolhardy fellow were to stand up on a cart and yell at these captive people to take up arms against their masters, they would know that was hopeless. But—here comes a man without an army; doesn’t want an army; has no political aspirations; doesn’t want a throne; has no offices to distribute; never fought a battle; never owned a sword; hasn’t a thing to recommend him as a leader—except’—Tiberius lowered his voice to a throaty rumble—‘except that he knows how to make blind men see, and cripples walk; and, having been killed for creating so much excitement, returns from the dead, saying, “Follow me—and I will set you free!” Well—why shouldn’t they follow him—if they believe all that?’ The old man chuckled mirthlessly. ‘There’s more than one kind of courage, my child,’ he soliloquized, ‘and the most potent of all is the reckless bravery of people who have nothing to lose.’

  ‘And you think Marcellus is one of these Christians?’ queried Diana.

  ‘Of course he is! Makes no bones about it! He had the audacity to tell us—to our face—that the Roman Empire is doomed!’

  ‘Why—what an awful thing to say!’ exclaimed Diana.

  ‘Well—at least it’s a dangerous thing to say,’ mumbled Tiberius; ‘and if he is fool enough to blurt that out in the presence of the Emperor, he is not likely to be prudent in his remarks to other people.’

  ‘He might be tried for treason!’ feared Diana.

  ‘Yes—but he wouldn’t care. That’s the trouble with this new Galilean idea. The people who believe it are utterly possessed! This Jesus was tried for treason—and convicted—and crucified. But he rose from the dead—and he will take care of all who give up their lives as his followers. They have no fear. Now—you set a thing like that in motion—and there’d be no end to it!’

  ‘But what has Marcellus to gain by predicting doom for the Empire?’ wondered Diana. ‘That’s quite absurd, I think.’

  ‘Had you thought the Roman Empire might last forever?’ rasped Tiberius.

  ‘I never thought much about it,’ admitted Diana.

  ‘No—probably not,’ mumbled the old man, absently. He lay for some time staring at the high-vaulted ceiling, it might be interesting,’ he went on, talking to himself—‘it might be interesting to watch this strange thing develop. If it could go on—the way it seems to be going now—nothing could stop it. But—it won’t go on—that way. It will collapse—after a while. Soon as it gets into a strong position. Soon as it gets strong enough to dictate te
rms. Then it will squabble over its offices and spoils—and grow heady with power and territory. The Christian afoot is a formidable fellow—but—when he becomes prosperous enough to ride a horse—’ Tiberius suddenly broke out in a startling guffaw. ‘He! he! he!—when he gets a horse! Ho! ho! ho!—a Christian on horseback will be just like any other man on horseback! This Jesus army will have to travel on foot—if it expects to accomplish anything!’

  Diana’s eyes widened as she listened, with mingled pity and revulsion, to the mad old Emperor’s prattle. He had talked quite rationally for a while. Now he was off again. By experience she knew that his grim amusement would promptly be followed by an unreasonable irascibleness. She moved to the edge of her chair, as to inquire whether she might go now. The old man motioned her back.

  Your Marcellus has another audience with us at noon,’ he said, soberly. “We told him we had no intention of permitting you to throw yourself away by marrying a man who has anything to do with this dangerous Jesus business. If he goes in for it seriously—and we have no doubt he intends to—he will lose his friends—and his life, too. Let him do it if he likes; but he shall not drag you along! We told him he must choose. We told him if he did not abandon this Christian party at once, we would give you in marriage to Gaius.’

  ‘Oh—please—no!’ begged Diana.

  ‘We admit,’ chuckled Tiberius, ‘that Gaius has his little faults; but he can make a Princess of you! You may not think it an ideal alliance, but you will be happier as a Princess than as the wife of a crazy man in love with a ghost!’

  ‘What did he say,’ Diana whispered, ‘when you told him you would give me to Gaius?’

  ‘He wanted until noon—today—to consider.’ The old man raised up on his elbow to note the effect of this shocking announcement. His grin slowly faded when he saw how painfully she had been wounded.

  ‘He had to have time to consider,’ she reflected, brokenly—‘to consider—whether he would let me be handed over—to Gaius!’

  ‘Yes—and our opinion is that he will let that happen! Regardless of his love for you, my child, he will not give up his Jesus!’ Tiberius shook a long bony finger directly in her face. ‘That’s what we meant when we told you that this Christian movement is no small thing! Men who believe in it will give up everything! With Marcellus, nothing else matters. Not even you!’