THE ROBE (25 page)

Clearly the next thing to be done was to do nothing. Marcellus must be
given time to compose himself. There would be no sense in trying to reason with
him in his present state. It would be equally futile to plead for pardon.
Marcellus had far better be left alone for a while.

Laying the folded robe across the top of the capacious gunny-bag,
Demetrius slipped quietly out through the front door and strolled through the
cypress grove toward the street. Deeply preoccupied, he did not see Theodosia,
who was sitting in the swing, until he was too close to retreat unobserved. She
straightened from her lounging posture, put down the trifle of needlework
beside her, and beckoned to him. He was quite lonely enough to have welcomed
her friendly gesture, but he disliked the idea of compromising her. Theodosia
was evidently a very wilful girl, accustomed to treating the conventions with
saucy indifference.

With undisguised reluctance, he walked toward the swing; and, at a
little distance, drew up stiffly to listen to whatever she might want to say.
He was far from pleased by the prospect of getting them both into trouble, but
there was no denying that Theodosia made a very pretty picture, in the graceful
white peplos girdled with a wide belt of panelled silver, a scarlet ribbon
about her head that accented the whiteness of her brow, and gaily beaded
sandals much too fragile for actual service.

'Why is it,' she demanded, with a comradely smile, 'that we see nothing
of your master? Have we offended him? Does he disapprove of us? Tell me,
please. I am dying of curiosity.'

'My master has not been well,' replied Demetrius, soberly.

'Ah, but there's more to it than that.' Theodosia's dark eyes were
narrowed knowingly as she slowly nodded her blue-black head. 'You're troubled
too, my friend. Needn't tell me you're not. You are worried about him. Is that not
so?'

It was evident that this girl was used to having her own way with
people. She was so radiant with vitality that even her impudence was
forgivable. Demetrius suddenly surprised them both with a candid confession.

'It is true,' he admitted. 'I am worried--beyond the telling!'

'Is there anything that we can do?' Theodosia's eager eyes were
sincerely sympathetic.

'No,' said Demetrius, hopelessly.

'He has puzzled me,' persisted Theodosia. 'When you arrived, the other
night, Marcellus struck me as a person who was trying to get away from
something. He didn't really want to talk to us. You know that. He was polite
enough, but very anxious to be off. I can't think it was because he did not
like us. He had the air of one wanting to escape. It's clear enough that he is
not hiding from the law; for surely this is no place for a fugitive.'

Demetrius did not immediately reply, though Theodosia had paused several
times to give him a chance to say something. He had been busy thinking. As he
stood listening to this bright girl's intuitive speculations, it occurred to
him that she might be able to offer some sensible advice, if she knew what the
problem was. Indeed, it would be better for her to know the facts than to
harbour a suspicion that Marcellus was a rascal. He knew that Theodosia was
reading in his perplexed eyes a half-formed inclination to be frank. She gave
him an encouraging smile.

'Let's have it, Demetrius,' she murmured, intimately. 'I won't tell.'

'It is a long story,' he said, moodily. 'And it would be most imprudent
for the daughter of Eupolis to be seen in an intimate conversation with a
slave.' He lowered his voice confidentially. 'Your father is already annoyed,
you know, because you made the mistake of treating me cordially.'

Theodosia's pretty lips puckered thoughtfully.

'I do not think anyone is watching us,' she said, glancing cautiously
toward the house. 'If you will walk briskly down the street, as if setting out
on an errand, and turn to the right at the first corner, and again to the
right, at the next one, you will come to a high-walled garden behind that old
temple over there.'

Demetrius shook his head doubtfully.

'Priests are notorious spies,' he said. 'At least they are in Rome, and
it was true of them in Corinth. Doubtless it is the same here in Athens. I
should think a temple would be about the last place that people would go for a
private talk. We might find ourselves under suspicion of discussing a plot.'

Theodosia flushed a little, and gave him a mischievous smile.

'We will not be suspected of sedition,' she promised. 'I shall see to
that. Two very good friends will have come to the garden--not to arrange for
poisoning the Prefect's porridge, but to exchange pleasant compliments.'

Demetrius's heart quickened, but he frowned.

'Don't you think,' he asked, prudently, 'that you are taking a good deal
for granted by trusting so much in the honesty of a slave?'

'Yes,' admitted Theodosia. 'Go quickly now. I'll join you presently.'

Deeply stirred by the anticipation of this private interview, but
obliged to view it with some anxiety, Demetrius obeyed. Theodosia's almost
masculine directness assured him that she was quite beyond a cheap flirtation,
but there was no denying her amiable regard for him. Well, he would know, soon
enough, whether she was really concerned about Marcellus, or enlivening a dull
afternoon with a bit of adventure. It was conceivable, of course, that both of
these things might be true.

As he neared the old wall, Demetrius firmly pressed his grey head-band
down over the ear that denied him a right to talk on terms of equality with a
free woman. It gave him a rather rakish appearance which, he felt, might not be
altogether inappropriate if this meeting was to be staged as a rendezvous.
Sauntering in through the open gate, he strolled to the far end of the arbour
and sat down on the commodious marble lectus. A well-nourished priest, in a
dirty brown cassock, gave him an indifferent nod, and resumed his hoeing.

He did not have long to wait. She was coming out of the temple, into the
cloister, swinging along with her independent head held high. Demetrius stood
to wait for her. It was hard to break an old habit, and his posture was stiffly
conventional.

'Sit down!' she whispered. 'And don't look so serious.'

He did not have to dissemble a smile as he obeyed her, for her command
had been amusing enough. She dropped down close beside him on the stone seat
and gave him both hands. The priest leaned on his hoe and sanctioned their
meeting with a knowing leer. Then he looked a bit puzzled. Presently he dropped
the hoe, deliberately cut a large red rose, and waddled toward them, his shifty
little eyes alive with enquiry. Affecting an almost sinister smile he presented
the rose to Theodosia. She thanked him prettily and raising it to her face inhaled
luxuriously. The priest, with his curiosity about them still unsatisfied, was
backing away.

'Put your arm around me,' she muttered, deep in the rose, 'and hold me
tight--as if you meant it.'

Demetrius complied, so gently, yet so competently, that the priest
wagged his shaggy head and ambled back to his weeds. Then, apparently deciding
that he had done enough work for one day, he negligently trailed the hoe behind
him as he plodded away to disappear within the cloister, leaving them in sole
possession of the quiet garden.

Reluctantly withdrawing his arm as Theodosia straightened, Demetrius
remarked, with a twinkle, 'Do you suppose that holy beast might still be
watching us--through some private peep-hole?'

'Quite unlikely,' doubted Theodosia, with a gently reproving smile.

'Perhaps we should take no risks,' he cautioned, drawing her closer.

She leaned back in his arm without protest.

'Now,' she said, expectantly, 'begin at the beginning and tell me all
about it. The Tribune is afraid of something, or somebody. Who is it? What is
it?'

Demetrius was finding it difficult to launch upon his narrative.
Theodosia's persuasive warmth was distracting his mind.

'You are very kind to me,' he said, softly.

'I should have had a brother,' she murmured. 'Let's pretend you are he.
You know, I feel that way about you, as if we'd known each other a long time.'

Resolutely pulling himself together, Demetrius began his story, not at
the beginning but at the end.

'Marcellus,' he declared soberly, 'is afraid of a certain robe--a brown,
homespun, blood-stained garment--that was worn by a man he was commanded to
crucify. The man was innocent, and Marcellus knows it.'

'And how did he come by the robe?' queried Theodosia.

It was, as he had threatened, a long story; but Demetrius told it all,
beginning with Minoa and the journey to Jerusalem. Frequently Theodosia
detained him with a question.

'But Demetrius,' she interrupted, turning to look up into his face,
'what was there about this Jesus that made him seem to you such a great man?
You say he was so lonely and disappointed, that morning, when the crowd wanted
him as their king: but what had he done to make so many people admire him so
much?'

Demetrius had to admit he didn't know.

'It is hard to explain,' he stammered. 'You had a feeling that he was
sorry for all these people. This may sound very foolish, Theodosia; but it was
as if they were homeless little children crying for something, and--'

'Something he couldn't give them?' she wondered, thoughtfully.

'There you have it!' declared Demetrius. 'It was something he couldn't
give them, because they were too inexperienced to understand what they needed.
Maybe this will seem a crazy thing to say: it was almost as if this Galilean
had come from some far-away country where people were habitually honest and
friendly and did not quarrel; some place where the streets were clean and no
one was greedy, and there were no beggars, no thieves, no fights, no courts, no
prisons, no soldiers; no rich, no poor.'

'You know there's no place like that,' sighed Theodosia.

'They asked him, at his trial--I'll tell you about that,
presently--whether he was a king; and he said he had a kingdom--but--it was not
in this world.'

Theodosia glanced up, startled, and studied his eyes.

'Now don't tell me you believe anything like that,' she murmured,
disappointedly. 'You don't look like a person who would---'

'I'm not!' he protested. 'I don't know what I believe about this Jesus.
I never saw anyone like him; that's as far as I can go.'

'That's far enough,' she sighed. 'I was afraid you were going to tell me
he was one of the gods.'

'I take it you don't believe in the gods,' grinned Demetrius.

'Of course not! But do go on with your story. I shouldn't have
interrupted.'

Demetrius continued. Sometimes it was almost as if he were talking to
himself, as he reviewed the tragic events of that sorry day. He relived his
strange emotions as the darkness settled over Jerusalem at mid-afternoon.
Theodosia was very quiet, but her heart was beating hard and her eyes were
misty.

'And he didn't try to defend himself--at all?' she asked, huskily; and
Demetrius, shaking his head, went on to tell her of the gambling for the robe,
and what had happened that night at the Insula when Marcellus had been forced
to put it on.

When he had finished his strange story, the sun was low. Theodosia rose
slowly, and they walked arm in arm toward the cloister.

'Poor Marcellus,' she murmured. 'It would have to be something very
exciting indeed, to divert his mind.'

'Well, I've tried everything I can think of,' sighed Demetrius. 'And now
I'm afraid he has completely lost confidence in me.'

'He thinks the robe is--haunted?'

Demetrius made no answer to that; and Theodosia, tugging at his arm,
impulsively brought him to a stop. She looked into his eyes bewildered.

'But--
you
don't believe that! Do you?' she demanded.

'For my unhappy master, Theodosia, the robe is haunted. He is convinced
of it, and that makes it so--for him.'

'And what do
you
think? Is it haunted for
you?'

He avoided her eyes for a moment.

'What I am going to say may sound silly. When I was a very little boy,
and had fallen down and hurt myself, I would run into the house and find my
mother. She would not bother to ask me what in the world I had been doing to
bruise myself that way, or scold me for not being more careful. She would take
me in her arras and hold me until I had done weeping, and everything was all
right again. Perhaps my skinned knee still hurt, but I could bear it now.' He
looked down tenderly into Theodosia's soft eyes. 'You see, my mother was always
definitely on my side, no matter how I came by my mishaps.'

'Go on,' she said. 'I'm following you.'

'Often I have thought--' He interrupted himself to interpolate, 'Slaves
get very lonely, my friend!--Often I have thought there should be, for grown-up
people, some place where they could go, when badly hurt, and find the same kind
of assurance that a little child experiences in his mother's arms. Now this
robe--it isn't haunted, for me, but--'

'I think I understand, Demetrius.'

After a moment's silence, they separated, leaving as they had arrived.
Demetrius went out through the gate in the old wall. His complete review of the
mysterious story had had a peculiar effect on him. Everything seemed unreal, as
if he had spent an hour in a dream-world.

The clatter of the busy street, when he had turned the corner, jangled
him out of his reverie. It occurred to him--and he couldn't help smiling--that
he had spent a long time with his arm around the highly desirable Theodosia,
almost oblivious of her physical charms. And he knew she had not been piqued by
his fraternal attitude toward her. The story of Jesus--inadequately as
Demetrius had related it out of his limited information--was of an emotional
quality that had completely eclipsed their natural interest in each other's
affections. Apparently the Galilean epic, even when imperfectly understood, had
the capacity for lifting a friendship up to very high ground.