THE ROBE (50 page)

Rousing with a start, Marcellus cautiously raised himself on one elbow
and peered out through the open tent-door. In the grey-blue, pre-dawn twilight
he dimly saw the figure of a tall, powerfully built, bearded man. It was much
too dark to discern the intruder's features.

His attitude did not denote furtiveness. He stood erect, apparently
attempting to identify the occupants of the tent, and probably finding it
impossible. Presently he moved away.

As soon as he had disappeared, Marcellus arose, quietly strapped his
sandals, buckled his belt, and slipped out. There had been nothing sinister in
this unexpected visitation. Obviously the man was neither a thief nor an
ordinary prowler. He had not acted as if he had plans to molest the camp. It
was quite conceivable that he had arranged to meet Justus up here and had been
delayed. Finding the campers still asleep, he had probably decided to wait
awhile before making himself known.

This seemed a reasonable surmise, for upon their arrival at the hilltop
yesterday afternoon Justus had scrutinized the terrain as if expecting to be
joined here by some acquaintance, though that was a habit of his--always
scanning the landscape whenever an elevation presented a farther view; always
peering down cross-roads; always turning about with a start whenever a door
opened behind him.

It was still too dark to explore the terrain in quest of the mysterious
visitor. Marcellus walked slowly toward the northern rim of the narrow plateau
where he and Justus had sat. Low in the east, beyond the impenetrable darkness
that mapped the lake, the blue was beginning to fade out of the grey. Now the
grey was dissolving on the horizon and a long, slim ribbon of gleaming white appeared.
Outspread lambent fingers reached up high, higher, higher into the dome from
beyond a dazzling, snow-crowned mountain. Now the snow was touched with streaks
of gold. Marcellus sat down to watch the dawn arrive.

At not more than a stadium's distance, also facing the sunrise, sat the
unidentified wayfarer, not yet aware that he was observed. Apparently absorbed
by the pageant in the east, he sat motionless with his long arms hugging his
knees. As the light increased, Marcellus noted that the man was shabbily
dressed and had no pack; undoubtedly a local resident; a fisherman, perhaps,
for the uncouth knitted cap, drawn far down over his ears, was an identifying
headgear affected by sailors.

With no wish to spy on the fellow, Marcellus noisily cleared his throat.
The stranger slowly turned his head, then arose nimbly and approached. Halting,
he waited for the Roman to speak first.

'Who are you?' asked Marcellus. 'And what do you want?'

The newcomer ran his fingers through his beard, and smiled broadly. Then
he tugged off the wretched cap from a swirl of tousled hair.

'This disguise,' he chuckled, 'is better than I had thought.'

'Demetrius!' Marcellus leaped to his feet and they grasped each other's
hands. 'Demetrius!--how did you find me? Have you been in trouble? Are you
being pursued? Where did you come by such shabby clothes? Are you hungry?'

'I learned yesterday afternoon in Cana that you were on the way to
Capernaum. I have not been in much trouble, and am not now pursued. The
clothes'--Demetrius held up his patched sleeves, and grinned--'are they not
befitting to a vagrant? I had plenty to eat, last night. Your donkey-boy helped
me to my supper and lent me a rug.'

'Why didn't you make yourself known?' asked Marcellus, reproachfully.

'I wanted to see you alone, sir, before encountering Justus.'

'Proceed, then,' urged Marcellus, 'and tell me as much as you can. He
will be waking presently.'

'Stephanos told you of my flight from Jerusalem--'

'Have you been back there?' interrupted Marcellus.

'No, sir; but I contrived to send Stephanos a message, and he wrote me
fully about your meeting.' Demetrius surveyed his master from head to foot.
'You are looking fit, sir, though you've lost a pound or two.'

'Walking,' explained Marcellus. 'Good for the torso; bad for the feet.
Keep on with your story now. We haven't much time.'

Demetrius tried to make it brief. He had fled to Joppa, hoping to see
his master when his ship came in. He had been hungry and shelterless for a few
days, vainly seeking work on the docks.

'One morning I saw an old man dragging a huge parcel of green hides
along the wharf,' he went on. 'I was so desperate for employment that I
shouldered the reeking pelts and carried them to the street.' The old Jew
trotted alongside protesting. When I put the loathsome burden down, he offered
me two farthings. I refused, saying he had not engaged me. He then asked what I
would take to carry the hides to his tannery, a half-mile up the street that
fronted the beach. I said I would do it for my dinner.'

'Not so many details, Demetrius!' insisted Marcellus, impatiently. 'Get
on with it!'

'These details are important, sir. The old man wanted to know what part
of Samaria I had come from. Perhaps you have discovered that our Aramaic is
loaded with Samaritan dialect. His people had lived in Samaria. His name was
Simon. He talked freely and cordially, asking many questions. I told him I had
worked for old Benjamin in Athens, which pleased him, for he knew about
Benjamin. Then I confided that I had worked for Benyosef in Jerusalem. He was
delighted. At his house, hard by the tannery, he bade me bathe and provided me
with clean clothing.' Demetrius grinned at his patches. 'This is it,' he said.

'You shall have something better,' said Marcellus. 'I am a clothing
merchant. I have everything. Too, too much of everything. So--what about this
old Simon?'

'He became interested in me because I had worked for Benyosef, and asked
me if I were one of them, and I said I was.' Demetrius studied Marcellus's
face. 'Do you understand what I mean, sir?' he asked, wistfully.

Marcellus nodded, rather uncertainly.

'Are you, really--one of them?' he inquired.

'I am trying to be, sir,' responded Demetrius. 'It isn't easy. One is
not allowed to fight, you know. You just have to take it--the way he did.'

'You're permitted to defend yourself, aren't you?' protested Marcellus.

'
He
didn't,' replied Demetrius, quietly.

Marcellus winced, and shook his head. They fell silent for a moment.

'That part of it,' went on Demetrius, 'is always going to be difficult;
too difficult, I fear. I promised Stephanos, that morning when I left
Jerusalem, that I would do my best to obey the injunctions, and in less than an
hour I had broken my word. Simon Peter--he is the chief of the disciples, the
one they call "The Big Fisherman"--he baptised me, just before dawn,
in the presence of all the others in Benyosef's shop, and, sir--'

'Baptized you?' Marcellus's perplexity was so amusing that Demetrius was
forced to smile, in spite of his seriousness.

'Water,' he explained. 'They pour it on you, or put you in it, whichever
is more convenient--and announce that you are now clean, in Jesus' name. That
means you're one of them, and you're expected to follow Jesus' teachings.'
Demetrius's eyes clouded and he shook his head self-reproachfully as he added,
'I was in a fight before my hair was dry.'

Marcellus tried to match his slave's remorseful mood, but his grin was
already out of control.

'What happened?' he asked, suppressing a chuckle.

Demetrius glumly confessed his misdemeanour. The legionaries had a habit
of stopping unarmed citizens along the road, compelling them to shoulder their
packs. A great hulk of a soldier had demanded this service of Demetrius and he
had refused to obey. Then there was the savage thrust of a lance. Demetrius had
stepped out of the way, and the legionary had drawn up for another onslaught.

'In taking the lance from him,' continued Demetrius, 'I broke it.'

'Over his head, I suspect,' accused Marcellus.

'It wasn't a very good lance, sir,' commented Demetrius. 'I am surprised
that the army doesn't furnish these men with better equipment.'

Marcellus laughed aloud. 'And then what?' he urged.

'That was all. I did not tarry. Now that I have broken my
promise,'--Demetrius's tone was repentant--'do you think I can still consider
myself a Christian? Do you suppose I'll have to be baptized again?'

'I don't know,' mumbled Marcellus, busy with his own thoughts. 'What do
you mean--"Christian"?'

'That's the new name for people who believe in Jesus. They're calling
Jesus "The Christos," meaning "The Anointed."'

'But that's Greek! All these people are Jews, aren't they?'

'By no means, sir! This movement is travelling fast--and far. Simon the
tanner says there are at least three hundred banded together down in Antioch.'

'Amazing!' exclaimed Marcellus. 'Do you suppose Justus knows?'

'Of course.'

'This is astounding news, Demetrius! I had considered the whole thing a
lost cause! How could it stay alive--after Jesus was dead?'

Demetrius stared into his master's bewildered eyes.

'Don't you--haven't you heard about that, sir?' he inquired, soberly.
'Hasn't Justus told you?'

Both men turned at the sound of a shrill shout.

'Who is the child?' asked Demetrius, as Jonathan came running toward
them. Marcellus explained briefly. The little boy's pace slowed as he neared
them, inquisitively eyeing the stranger.

'Grandfather says you are to come and eat now,' he said moving close
toMarcellus, but giving full attention to the unexplained man in the shabby
tunic. 'Do you catch fish?' he asked Demetrius. 'Have you a boat? Can I ride in
it?'

'This man's name is Demetrius,' said Marcellus. 'He is not a fisherman,
and he does not own a boat. He borrowed the cap.'

Demetrius smiled and fell in behind them as Marcellus, with the little
boy's hand in his, walked toward the tent. Jonathan turned around,
occasionally, to study the newcomer who followed with measured steps.

Justus, busily occupied at the fire, a few yards from the tent, glanced
up with a warm smile of recognition and a word of greeting, apparently not much
surprised at the arrival of their guest.

'May I take over, sir?' asked Demetrius.

'It is all ready, thank you,' said Justus. 'You sit down with Marcellus,
and I shall serve you.'

Demetrius bowed and stepped aside. Presently Justus came to the low
table he had improvised by drawing a couple of packing-cases together, and
served Marcellus and Jonathan with the broiled fish and honey cakes. Jonathan
motioned with his head toward Demetrius and looked up anxiously into
Marcellus's face.

'Why doesn't he come and eat with us?' he inquired.

Marcellus was at a loss for a prompt and satisfactory reply.

'You needn't worry about Demetrius, son,' he remarked, casually. 'He
likes to stand up when he eats.'

Instantly he divined that he had said the wrong thing. Justus, who was
sitting down opposite them, with his own dish, frowned darkly. He had some deep
convictions on the subject of slavery. It was bad enough, his glum expression
said, that Demetrius should be Marcellus's slave. It was intolerable that this
relationship should be viewed so casually.

Jonathan pointed over his shoulder with his half-eaten cake in the
direction of Demetrius, who was standing before the fire, dish in hand,
apparently enjoying his breakfast.

'That man stands up when he eats, Grandfather!' he remarked in a high
treble. 'Isn't that funny?'

'No,' muttered Justus, 'it is not funny.' With that, he left the table,
and went over to stand beside the slave.

Marcellus decided not to make an issue of it and proceeded to some
lively banter with Jonathan, hoping to distract the child's attention.

Demetrius surveyed Justus's grim face and smiled.

'You mustn't let this slave business distress you, sir,' he said,
quietly. 'My master is most kind and considerate. He would gladly give his life
for me, as I would for him. But slaves do not sit at table with their masters.
It is a rule.'

'A bad rule!' grumbled Justus, deep in his throat. 'A rule that deserves
to be broken! I had thought better of Marcellus Gallio.'

'It is a small matter,' said Demetrius, calmly. 'If you wish to make my
slavery easier, please think no more of it, sir.'

At that, Justus's face cleared a little. There was no use making a scene
over a situation that was none of his business. If Demetrius was contented,
there wasn't much more to be said.

After they had eaten, Justus carried a dish of food out to the
donkey-boy, Jonathan trotting beside him, still perplexed about the little
episode.

'Grandfather,' he shrilled, 'Marcellus Gallio treats Demetrius no better
than we treat our donkey-boy.'

Justus frowned, but made no attempt to explain. His grandson had given
him something new to think about. In the meantime Demetrius had joined
Marcellus, his bearded lips puckered as he tried to control a grin.

'Perhaps it will clear the air for everybody, sir,' he said, 'if I go on
by myself to Capernaum. Let me meet you, late this afternoon.'

'Very well,' consented Marcellus. 'Ask Justus where he proposes to stop.
But are you sure it is prudent for you to go down to Capernaum? We have a fort
there, you know.'

'I shall be watchful, sir,' promised Demetrius.

'Take this!' Marcellus poured a handful of coins into his palm. 'And
keep your distance from that fort!'

Demetrius, unencumbered, made good progress down the serpentine road to
the valley floor. The air was hot. He carried his shabby coat and the
disreputable cap under his arm. The lake-shore on this side was barren and
unpopulated. Tossing off his clothing, he waded out and swam joyously, tumbled
about like a dolphin, floated on his back, churned the water with long overhand
strokes, luxuriating in his aquatics and the thorough cleansing. He came out
shaking his mop of hair through his fingers, the blazing sun drying him before
he reached the little pile of patched and faded garments.