Chapter 2

The Senator was waiting for him in the library.

‘Well—what did our friend Capito have for you?’ he asked, making no attempt to disguise his uneasiness.

‘He was not there. A deputy served me.’ Marcellus laid the scroll on the desk and sat down to wait while his father impatiently thrust his knife through the heavy seals. For what seemed a very long time the narrowed eyes raced the length of the pompous manifesto. Then Gallio cleared his throat, and faced his son with troubled eyes.

‘You are ordered to take command of the garrison at Minoa,’ he muttered.

‘Where’s Minoa?’

‘Minoa is a villainously dirty little port city in southern Palestine.’

‘I never heard of it,’ said Marcellus. ‘I know about our forts at Caesarea and Joppa; but—what have we at this Minoa?’

‘It is the point of departure for the old trail that leads to the Dead Sea. Most of our salt comes from there, as you probably know. The duty of our garrison at Minoa is to make that road safe for our caravans.’

‘Doesn’t sound like a very interesting job,’ commented Marcellus. ‘I was anticipating something dangerous.’

‘Well—you will not be disappointed. It is dangerous enough. The Bedouins who menace that salt trail are notoriously brutal savages. But because they are independent gangs of bandits, with hideouts in that rocky desert region, we have never undertaken a campaign to crush them. It would have required five legions.’ The Senator was speaking as if he were very well informed about Minoa, and Marcellus was listening with full attention.

‘You mean these desert brigands steal the salt from our caravans?’

‘No—not the salt. They plunder the caravans on the way in, for they have to carry supplies and money to hire laborers at the salt deposits. Many of the caravans that set out over that trail are never heard from again. But that isn’t quite all,’ the Senator continued. ‘We have not been wasting very good men in the fort at Minoa. The garrison is composed of a tough lot of rascals. More than half of them were once commissioned officers who, for rank insubordination or other irregularities, are in disfavor with the Government. The lesser half is made up of an assortment of brawlers whose politics bred discontent.’

‘I thought the Empire had a more prompt and less expensive method of dealing with objectionable people.’

‘There are some cases,’ explained the Senator, ‘in which a public trial or a private assassination might stir up a protest. In these instances, it is as effective—and more practical—to send the offender to Minoa.’

‘Why, sir—this is equivalent to exile!’ Marcellus rose, bent forward over his father’s desk, and leaned his weight on his white-knuckled fists. ‘Do you know anything more about this dreadful place?’

Gallio slowly nodded his head.

‘I know all about it, my son. For many years, one of my special duties in the Senate—together with four of my colleagues—has been the supervision of that fort.’ He paused, and began slowly rising to his feet, his deep-lined face livid with anger. ‘I believe that was why Gaius Drusus Agrippa—’ The Senator savagely ground the hated name to bits with his teeth. ‘He planned this for my son—because he knew—that I would know—what you were going into.’ Raising his arms high, and shaking his fists in rage, Gallio shouted, ‘Now I would that I were religious! I would beseech some god to damn his soul!’

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