Chapter 2

About four o’clock (Cornelia was in her luxurious sitting-room, gently combing her shaggy terrier) the Senator entered and without speaking dropped wearily into a chair, frowning darkly.

‘Tired?’ asked Cornelia, tenderly. ‘Of course you are. That long ride. And you were disappointed with the Hispanian horses, I think. What was the matter with them?’

‘Marcellus has been ordered into service,’ growled Gallio, abruptly.

Cornelia pushed the dog off her lap and leaned forward interestedly.

‘But that is as it should be, don’t you think? We had expected that it might happen some day. Perhaps we should be glad. Will it take him far away?’

‘Yes.’ The Senator nodded impressively. ‘Far away. He has been ordered to command the fort at Minoa.’

‘Command! How very nice for him! Minoa! Our son is to be the commander—of the Roman fort—at Minoa! We shall be proud!’

‘No!’ Gallio shook his white head. ‘No!’ We shall not be proud! Minoa, my dear, is where we send men to be well rid of them. They have little to do there but quarrel. They are a mob of mutinous cut-throats. We frequently have to appoint a new commander.’ He paused for a long, moody moment. ‘This time the Senate Committee on affairs at Minoa was not consulted about the appointment. Our son had his orders directly from Gaius.’

This was too much even for the well-balanced Cornelia. She broke into a storm of weeping; noisily hysterical weeping; her fingers digging frantically into the glossy black hair that had tumbled about her shapely shoulders; moaning painful and incoherent reproaches that gradually became intelligible. Racked with sobs, Cornelia amazed them both by crying out, ‘Why did you do it, Marcus? Oh—why did you have to bring this tragedy upon our son? Was it so important that you should denounce Gaius—at such a cost to Marcellus—and all of us? Oh—I wish I could have died before this day!’

Gallio bowed his head in his hands and made no effort to share the blame with Marcellus. His son was in plenty of trouble without the added burden of a rebuke from his overwrought mother.

‘Where is he?’ she asked, thickly, trying to compose herself. ‘I must see him.’

‘Packing his kit, I think,’ muttered Gallio. ‘He is ordered to leave at once. A galley will take him to Ostia where a ship sails tomorrow.’

‘A ship? What ship? If he must go, why cannot he travel in a manner consistent with his rank? Surely he can charter or buy a vessel, and sail in comfort as becomes a Tribune.’

‘There is no time for that, my dear. They are leaving tonight.’

‘They? Marcellus—and who else?’

‘Demetrius.’

‘Well—the gods be thanked for that much!’ Cornelia broke out again into tempestuous weeping. ‘Why doesn’t Marcellus come to see me?’ she sobbed.

‘He will, in a little while,’ said Gallio. ‘He wanted me to tell you about it first. And I hope you will meet him in the spirit of a courageous Roman matron.’ The Senator’s tone was almost severe now. ‘Our son has received some very unhappy tidings. He is bearing them manfully, calmly, according to our best traditions. But I do not think he could bear to see his mother destroy herself in his presence.’

‘Destroy myself!’ Cornelia, stunned by the words, faced him with anguished eyes. ‘You know I could never do a thing like that—no matter what happened to us!’

‘One does not have to swallow poison or hug a dagger, my dear, to commit suicide. One can kill oneself and remain alive physically.’ Gallio rose, took her hand, and drew Cornelia to her feet. ‘Dry your tears now, my love,’ he said gently. ‘When Marcellus comes, let him continue to be proud of you. There may be some trying days ahead for our son. Perhaps the memory of an intrepid mother will rearm him when he is low in spirit.’

‘I shall try, Marcus.’ Cornelia clung to him hungrily. It had been a long time since they had needed each other so urgently.

* * * * *