Chapter 3

Paulus stiffened with sudden wrath.

‘Trouble!’ he snarled, bitterly. ‘I did get into trouble, sir, that way! I was fool enough to be honest in the presence of Germanicus! That,’ he added, only half audibly, ‘was how I—a Legate—earned my passage to Minoa to become a Centurion! But, by the gods, what I said was true! The Roman Empire was consolidated, and is now supported, by the treachery of rich provincials, willing to betray their own people! This strategy is not original with us, of course! Rome learned the trick from Alexander. He learned it from the Persians, who had learned it in Egypt. Buy up the big men of a little country and—pouf!—you can have the rest of them for nothing!’ Paulus’s face was flushed with anger, and after his seditious speech he sat with clenched hands, flexing the muscles of his jaw. Then he faced Marcellus squarely, and muttered, ‘Valour of Rome! Bah! I spit on the valour of Rome! Valour of treachery! Valour of gold! Valour of hurling the poor at one another on the battlefield, while the big ones are off in a corner selling them out! The great and proud Roman Empire!’ Paulus brought his fist down with a bang on the desk. ‘I spit on the Roman Empire!’

‘You are very indiscreet, Paulus,’ said Marcellus, seriously. ‘For remarks of that sort, you could have your pelt pulled off. I hope you do not often let yourself go like that.’

Paulus rose and hitched up his broad belt.

‘I had no fear of speaking my mind to you, sir,’ he said.

‘Why are you so sure that I wouldn’t give you away?’ asked Marcellus.

‘Because,’ replied Paulus, confidently, ‘you believe in real valour—the kind that demands courage!’

Marcellus answered with an appreciative smile.

‘It is a wonder, Paulus,’ he said, thoughtfully, ‘that the ordinary rank and file do not take things into their own hands.’

‘Pouf! What can they do?’ scoffed Paulus, with a shrug. ‘They’re nothing but sheep, with no shepherd! Take these Jews, for example: now and then, some fiery fellow goes howling mad over the raw injustice, and gets up on a cart, and lets out a few shrieks—but they dispose of him in a hurry!’

‘Who shuts him up? The rich men?’

‘Well, not directly. It is we who are always called in to do the dirty work. It’s obvious that Rome can’t permit such uprisings, but it is the rich and greedy provincials who nip revolutions in the bud.’

‘Damned scoundrels!’ exclaimed Marcellus.

‘Yes, sir,’ assented Paulus, his gusty storm having blown out, ‘but you will find that these damned scoundrels in Jerusalem know good wine when they see it, and aren’t mean about sharing it with the Roman legions. That,’ he added, with cool mockery, ‘is to encourage us to be on the look-out for any foolhardy patriot who squeaks about the lost kingdom!’