Chapter 19

Mencius, feeling that he had to talk this over with somebody, had discussed the probabilities with his canny old friend Fulvius.

‘It’s unlikely,’ he had remarked, ‘that these royal tidings are felicitous. Tiberius wouldn’t put himself to much trouble to make anybody happy; certainly not the roistering son of Gallio, who is ever denouncing the Government for its extravagances.’

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Fulvius had replied. ‘As for Senator Gallio’s demand for economy, the Emperor himself is not a wastrel; and as for the youngster’s ridicule of the Prince, the old man hates Gaius.’

‘Granted—all that! But can you picture Tiberius writing a pleasant letter?’

‘No, I really can’t,’ agreed Fulvius, ‘and if I were you I should just hand it to the boy—and run.’

‘Maybe the letter is a commission for Marcellus to some better command,’ speculated Mencius.

‘Oh, it might be anything!’ rumbled Fulvius. ‘The old codger’s crazy as a beetle! For all you know, it’s a notification to young Gallio that you have been appointed his successor at Minoa!’

‘That’s a pleasant thought!’ growled Mencius.

They had left it at that. It wouldn’t be long now before they might know the answer to the riddle. Tomorrow they would warp up against the dock at Gaza.

The morning was bright and clear. The long wharf swarmed with the usual pack of filthy donkey-boys and villainous camel-drivers. Pincus and his men were the first to leave the ship, and were promptly swallowed up in the noisy throng of competitive caravan-owners. More deliberately, the Proconsul and the Captain came ashore and mounted their stiff and clumsy horses. It was but a short ride to the fort, and they decided to dispose of their errand without delay.

‘Something seems to have happened here,’ remarked Mencius, as the heavy gates swung open to receive them. ‘Marcellus has taught these lazy louts to act like soldiers!’

‘Perhaps the Emperor has heard of it,’ thought Fulvius, ‘and wants the Legate to come back and renovate Rome. She could do with a bit of grooming.’

A bright young centurion appeared, smartly saluted, and asked if he could be of service. The Proconsul introduced himself and Fulvius. They bore a letter for the Legate.

‘Our Legate Marcellus, sir, left here yesterday with a company of cavalry to attend the Jewish Passover at Jerusalem.’

‘That’s odd,’ muttered Mencius. ‘Since when has Minoa turned Jewish?’