THE ROBE Read Online Free PDF Page B

shiploads of them.
It would require a very shrewd and powerful Government to keep in subjugation a
force three times its size and strength. But--look at our Government! A mere
hollow shell! It has no moral fiber! Content with its luxury, indolence, and
profligacy, its extravagant pageants in honor of its silly gods; ruled by an
insane dotard and a drunken nonentity! So, my son, Rome is doomed! I do not
venture to predict when or how Nemesis will arrive--but it is on its way. The
Roman Empire is too weak and wicked to survive!'
     
    Chapter II
     
    Cornelius Capito was not in when Marcellus called at three to learn what
Gaius had planned for him. This was surprising and a bit ominous too. The
conspicuous absence of the Chief Legate, and his deputizing of a young
understrapper to handle the case, clearly meant that Capito had no relish for
an unpleasant interview with the son of his lifelong friend.
    The Gallios had walked their horses for the last two miles of the
journey in from Ismael's camp where the Senator had declined to purchase the
Hispanian mares at the exorbitant price demanded by the avaricious old Syrian,
though it was plain to see that the day's events had dulled his interest in the
negotiation.
    The Senator's mind was fully occupied now with speculations about
Cornelius. If anybody in Rome could temper the punitive assignment which Gaius
intended for his son, it would be the Commander of the Praetorian Guard and
Chief of the Legates who wielded an enormous power in the making of
appointments.
    Slipping into a reminiscent--and candidly pessimistic--mood, the elder
Gallio had recited the deplorable story they both knew by heart, the dismal
epic of the Praetorian Guard. Marcellus had been brought up on it. As if his
son had never heard the tale before, the Senator began away back in the time
when Julius Caesar had created this organization for his own security. Picked
men they were, with notable records for daring deeds. As the years rolled on,
the traditions of the Praetorian Guard became richer. A magnificent armory was
built to house its battle trophies, and in its spacious atrium were erected
bronze and marble tablets certifying to the memorable careers of its heroes. To
be a member of the Praetorian Guard in those great--long since outmoded--days
when courage and integrity were valuable property, was the highest honor the
Empire could bestow.
    Then, Gallio had continued gloomily, Augustus--whose vanity had swollen
into a monstrous, stinking, cancerous growth--had begun to confer honorary
memberships upon his favorites; upon Senators who slavishly approved his
mistakes and weren't above softening the royal sandal-straps with their saliva;
upon certain rich men who had fattened on manipulations in foreign loot; upon
wealthy slave-brokers, dealers in stolen sculpture; upon provincial
revenue-collectors; upon almost anybody indeed who could minister to the diseased
Augustan ego, or pour ointment on his itching avarice. And thus had passed away
the glory and distinction of the Praetorian Guard. Its memberships were for
sale.
    For a little while, Tiberius had tried to arrest its accelerating
descent into hell. Cornelius Capito, who had so often led his legion into
suicidal forays that a legend had taken shape about him--for were not the gods
directing a man whose life was so cheaply held and so miraculously
preserved?--was summoned home to be Commander of the Praetorian Guard. Capito
had not wanted the office, but had obeyed the command. With the same kind of
recklessness that had won him honors on many a battlefield, he had begun to
clean up the discredited institution. But it hadn't been long until hard
pressure on Tiberius made it necessary for the Emperor to caution the
uncompromising warrior about his honest zeal. He mustn't go too far in this
business of cleansing the Praetorian Guard.
    'It was then,' declaimed Gallio, 'that brave old Capito discovered, to
his dismay, why Tiberius had called him to be the