The Robe

Lloyd C. Douglas

Description

At the height of his popularity, Lloyd C. Douglas was receiving an average of one hundred letters a week from fans. One of those fans, a department store clerk in Ohio named Hazel McCann, wrote to Douglas asking what he thought had happened to Christ's garments after the crucifixion. Douglas immediately began working on The Robe, sending each chapter to Hazel as he finished it. It is to her that Douglas dedicated this book. A Roman soldier wins Christ's robe as a gambling prize. He then sets forth on a quest to find the truth about the Nazarene - a quest that reaches to the very roots and heart of Christianity. Here is the fascinating story of this young Roman soldier, Marcellus, who was in charge at the crucifixion of Jesus. After he won Christ's robe in a game of dice on Calvary, he experienced a slow and overpowering change in his life. Through the pages of this great book, the reader sees how a pagan Roman was eventually converted to Christ.

Sujets

• Religion
• Christianisme
• Fiction
• Christian
• Historical
• Crucifixion

Informations

• Publié par: Rare Treasure Editions
• Date de parution: 05 novembre 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781774642931
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

The Robe

by Lloyd C. Douglas



First published in 1942

This edition published by Rare Treasures

Victoria, BC Canada with branch offices in the Czech Republic and Germany

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except in the case of excerpts by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

THE ROBE


by Lloyd C. Douglas

Dedicated with appreciation

to

Hazel McCann

who wondered what became of

The Robe.
I
Because she was only fifteen and busy with her growing up,Lucia’s periods of reflection were brief and infrequent; but thismorning she felt weighted with responsibility.
Last night her mother, who rarely talked to her about anythingmore perplexing than the advantages of clean hands anda pure heart, had privately discussed the possible outcome ofFather’s reckless remarks yesterday in the Senate; and Lucia,flattered by this confidence, had declared maturely that PrinceGaius wasn’t in a position to do anything about it.
But after she had gone to bed, Lucia began to fret. Gaiusmight indeed overlook her father’s heated comments about theextravagances and mismanagement of his government, if hehad had no previous occasion for grievance against the Galliofamily. There was, however, another grievance that no oneknew about except herself—and Diana. They would all haveto be careful now or they might get into serious trouble.
The birds had awakened her early. She was not yet used totheir flutterings and twitterings, for they had returned muchsooner than usual, Spring having arrived and unpacked beforeFebruary’s lease was up. Lucia roused to a consciousness of thefret that she had taken to bed with her. It was still there, like atoothache.
Dressing quietly so as not to disturb Tertia, who was soundlysleeping in the alcove—and would be alarmed when sheroused to find her mistress’s couch vacant—Lucia slipped hersandals softly over the exquisitely wrought mosaics that ledfrom her bedchamber and through her parlor into the longcorridor and down the wide stairway to the spacious hall andout into the vast peristyle where she paused, shielding hereyes against the sun.
For the past year or more, Lucia had been acutely consciousof her increasing height and rapid development into womanhood;but here on this expanse of tessellated tiling she alwaysfelt very insignificant. Everything in this immense peristyledwarfed her; the tall marble columns that supported thevaulted roofs, the stately statues standing in their silent dignityon the close-clipped lawn, the high silver spray of the fountain.No matter how old she became, she would be ever a child here.
Nor did it make her feel any more mature when, proceedingalong the patterned pavement, she passed Servius whose facehad been as bronzed and deep-lined when Lucia was a meretoddler. Acknowledging with twinkling fingers and a smilethe old slave’s grave salute, as he brought the shaft of his spearto his wrinkled forehead, she moved on to the vine-coveredpergola at the far end of the rectangle.
There, with her folded arms resting on the marble balustradethat overlooked the terraced gardens, the arbors, the tiledpool, and commanded a breath-taking view of the city andthe river, Lucia tried to decide whether to tell Marcellus. Hewould be terrifically angry, of course, and if he did anythingabout it at all he might make matters worse; but—somebodyin the family must be informed where we stood in the opinionof Gaius before any more risks were taken. It was unlikely,thought Lucia, that she would have an opportunity to talkalone with her brother until later in the day; for Marcellushad been out—probably all night—at the Military Tribunes’Banquet, and wouldn’t be up before noon; but she must resolveat once upon a course of action. She wished now thatshe had told Marcellus last summer, when it had happened.
The soft whisper of sandal-straps made her turn about.Decimus the butler was approaching, followed by the Macedoniantwins bearing silver trays aloft on their outspreadpalms. Would his mistress, inquired Decimus with a deepbow, desire her breakfast served here?
‘Why not?’ said Lucia, absently.
Decimus barked at the twins and they made haste to preparethe table while Lucia watched their graceful movements withamused curiosity, as if observing the antics of a pair of playfulterriers. Pretty things, they were; a little older than she,though not so tall; agile and shapely, and as nearly alike astwo peas. It was the first time that Lucia had seen them inaction, for they had been purchased only a week ago. ApparentlyDecimus, who had been training them, thought theywere ready now for active duty. It would be interesting to seehow they performed, for Father said they had been brought upin a home of refinement and were probably having their firstexperience of serving a table. Without risking an inquiringglance at the young woman who stood watching them, theyproceeded swiftly but quietly with their task. They were bothvery white, observed Lucia, doubtless from confinement insome prison-ship.
One of Father’s hobbies, and his chief extravagance, was thepossession of valuable slaves. The Gallio family did not ownvery many, for Father considered it a vulgar, dangerous, andruinously expensive vanity to have swarms of them about withlittle to do but eat, sulk, and conspire. He selected his slaveswith the same discriminating care that he exercised whenpurchasing beautiful statuary and other art objects. He hadno interest in public sales. Upon the return of a military expeditionfrom some civilized country, the commanding officerswould notify a few of their well-to-do acquaintances that alimited number of high-grade captives were available; andFather would go down, the day before the sale, and look themover, learn their history, sound them out, and if he found anythinghe wanted to add to his household staff he would bid.He never told anyone in the family how much he had paid fortheir slaves, but it was generally felt that he had never practicedeconomy in acquiring such merchandise.
Most of the people they knew were in a constant dither abouttheir slaves; buying and selling and exchanging. It wasn’t oftenthat Father disposed of one; and when, rarely, he had done so,it was because the slave had mistreated another over whom hehad some small authority. They had lost an excellent cook thatway, about a year ago. Minna had grown crusty and crueltoward the kitchen crew, scolding them loudly and knockingthem about. She had been warned a few times. Then, one day,Minna had slapped Tertia. Lucia wondered, briefly, whereMinna was now. She certainly did know how to bake honeycakes.
You had to say this for Father: he was a good judge of people.Of course, slaves weren’t people, exactly; but some of themwere almost people. There was Demetrius, for example, whowas at this moment marching through the colonnade with long,measured strides. Father had bought Demetrius six years agoand presented him to Marcellus on his seventeenth birthday.What a wonderful day that was, with all their good friendsassembled in the Forum to see Marcellus—clean-shaven forthe first time in his life—step forward to receive his white toga.Cornelius Capito and Father had made speeches, and then theyhad put the white toga on Marcellus. Lucia had been so proudand happy that her heart had pounded and her throat hadhurt, though she was only nine then, and couldn’t know muchabout the ceremony except that Marcellus was expected to actlike a man now—though sometimes he forgot to, when Demetriuswasn’t about.
Lucia pursed her full lips and grinned as she thought of theirrelationship; Demetrius, two years older than Marcellus, alwaysso seriously respectful, never relaxing for an instant fromhis position as a slave; Marcellus, stern and dignified, but occasionallyforgetting to be the master and slipping absurdly intothe rôle of intimate friend. Very funny, it was sometimes.Lucia loved to watch them together at such moments. Ofcourse she had about the same relation to Tertia; but thatseemed different.
Demetrius had come from Corinth, where his father—awealthy shipowner—had taken a too conspicuous part in defensivepolitics. Everything had happened at once in Demetrius’family. His father had been executed, his two elder brothershad been given to the new Legate of Achaea, his patricianmother had committed suicide; and Demetrius—tall, handsome,athletic—had been brought to Rome under heavyguard, for he was not only valuable but violent.
Lucia remembered when, a week before Marcellus’ comingof age, she had heard Father telling Mother about his purchaseof the Corinthian slave, only an hour earlier. She had beenmuch impressed—and a little frightened, too.
‘He will require careful handling for a while,’ Father wassaying. ‘He has seen some rough treatment. His keeper toldme I had better sleep with a dagger under my pillow until theCorinthian cooled down. It seems he had badly beaten up oneof his guards. Ordinarily, of course, they would have dealtwith him briefly and decisively; but they were under orders todeliver him uninjured. They were quite relieved to get himoff their hands.’
‘But is this not dangerous?’ Mother had inquired anxiously.‘What might he not do to our son?’
‘That,’ Father had replied, ‘will be up to Marcellus. He willhave to win the fellow’s loyalty. And he can do it, I think. Allthat Demetrius needs is an assurance of fair play. He will notexpect to be petted. He is a slave, and he knows it—andhates it; but he will respond to decent discipline.’ And thenFather had gone on to say that after he had paid the moneyand signed the documents, he had himself led Demetrius outof the narrow cell; and, when they were in the open plaza,had unlocked his chains; very carefully, too, for his wrists wereraw and bleeding. ‘T