The Robe Page #4

I beg you to postpone the audience

until he is rested.

- Does he ask for a postponement?

- No, sire, but I do. I implore you.

It would serve no purpose.

I will see him now.

Bring him in.

The lovely lady Diana married to an idiot.

But she's too good for Caligula, isn't she?

After 40 years with Julia,

my approaching death

holds few terrors for me.

Death, sire? But my last examination

proves you'll live for 20 years at least.

- My physician is very loyal.

- Not 20, sire.

30. I read it only last night

in the entrails of an owl.

And my soothsayer even more loyal.

The entrails of an owl.

No, stay. We may have need

of you men of science.

The entrails of an owl.

- You are welcome, Tribune.

- Thank you, sire.

I bring you dispatches from Pontius Pilate.

By your leave, sire, he asked me

to put them into your hands and no others.

Then they must hold bad news.

- Sit down, Tribune.

- Thank you, sire.

Tell me, what was your impression of Pilate?

- It's not my place to...

- I'm asking you.

Did you find him capable?

Yes, sire. He is considered

a good administrator.

- Stern, as befits a Roman governor?

- I'm sure of that, sire.

Just?

I can't say.

Why not? Surely you can give me

some sort of an answer.

Tell me, Tribune, what happened out there?

- What happened?

- Were you out there?

Marcellus.

I told you, sire, he's ill. Let me take...

Leave him alone. Stand back.

Tribune Gallio, you are a Roman officer.

I command you to get control over yourself.

Yes, sire.

This report of Pilate's,

and your own condition,

hint alike at a serious situation.

- Now speak.

- Please, Marcellus. He wants to help you.

I'm not your enemy, boy.

I fought in Iberia with your grandfather.

Your father was like a son to me.

Now tell me. Everything.

Is Tribune Gallio still there?

He's been talking for two hours, my lady.

- And?

- Hopeless, my lady. Completely hopeless.

The Son of God?

What god?

I don't know, sire.

I don't know.

And you lost your wits

when he looked at you?

No.

It was later, when I put on the robe.

Miracles, disciples, slaves running away...

Roman legionaries

fraternising with the natives...

Well, none of this

concerns us for the moment.

We must make you well.

What have you learned gentlemen to say?

A difficult matter, sire. Under my care...

- He'd never improve.

- Who gave you permission to speak?

The clue to this man's sanity

is not in a vial of medicine.

- Well, where then?

- In the robe that bewitched him.

- Go on.

- Plainly, there was a curse on the robe.

His only chance is to find it and destroy it.

An interesting notion.

He's right, sire. He must be right.

The robe was bewitched.

- Let me find it, sire, destroy it.

- If you do, your mind will be restored.

A lost robe in the hands of a runaway slave?

- What chance would you have?

- He couldn't get away.

He must be still in Palestine, with

the other followers of the dead man.

He had disciples.

It's there in Pilate's message.

Who knows what powers

he left to these disciples?

Magic formulas, potions...

- Beware.

- He is dead, Dodinius.

Evil never dies. It lives -

in the air, in the robe, everywhere.

Tribune Gallio, I give you

an imperial commission.

For yourself, find this robe and destroy it.

For Rome, seek out

the followers of this dead magician.

I want names, Tribune.

Names of all the disciples, of every man

and woman who subscribe to this treason.

Names, Tribune. All of them.

No matter how much it costs

or how long it takes.

You will report directly to me.

I understand, sire.

- I am grateful.

- A galley will be put at your disposal.

You will leave at once, on the first tide.

That is all.

Thank you, sire.

Wait.

For your sake, I interfered when

my wife wanted to give you to Caligula.

For your sake, I brought your tribune

back from Palestine.

For your sake, I now free you from him.

But, sire, I have no wish to be free.

Have you gone mad too?

He had everything then.

He could have had me too.

I wanted him,

but I wasn't sure that I loved him.

Now I am sure.

I think it my duty

to forbid you to see him again.

As a child, you were wise.

Now you reason like a woman, foolishly.

I can't help being a woman, sire,

but I try to reason as you taught me.

You were a soldier, sire.

When you won, you could expect

your legions to cheer you.

But when you lost,

what would you have given

to see the eagles raised in your honour,

to hear your name on every man's lips?

I like Caligula no better than you do,

but what a wife

you would make for an emperor.

Very well, my dear.

Your tribune shall have another chance.

Thank you, sire.

When it comes,

this is how it will start.

Some obscure martyr

in some forgotten province.

Then madness, infecting the legions,

rotting the empire,

then the finish of Rome.

But if the tribune breaks the spell...

Spell, you fool? What spell?

This is more dangerous than any spell

your superstitious mind could dream of.

It is man's desire to be free.

It is the greatest madness of them all.

And I have sent the most effective

physician I could find to cure it.

I have sent a madman.

Tribune. Tribune.

- I warned you not to call me Tribune.

- Worthy merchant, then. I have news for you.

When Abidor says

he'll find someone, he finds him.

You found the Greek slave. Where is he?

I haven't seen him, not myself.

But he is known, in this village.

- Cana, it's called. You'll find him soon.

- "Soon. " With you it's always "soon".

We've been to three provinces and

a hundred villages. Has he been seen?

These villagers are suspicious.

In this land of Galilee, the crucified one

has many friends, very many.

Names for your list, Tribune -

merchant, I mean.

And coins for me too, no?

A coin for every name.

- The Greek. What about the Greek?

- He has been here.

He is somewhere in Galilee now,

with one they call the big fisherman.

- Fisherman?

- That's all I know. You'll find out the rest.

The emperor's spy is cleverer

than a poor Syrian guide.

I'll prepare the way for you. A Roman

merchant comes to trade for their homespun.

Your gold will buy their answers.

And their lives.

Got any woollens? He'll buy them.

He wants all the homespun in Galilee.

- Who is he?

- The Roman merchant.

He's paying well over market prices.

Says homespun is coming into style in

Rome. The fine ladies dye it fancy colours.

Maybe he'll buy this.

Look what he paid me,

and there was a moth hole in it.

I wouldn't have used that rag of mine

for a donkey blanket.

Look.

Wait.

You've paid more than you should have.

Is this how we were taught?

Do we pray to be washed of the sin of greed

only to close the book,

and cheat the stranger in our midst?

Well, I'm not ashamed, Justus. This money

comes from the taxes that grind us down.

Does one crime erase another?

Friends, shall we turn dishonest

because life is hard?

I think you gave me too much.

Thank you, friend.

I hope you'll forgive my neighbours.

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