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the corner.
    An indolent, untidy sentry detached himself from a villainous group of
unkempt legionaries squatting on the ground, slouched to the big gate, and
swung it open without challenging the party. Perhaps, thought Marcellus, the
lazy lout had mistaken their little parade for a caravan that wanted to be
convoyed. After they had filed through into the barren, sun-blistered
courtyard, another sentry ambled down the steps of the praetorium and stood waiting
until the Tribune's grunting camel had folded up her creaking joints.
Demetrius, who had brought up the rear of the procession, dismounted from his
donkey and marched forward to stand at his master's elbow. The sentry, whose
curiosity had been stirred by the sight of the Tribune's insignia, saluted
clumsily with a tarnished sword in a dirty hand.
    'I am Tribune Marcellus Gallio!' The words were clipped and harsh. 'I am
commissioned to take command of this fort. Conduct me to the officer in
charge.'
    'Centurion Paulus is not here, sir.'
    'Where is he?'
    'In the city, sir.'
    'And when Centurion Paulus goes to the city, is there no one in
command?'
    'Centurion Sextus, sir; but he is resting, and has given orders not to
be disturbed.'
    Marcellus advanced a step and stared into the sulky eyes.
    'I am not accustomed to waiting for men to finish their naps,' he
growled. 'Obey me--instantly! And wash your dirty face before you let me see it
again! What is this--a Roman fort, or a pigsty?'
    Blinking a little, the sentry backed away for a few steps; and, turning,
disappeared through the heavy doors. Marcellus strode heavily to and fro before
the entrance, his impatience mounting. After waiting for a few moments, he
marched up the steps, closely followed by Demetrius, and stalked through the
gloomy hall. Another sentry appeared.
    'Conduct me to Centurion Sextus!' shouted Marcellus.
    'By whose orders?' demanded the sentry, gruffly.
    'By the orders of Tribune Marcellus Gallio, who has taken command of
this fort. Lead on--and be quick about it!'
    At that moment a near-by door opened and a burly, bearded figure emerged
wearing an ill-conditioned uniform with a black eagle woven into the right
sleeve of his red tunic. Marcellus brushed the sentry aside and confronted him.
    'You are Centurion Sextus?' asked Marcellus; and when Sextus had nodded
dully, he went on, 'I am ordered by Prince Gaius to command this fort. Have
your men bring in my equipment.'
    'Well--not so fast, not so fast,' drawled Sextus. 'Let's have a look at
that commission.'
    'Certainly.' Marcellus handed him the scroll; and Sextus, lazily
unrolling it, held it close to his face in the waning light.
    'I suggest, Centurion Sextus,' rasped Marcellus, 'that we repair to the
Legate's quarters for this examination. In the country of which I am a citizen,
there are certain courtesies--'.
    Sextus grinned unpleasantly and shrugged.
    'You're in Gaza now,' he remarked, half-contemptuously. 'In Gaza, you
will find, we do things the easy way, and are more patient than our
better-dressed equals in Rome. Incidentally,' added Sextus, dryly, as he led
the way down the hall, 'I too am a Roman citizen.'
    'How long has Centurion Paulus been in command here?' asked Marcellus,
glancing about the large room into which Sextus had shown him.
    'Since December. He took over temporarily, after the death of Legate
Vitelius.'
    'What did Vitelius die of?'
    'I don't know, sir.'
    'Not of wounds, then,' guessed Marcellus.
    'No, sir. He had been ailing. It was a fever.'
    'It's a wonder you're not all sick,' observed Marcellus, dusting his
hands, distastefully. Turning to Demetrius he advised him to go out and stand
guard over their equipment until it was called for.
    Sextus mumbled some instructions to the sentry, who drifted away.
    'I'll show you the quarters you may occupy until Commander Paulus
returns,' he said, moving toward the door. Marcellus followed. The room into
which he was shown contained a bunk, a table, and two chairs. Otherwise it was
bare