“Caesar,” she said, “speak first with me alone.”  Instantly his manner changed.  He made a gesture of impatience.  His sudden scowl frightened the women standing behind Marcia, although she appeared not to notice it, with the same peculiar trick of seeming not to see what she did not wish to seem to see that she had used when she walked naked through the Thermae.

“Send your scared women away then,” he retorted.  “I trust Narcissus.  You may speak before him.”

Her women vanished, hurrying into another room, the last one drawing a cord that closed a jingling curtain.

“Do you not trust me?” asked Marcia.  “And is it seemly, Commodus, that I should speak to you before a gladiator?”

“Speak or be silent!” he grumbled, giving her a black look, but she did not seem to notice it.  Her genius—­the secret of her power—­was to seem forever imperturbable and loving.

“Let Narcissus bear witness then; since Caesar bids me, I obey!  Again and again I have warned you, Caesar.  If I were less your slave and more your sycophant I would have tired of warning you.  But none shall say of Marcia that her Caesar met Nero’s fate, whose women ran away and left him.  Not while Marcia lives shall Commodus declare he has no friends.”

“Who now?” he demanded angrily.  “Get me my tablet!  Come now, name me your conspirators and they shall die before the sun sets!”

When he scowled his beauty vanished, his eyes seeming to grow closer like an ape’s.  The mania for murder that obsessed him tautened his sinews.  Cheeks, neck, forearms swelled with knotted strength.  Ungovernable passion shook him.

“Name them!” he repeated, beckoning unconsciously for the tablet that none dared thrust into his hand.

“Shall I name all Rome?” asked Marcia, stepping closer, pressing herself against him.  “O Hercules, my Roman Hercules—­does love, that makes us women see, put bandages on men’s eyes?  You have turned your back upon the better part of Rome to—­”

“Better part?” He shook her by the shoulders, snorting.  “Liars, cowards, ingrates, strutting peacocks, bladders of wind boring me and one another with their empty phrases, cringing lick-spittles—­they make me sick to look at them!  They fawn on me like hungry dogs.  By Jupiter, I make myself ridiculous too often, pandering to a lot of courtiers!  If they despise me then as I despise myself, I am in a bad way!  I must make haste and live again!  I will get the stench of them out of my nostrils and the sickening sight of them out of my eyes by watching true men fight!  When I slay lions with a javelin, or gladiators—­”

“You but pander to the rabble,” Marcia interrupted.  “So did Nero.  Did they come to his aid when the senate and his friends deserted him?”

“Don’t interrupt me, woman!  Senate!  Court!” he snorted.  “I can rout the senate with a gesture!  I will fill my court with gladiators!  I can change my ministers as often as I please—­aye, and my mistress too,” he added, glaring at her.  “Out with the names of these new conspirators who have set you trembling for my destiny!”