“Instantly, Commodus.  I am coming with it now.  Only wait while I pierce the amphora.”

She closed the door and looked swiftly once again at Pertinax.  He frowned over the list of names and did not look at her.  She walked straight up to Galen.

“Give me!” she demanded, holding out her hand.  He drew a little parchment package from his bosom and she clutched it, saying nothing.  Galen was the one who spoke: 

“Responsibility is his who orders.  May the gods see that it falls where it belongs.”

She took no notice of his speech but stood for a moment untying the strings of the package, frowning to herself, then bit the string through and, clutching the little package in her fist, took a gilded tool from beside the snow-bowl and pierced the seal of the amphora.  Then she put the poison in the bottom of the golden cup and poured the wine—­with difficulty, since the jar was heavy, but Pertinax, who watched intently, made no movement to assist.  She stirred the wine with one of her long hair-pins.

“Marcia!” roared Commodus.

“I am coming now.”

She went into the bedroom, leaving the door not quite closed behind her.  Pertinax began to stare at Galen critically.  Galen blinked at him.  Commodus’ voice came very distinctly from the inner room: 

“Taste first, Marcia!  Olympus!  I can’t see you in the dark.  Come close.  Are your lips wet?  Let me feel them!”

“I drank a whole mouthful, Commodus.  How hot your hand is!  Feel—­feel the cup—­you can feel with your finger how much I have tasted.  I broke the seal of a fresh jar of Falernian.”

“Some of your Christians might have tampered with it!”

“No, no, Commodus.  That jar has been in the cellar since before you were born and the seal was intact.  I washed the cup myself.”

“Well, taste again.  Sit here on the bed where I can feel your heart-beats.”

Presently he gave a gasp and belched, as always after he had swallowed a whole cupful at one draught.

“Now close the shutters and bolt them on the inside; there might be some of your Christians lurking on the balcony.”

“In this storm, Commodus?  And there are guards on duty.”

“Close them, I say!  Who trusts the guards!  Did they guard the tunnel?  I will rid Rome of all Christians tomorrow!  Aye, and of many another reptile!  They have robbed me of my fun in the arena—­I will find another way to interest myself!  Now bring me a fresh lamp in here, and set the tablets by the bed.”

She came out, shutting the door behind her, then stood listening.  She did not tremble.  Her wrist was red where Commodus had held it.

“How long?” she whispered, looking at Galen.

“Only a very little time,” he answered.  “How much did you drink?”

She put her hand to her stomach, as if pain had stabbed her.

“Drink pure wine,” said Galen.  “Swiftly.  Drink a lot of it.”