She went to the amphora.  Before she could reach it there came a roar like a furious beast’s from the bedroom.

“I am poisoned!  Marcia!  Marcia!  My belly burns!  I am on fire inside!  I faint!  Marcia!—­Marcia!” Then groans and a great creaking of the bed.

Marcia—­she was trembling now—­drank wine, and Pertinax began to pace the floor.

“You, Galen, you had better go in to him,” said Marcia.

“If I do go, I must heal him,” Galen answered.

The groans in the bedroom ceased.  The shouts began again—­terrific imprecations—­curses hurled at Marcia—­the struggles of a strong man in the throes of cramp—­and, at last, the sound of vomiting.

“If he vomits he will not die!” Marcia exclaimed.  Galen nodded.  He appeared immensely satisfied—­expectant.

“Galen, have you—­will that poison kill him?” Marcia demanded.

“No,” said Galen.  “Pertinax must kill him.  I promised I would do my best for Pertinax.  Behold your opportunity!”

Pertinax strode toward him, clutching at a dagger underneath his tunic.

“Kill me if you wish,” said Galen, “but if you have any resolution you had better do first what you wanted me to do.  And you will need me afterward.”

Commodus was vomiting and in the pauses roaring like a mad beast.  Marcia seized Pertinax by the arm.  “I have done my part,” she said.  “Now nerve yourself!  Go in now and finish it!”

“He may die yet.  Let us wait and see,” said Pertinax.

A howl rising to a scream—­terror and anger mingled—­came from the bedroom; then again the noise of vomiting and the creaking of the bed as Commodus writhed in the spasms of cramp.

“He will feel better presently,” said Galen.

“If so, you die first!  You have betrayed us all!” Pertinax shook off Marcia and scowled at Galen, raising his right arm as if about to strike the old man.  “False to your emperor!  False to us!”

“And quite willing to die, if first I may see you play the man!” said Galen, blinking up at him.

“Hush!” exclaimed Marcia.  “Listen!  Gods!  He is up off the bed!  He will be in here in a minute!  Pertinax!”

Alarm subsided.  They could hear the thud and creak as Commodus threw himself back on the bed—­then writhing again and groans of agony.  Between the spasms Commodus began to frame connected sentences: 

“Guards!  Your emperor is being murdered!  Rescue your Commodus!”

“He is recovering,” said Galen.

“Give me your dagger!” said Marcia and clutched at Pertinax’ tunic, feeling for it.

But she was not even strong enough to resist the half-contemptuous shrug with which Pertinax thrust her away.

“You disgust me.  There is neither dignity nor decency in this,” he muttered.  “Nothing but evil can come of it.”

“Whose was the star that fell?” asked Galen.