“It is better again already,” replied the sovereign.  “And yet—!”

He groaned again, and then confessed that only yesterday he had in the same way been tortured with pain.

“The attack came on in the morning, as you know,” he went on, “and when it was past I went down into the court of sacrifice; my feet would scarcely carry me.  Curiosity—­and they were waiting for me; and some great sign might be shown!  Besides, some excitement helps me through this torment.  But there was nothing—­nothing!  Heart, lungs, liver, all in their right place.—­And then, Galenus—­What I like is bad for me, what I loathe is wholesome.  And again and again the same foolish question, ’Do you wish to escape an early death?’ And all with an air as though Death were a slave at his command—­He can, no doubt, do more than others, and has preserved his own life I know not how long.  Well, and it is his duty to prolong mine.

“I am Caesar.  I had a right to insist on his remaining here.  I did so; for he knows my malady, and describes it as if he felt it himself.  I ordered him—­nay, I entreated him.  But he adhered to his own way.  He went—­he is gone!”

“But he may be of use to you, even at a distance,” Philostratus said.

“Did he do anything for my father, or for me in Rome, where he saw me every day?” retorted Caesar.  “He can mitigate and relieve the suffering, but that is all; and of all the others, is there one fit to hand him a cup of water?  Perhaps he would be willing to cure me, but he can not; for I tell you, Philostratus, the gods will not have it so.  You know what sacrifices I have offered, what gifts I have brought.  I have prayed, I have abased myself before them, but none will hear.  One or another of the gods, indeed, appears to me not infrequently as Apollo did last night.  But is it because he favors me?  First, he laid his hand on my shoulder, as my father used to do; but his was so heavy, that the weight pressed me down till I fell on my knees, crushed.  This is no good sign, you think?  I see it in your face.  I do not myself think so.  And how loudly I have called on him, of all the gods!  The whole empire, they say, men and women alike, besought the immortals unbidden for the welfare of Titus.  I, too, am their lord; but”—­and he laughed bitterly—­“who has ever raised a hand in prayer for me of his own impulse?  My own mother always named my brother first.  He has paid for it,—­But the rest!”

“They fear rather than love you,” replied the philosopher.  “He to whom Phoebus Apollo appears may always expect some good to follow.  And yesterday—­a happy omen, too—­I overheard by chance a young Greek girl, who believed herself unobserved, who of her own prompting fervently entreated Asklepios to heal you.  Nay, she collected all the coins in her little purse, and had a goat and a cock sacrificed in your behalf.”

“And you expect me to believe that!” said Caracalla, with a scornful laugh.