s
couch. Sextus sat down and began chafing the old doctor's legs. Marcia
took her time about letting Livius be seated.

"You heard Galen?" she asked. "We are here to cheat death
diplomatically."

"Whose death?" Livius demanded.

"Rome's!" said Marcia, her eyes intently on his face. "If Rome should
split in three parts it would fall asunder. None but Commodus can save
us from a civil war. We are here to learn what Bultius Livius can do to
preserve the life of Commodus."

Livius' face, grotesque already with its hastily smeared carmine,
assumed new bewilderment.

"I have seen men tortured who were less ready to betray themselves,"
said Galen. "Give him wine--strong wine, that is my advice."

But Marcia preferred her victim thoroughly subjected.

"Fill your eyes with sunlight, Livius. Breathe deep! You look and
breathe your last, unless you satisfy me! This astrologer, who is not
Sextus--mark that! I have said he is not Sextus. Galen certified to
Sextus' death and there were twenty other witnesses. Nor is he Maternus
the highwayman. Maternus was crucified. That other Maternus, who is
rumored to live in the Aventine Hills, is an imaginary person--a mere
name used by runaways who take to robbery. This astrologer, I say,
reports that you know all the secrets of the factions that are
separately plotting to destroy our Commodus."

Livius did not answer, although she paused to give him time.

"You said you understood me, Livius. But it is I who understand you--
utterly! To you any price is satisfactory if your own skin and
perquisites are safe. You are as crafty a spy as any rat in the palace
cellars. You have kept yourself informed in order to get the pickings
when you see at last which side to take. Careful, very clever of you,
Livius! But have you ever seen an eagle rob a fish-hawk of its catch?"

"Why waste time?" Cornificia asked impatiently. "He forced himself on
Pertinax, who should have had him murdered, only Pertinax is too
indifferent to his own--"

"Too philosophical!" corrected Galen.

Then Caia Poppeia spoke up, in a young, hard voice that had none of
Marcia's honeyed charm. No doubt of her was possible; she could be
cruel for the sake of cruelty and loyal for the sake of pride. Her
beauty was a mere means to an end--the end intrigue, for the
impassionate excitement of it. She was straight-lipped, with a smile
that flickered, and a hard light in her blue eyes.

"It was I who