is honored first. When you and I are sick
we need a Galen. Rome needs Pertinax. You ask me what is Rome? She is
the cradle of my manhood."

"A befouled nest!" said Narcissus.

"An Augean stable with a Hercules who doesn't do his work, I grant you!
But we can substitute another Hercules."

"Pertinax is too old," Narcissus objected, weakening, a trifle sulkily.

"He is old enough to wish to die in honor rather than dishonor. You and
I, Narcissus, have no honor--you a slave and I an outlaw. Let us win,
then, honor for ourselves by helping to heal Rome of her dishonor!"

"Oh well, have it your own way," said Narcissus, unconvinced. "A brass
as for your honor! The alternative is death or liberty in either case,
and as for me, I prefer friendship to religion, so I will follow you,
whichever road you take. Now go. These fellows mustn't recognize you.
It is time to take them one by one into the exercising yard. I daren't
take more than one at a time or they'd kill me even with the blunted
practise-weapons. I wish they might face Commodus as boldly as they
tackle me! I am a weary man, and many times a bruised one, I can tell
you, when the night comes, after putting twenty of them through their
paces."

IX. STEWED EELS

The training arena where Commodus worked off energy and kept his
Herculean muscles in condition was within the palace grounds, but the
tunnel by which he reached it continued on and downward to the Circus
Maximus, so that he could attend the public spectacles without much
danger of assassination.

Nevertheless, a certain danger still existed. One of his worst frenzies
of proscription had been started by a man who waited for him in the
tunnel, and lost his nerve and then, instead of killing him, pretended
to deliver an insulting message from the senate. Since that time the
tunnel had been lined with guards at regular intervals, and when
Commodus passed through his mysterious "double" was obliged to walk in
front of him surrounded by enough attendants to make any one not in the
secret believe the double was the emperor himself.

No man in the known world was less incapable than Commodus of self-
defense against an armed man. There was no deception about his feats of
strength and skill; he was undoubtedly the most terrific fighter and
consummate athlete Rome had ever seen, and he was as proud of it as Nero
once was of his "golden voice." But, as he explained to the fawning
courtier