the man whom I taught as a boy? Shall I
refuse, and be drowned in the sewer by Marcia's slaves? Shall I betray
my friends to save my own old carcass? Shall I run away and hide, at my
age, and live hounded by my own thoughts, fearful of my shadow, eating
charity from peasants? I can easily say no to all those things. What
then? It is not what a man does not, but what he does that makes him or
unmakes him. There is nothing left but subtlety, my Sextus. What will
you do? Go and do it now. Tomorrow may be too late."

Sextus shrugged his shoulders, baffled and irritated. He had always
looked to Galen for advice in a predicament. It was Galen, in fact, who
had kept him from playing much more than the part of a spy-listening,
talking, suggesting, but forever doing nothing violent.

"You know as well as I do, there is nothing ready," he retorted. "Long
ago I could have had a thousand armed men waiting for a moment such as
this to rally behind Pertinax. But I listened to you--"

"And are accordingly alive, not crucified!" said Galen. "The praetorian
guard is well able to slaughter any thousand men, to uphold Commodus or
to put Pertinax in the place of Commodus. Your thousand men would only
decorate a thousand gibbets, whether Pertinax should win or lose. If he
should win, and become Caesar, he would have to make them an example of
his love of law and order, proving his impartiality by blaming them for
what he never invited them to do. For mark this: Pertinax has never
named himself as Commodus' successor. I warn you: there is far less
safety for his friends than for his enemies, unless he, with his own
hand, strikes the blow that makes him emperor."

"If Marcia should do it--?"

"That would be the end of Marcia."

"If I should do it?"

"That would be the end of you, my Sextus."

"Let us say farewell, then, Galen! This right hand shall do it. It will
save my friends. It will provide a culprit on whom Pertinax may lay the
blame. He will ascend the throne unguilty of his predecessor's blood--"

"And you?" asked Galen.

"I will take my own life. I will gladly die when I have ridded Rome of
Commodus."

He paused, awaiting a reply, but Galen appeared almost rudely
unconcerned.

"You will not say farewell?"

"It is too soon," Galen answered, folding up his powder in a sheet of
parchment, tying it, at great pains to arrange the package neatly.

"Will you not wish me success?"

"That is somethin