Domitia

“The temple of your divine family is in flames.”

“What care I? I will rebuild it – the majesty, the divinity of the Flavians resides not in stones and marble – it is incorporate in Me. I may have been in danger for a moment. Now I snap my fingers in the face of that blunderer Jove, who burnt a hole in my pillow instead of transfixing my head. And yon old Chronos – ” he made a sign of contempt towards scythed Time, “I defy thee and thy bucket of blood. Twelve o’clock! In spite of Jove’s bolt, and the summons of Cornelia – I shall be asleep by that hour.”

“I pray the Gods it may be so.”

Then Domitian went out precipitately. His defiant attitude, his daring talk did not serve to disguise the alarm which he felt. Suddenly, after having left the room he turned, came back and said, “Domitia! What sword is that? What need has a woman with a sword?”

He pointed to that of Corbulo, suspended against the wall.

He went to it and took it down.

“Leave it,” said she harshly. “It is that on which my father fell. It is stained likewise with the blood of Nero.”

He held it by the scabbard. She caught the handle and, as he turned, drew forth the blade.

At the same moment he heard steps in the passage approaching the door, and without noticing that he held but the sheath, or else purposing to demand the weapon itself later, when the interruption was over, he walked towards the entrance uttering an expression of impatience, holding the empty scabbard in his right hand.

In the doorway stood Stephanus, a freedman, the steward of Flavia Domitilla, wife, or rather widow of Clemens, whom Domitian had recently put to death. Domitilla had been exiled, and the Emperor had appropriated to his own use the estates of his kinsman.

“Why camest thou hither?” asked the prince roughly. “I shall have enough to say to thee on the morrow because of thy embezzlements.”

“Augustus! I am innocent.”

“A thief, a vile purloiner, a blood-sucking leech, that has fattened as do all thy kind on thy masters. Go thy way – I want thee not here.”

And striding towards him, with Corbulo’s scabbard he struck the freedman across the face.

Stephanus uttered a cry of rage and pain, and instantly smote at the Emperor with a dagger he had held concealed in his sleeve.

“What, hound! You dare! You shall be flayed alive! Ho! to my aid!”

Stephanus threw himself on the Emperor.

Then Domitia stepped between the struggling men and the doorway, and with one hand drew together the curtains so as to muffle the cries.

“To my aid! to my aid!” called Domitian, as the powerful steward grappled him, and struck his dagger into the thigh of the prince.

“To my aid! Ho, a sword!” shouted the Emperor, and he grasped the weapon of the steward but so that, holding the blade with his hand, the weapon cut it across and the blood streamed forth.

He now made an effort to reach the doorway; and the steward, holding him, strove to wrench away the dagger and inflict a mortal wound. But Domitian, aware of his object, with his bleeding hand retained his grasp of the blade.

All at once, the Emperor let go his hold, and seizing the steward by the head drove his thumbs into his eyes.

Stephanus instantly dropped the dagger in his attempt to save himself from being blinded.

The two men twisted and writhed in grapple with each other. The freedman was a powerful man – it was for this reason he had been sent to despatch the prince. But Domitian was battling for his life. Though his legs were thin and out of proportion to his body, he was a strong man – he had ever maintained his vigor by exercise of the muscles and had never weakened himself by excess in eating and drinking.

By a happy turn he flung Stephanus, but clasped by him fell with him on the floor.

And now the two men rolled and tossed in a tangled mass together. Their snorts and gasps and the bestial growl of rage filled the room.

“Quick! Domitia – the sword! At once – the sword – the sword!” said the Emperor. He spoke in gulps and gasps.

He had Stephanus under him; his knee was on his chest and his hand, the gashed left hand flowing with blood, contracted the prostrate man’s throat.

“Domitia! the sword!”

But she stood, stern, cold, without stirring a step, and she folded the sword of her father to her breast, with her arms crossed over it.

“Because of Paris – No!”

“The sword! be speedy. I will finish him!”

“Because of Cornelia – No!”

“Domitia – help!”

“Because of Lucius Lamia – No!”

She went to the curtains, drew them apart, and called down the passage to Norbanus.

The two Prætorian præfects were there with the chamberlains – but they were ill able to restrain the guard who suspected that their prince and Emperor was in danger and scented treachery.

Instantly a rush was made. Some of the soldiers, with the præfect Norbanus, came on running, whilst the other, Petronius Secundus, endeavored by his authority to restrain the rest.

But from the other end of the passage came gladiators running, hastily brought together by Parthenius.

For a moment there was a jam in the doorway, a burly gladiator and a soldier of the guard were wedged together, each endeavoring to hold the other back and force himself in.

Meanwhile Petronius continued to exhort his soldiers to stand back, and Parthenius to promise rewards to the gladiators who pressed on. The tumult became terrible. Men came to blows without, there was a running together of slaves and freedmen – of frightened women and pages from all sides. Some had leaped from their beds, roused from sleep, and were not clothed. Some bore lamps – but again certain others attempted to extinguish the lights. Some cried “Treason!” Others “Away with the monster!” Some called out “Nerva is the Emperor!” others “Domitian is the Augustus!”

Then the gladiator at the door, by dint of elbowing, forced his way within, but he was unarmed.

Next moment the Prætorian guardsman held back by the gladiator entered and struck at Stephanus, dealing a frightful blow.

Relieved by this assistance, Domitian staggered to his feet and glared about him. He was too much out of breath to speak, and in at the door came others pressing, some crying one thing, some another.

Then Domitia unfolded her arms, and taking the sword of Corbulo in her right hand, extended it to the gladiator and said – “Make an end.”

The man snatched at the haft; and with a blow drove the blade into the breast of the Emperor.

Still the prince remained standing, and stretched forth his hands gropingly for a weapon.

Parmenas leaped at him, and with a knife struck him in the throat.

Then he reeled; in another moment he was surrounded, blows from all sides were rained on him. Again the sword of Corbulo was lifted and again smote, and he fell as a heap on the body of Stephanus.

For a moment there was stillness.