spoke strange stuff about a whore on seven hills whose days are
numbered."

He had raised up the man's head by the hair. Commodus stamped on the
face with the flat of his sandal, crushing the head on the flagstones.

"Christian!" he shouted. "Is this Marcia's doing? Is this Marcia's
expedient to keep me out of the arena? Too long have I endured that
rabble! I will rid Rome of the brood! They kill the shadow--they shall
feel the substance!"

Suddenly he turned on his attendants--pointed at the murderer and his
victim:

"Throw those two into the sewer! Strip them--strip them now--let none
identify them. Seize those spineless fools who let the murder happen.
Tie them. You, Narcissus--march them back to the arena. Have them
thrown into the lions' cages. Stay there and see it done, then come and
tell me."

The courtiers backed away from him as far out of the circle of the
lamplight as the tunnel-wall would let them. He had snatched the lamp
from Tullius. He held it high.

"Two parts of me are dead; the shadow that was satisfied with eels for
supper and the immortal Paulus whom an empire worshiped. Remains me--the
third part--Commodus! You shall regret those two dead parts of me!"

He hurled the lighted lamp into the midst of them and smashed it, then,
in darkness, strode along the tunnel muttering and cursing as he went--