w him do it,
which hasn't encouraged them, I can tell you. In the second place, they
know Paulus is Commodus. He might just as well go into the arena
frankly as the emperor, for all the secret it is. That substitute who
occupies the royal pavilion when Commodus himself is in the arena no
longer looks very much like him; he is getting too loose under the
chin, although a year ago you could hardly tell the two apart. Even the
mob knows Paulus is Commodus, although nobody dares to acclaim him
openly. Send a gladiator in against another gladiator and even though
he may know that the other man can split a stick at twenty yards, he
will do his best. But let him know he goes against the emperor and he
has no nerve to start with; he can't aim straight; he suspects his own
three javelins and his shield and helmet have been tampered with. I
myself would be afraid to face Paulus, being not much good with the
javelin in any case, besides being superstitious about killing emperors,
who are gods, not men, or the senate and priests wouldn't say so. It is
the same in the races: setting aside Caesar's skill, which is simply
phenomenal, the other charioteers are all afraid of him."

"If he isn't killed soon, Severus or one of the others will forestall us
all," said Sextus. "Pertinax has only one chance: to be on the throne
before the other candidates know what is happening."

Narcissus' bronze face lighted with a sudden smile that rippled all
around the corners of his mouth, so that he looked like a genial satyr.

"Speaking of killing," he said, "Marcia has ordered me to kill you the
moment you make up your mind the time has come to strike!"

"You promised her, of course?"

"No, as it happens we were interrupted. But she relies on me and if she
ever begins to suspect me I would rather die in the arena than be racked
and burned!"

"Why not then? How is this for a proposal?" Sextus touched him on the
shoulder. "Substitute yourself and me for two of these men! Send me in
against him first. If he kills me, you next. One of us might get him.
I am lucky. I believe the gods are interested in me, I have had so many
escapes from death."

"I haven't much faith in the gods," said Narcissus. "They may be all
like Commodus. I heard Galen say that men created gods in their own
image."

Sextus smiled at him.

"You have been listening, I suppose, to Marcia and her Christians."

"Listening, yes, but I don't lean either w