“But,” he protested, “the thing can’t be done. It’s impossible! Better stand your chance of a trial.”
“I am sure,” said Brinnaria, “that my Goddess will not desert me. I know I am innocent and acceptable to her. She knows me and will give me the power to prove my worthiness. She will no fail me. I know I can do it.”
“Do I understand you to offer to do it in broad daylight before me and the whole College of Pontiffs, Calvaster and all?”
“In sight of all Rome,” said Brinnaria, “if all Rome could crowd near enough to see.”
“Do I understand you,” said the Emperor, “to stake your life on the venture, and, just as you would expect full absolution if you succeed, so to expect a rigid and severely stern trial before me and the College of Pontiffs, with your failure counting against you, if you fail in the attempt?”
“That is my understanding,” said Brinnaria, unflinching, her clear eyes on his face, her cheeks neither flushed nor blanched, her expression calm, her pose easy, her voice unfaltering.
“Hercules be good to me!” cried Commodus. “That is a first class game sporting offer! I like you, girl! I like the idea. I see my way to a decision. I glimpse a method of banishing my hesitation. I’ll take you. If you agree, clasp hands, like a man.”
Brinnaria stood up and put out her hand.
“For life or death,” said the Emperor.
They clasped hands.