“Not at all,” said Cornelia with a polite smile. “No, indeed, certainly not,” she added less coldly, as her eyes met Lucilia’s affectionate glance. “Come, let us be moving. Such discourse ill-beseems a festival, and to-day is to be a festival, my birthday.”
Meanwhile Caius Aurelius had found a pretext—in agreement with his promise to Cinna—for taking Quintus Claudius into his host’s study, and a minute later Cinna himself came in, accompanied by Marcus Cocceius Nerva.
“At last!” cried Cinna when all were seated. “It has been sticking in my throat like a mouthful of poison. Quintus, you too must hear what I have to say. The facts are perhaps known to you, for the house of Titus Claudius is intimately allied with the palace....”
“I know nothing, I can assure you,” interrupted Quintus, somewhat coldly.
“Well then, hear them now. I know you to be a young man of proved courage and of excellent understanding.—Until now you have taken the darkness for light and bitter for sweet, as not discerning them; your father’s strong spirit has influenced you, and his errors of judgment have descended to you. But now, my friend, use your own judgment, and ask yourself on your honor: Is Rome still Rome?”
“You really excite my curiosity,” said the young man, with more reserve than ever.
Cornelius Cinna shut the doors; then he went on in a mysterious and trembling voice:
“It was last night. Happily for you, Nerva, your ailing health had taken you into the country, and so saved you from the worst. I was lying in bed, but I could not sleep; I was tormented by a ceaseless whirl of confused thoughts, and was on the point of calling to Charicles, that he might read to me. Suddenly I heard heavy blows on the house door.... ‘Porter, wake up, make haste, a message from Caesar!’”
Cocceius Nerva leaned forward eagerly in his chair; his breath came quicker and deeper as he listened. Cornelius Cinna went on.
“My bedroom door was opened, so I heard every word. I heard the porter refuse admittance. ‘Caesar requires your master’s presence at the palace,’ said a voice outside. I sprang up and ordered him to open the door. I had hardly time to throw on my toga, when Caesar’s messengers came into the atrium—men at arms belonging to the praetorian guard. ‘Our god and master Domitian[248] requires you to attend immediately,’ said the officer. ‘Is the state in danger?’ I asked angrily. The soldier shrugged his shoulders; ‘I do not know,’ he said; ‘our orders are to fetch you; no reasons were given. Do not delay, noble Cinna, the litter is at the door.’”