‘Who is it?’ asked Nero anxiously.
‘The centurion Pudens,’ said the slave; ‘and he is accompanied by Titus Flavius.’
Nero started at the name, for it recalled the night of the murder of Britannicus.
‘What do they want?’
‘They have important tidings, which they will tell to Cæsar’s ears alone.’
‘Admit them. See that the guard is on duty close at hand.’
Pudens and the youth were ushered into Nero’s presence, and, in answer to his agitated inquiries, told him all that had occurred, and how they had helped to rescue the Empress as she was saving herself by swimming. They were dismissed, each with a handsome gift; and scarcely had they left the room when Nero, pale as death, and with a heart which throbbed with painful palpitations, flung himself on a couch and turned a terrified look on his accomplice.
‘The plan has been bungled,’ he said. ‘I am ruined. My mother has been wounded. She knows all.’
Tigellinus feared that in his terror he would swoon away, and sprinkled his face with water.
‘What will she do?’ asked Nero in a faint voice. ‘Will she arm her slaves to attack and murder me? Will she rouse the soldiers? Will she go to Rome and accuse me of matricide before the Senate and the people?’