Marcia. Laetus! [Laetus enters with soldiers.
Commodus. Take
Your victim, offer him!
[Cleander is dragged away. Commodus wraps
his face in his mantle.
I shut my ears.
Truly I am a god; ’tis on this wise
The gods abandon, deaf to circumstance.
You cannot rate him. Why, he kept my rooms:
A little Phrygian slave, the cryer offered,
They bought him for me, and he jigged a dance
Of the mountain-loving Mother the first night
He placed my pillow. Marcia, cling to me!
Marcia. My lord!
Commodus. Cling, cling as to a drowning man.
O Veritas, I loved him. Do not weep.
[A distant cry and shouts are heard.
For me, I must. A ghost cries after me;
And at the little bloodless Hades-moan
My heart grows soft.
Marcia. Oh, steel yourself. Cleander
Has fallen justly.
Commodus. So you will not weep!
He shall have justice in the Shadow-land.
Some parchment—;Quick!—;[Exit.
Fadilla. What moves him?
Marcia. Something moves,
Something! When men rise restless from their tears
One must not ask their errand....
[Re-enter Commodus.
. . . . .
Commodus [to Pylades]. Bear this sentence
Forth to the hall, to Laetus. It condemns
One I found wholly guilty: she must die.
Fadilla. Gods, ’tis Lucilla!
Commodus. Bear the sentence, beauty....
Ah, Marcia, this is well; you do not move.