Longa Duilia laughed aloud. “Silly fool! laws bind the subjects and the weak, not princes and the strong. Make your mind up to accept what has happened. It is the work of destiny.”
“It is an infamous crime.”
“My child, do not use such words, what might be crime among common folk is pleasantry among princes. They all do it. It is their right. It is of no avail your attempting resistance. Domitian has taken a fancy to you—he is young, good-looking, Cæsar, all sorts of honors have been heaped on him, and he has but to put out a rake and comb together all the good in the world. And”—she drew nearer to her daughter,—“he may be Emperor some day. Titus has but one lumpy, ugly girl—no son.”
“I care not. I hate him! let me go back to Lamia!”
“That is impossible.”
“Not if I will!”
“You cannot. You would be stayed by the servants here.”
“But you—cannot you help me? O mother, if you have any love for me! For the sake of my dear, dear father!”
“Even if I would, I could not. Why, there is not a court in Rome, not the Senate even can afford you protection and release. The Flavians are up now.”
“I will appeal to Vespasian, to the Emperor!”