“From whom?”
“From Cornelia, the Great Mother.”
“Well, and what——” he stopped, some one approached the door. “What would you have?”
The mime Latinus appeared.
“Well—speak.”
“Sire, the rain extinguished the pyre, before that the astrologer was much burnt; then the dogs fell on him, as he was unbound, and they tore him and he is dead.”
“Ye Gods!” gasped Domitian, putting up his hand. “His word has come true after all.”
Domitia signed to the actor to withdraw.
“You have not heard the message of Cornelia.”
He did not speak.