"Colorless it must be—flavorless—without smell—indetectible. These saviors of Rome prepare too much to save themselves! And I take trouble to save myself. Why?"
He stopped and blinked again at Sextus, waiting for an answer.
"You are worth preserving, Galen."
"I dispute that. I am sentimental, which is idiocy in a man of my age.
But I will not kill him who is superior to any man in Rome."
"Idiocy? You? And you admire that monster?"
"As a monster, yes. He is at least wholehearted. As a monster he lacks neither strength of will nor sinew nor good looks; he is magnificent; he has the fear, the frenzy and the resolution of a splendid animal. We have only cowardice, the unenthusiasm and the indecision of base men. If we had the virtue of Commodus, no Commodus could ever have ruled Rome for half a day. But I am senile. I am sentimental. Rather than betray Marcia—and Pertinax—who would betray me for their own sakes; rather than submit my own old carcass to the slave whom Marcia would send to kill me, I am doing what you see."
"Poison for Commodus?"
"No."
"Not for yourself, Galen?"
"No."