“What has taken place in the Senate?” asked Agrippina.
“When we entered the Temple of Concord, we were led directly to the emperor,” said Nero. “He took our hands in his and spoke. Repeat his words, Drusus. Thou hast the better memory.”
“He said,” began Drusus, “‘These fatherless youths I committed to my son Drusus to rear and nourish as his own blood, to train them so that they might be worthy of him and of posterity. Now that my son has been snatched from us, I address the same prayers to you, O Conscript Fathers—’”
“Some of the Senators, at these words, burst into tears,” interrupted Nero. “Proceed, brother.”
“He said, still addressing the Senate,” continued Drusus: “‘In the presence of the gods, the face of your country, I conjure you, receive into your protection, take under your tuition, the great-grandchildren of the Divine Augustus,—children descended from ancestors the most glorious in the state; towards them fulfil your own and my duty!’” Drusus delivered these words like a young orator, using graceful gestures, and giving well-marked emphasis to the phrases.
“He added more,” said Nero. “He said to us: ‘Nero and Drusus, to you these Senators stand in the place of fathers. Such are the circumstances of your birth that the good and evil which befalls you must needs extend to the commonwealth.’”
Sejanus listened to the joyful words of Drusus and Nero without comment and then said farewell. As he turned away, he said to Agrippina in an undertone, “The gods sometimes elevate those whom they wish to destroy.”
Chapter XII
PSYCHE had passed her second month in solitude in the prison of the Praetorian Camp. Her first days had been lived under the crushing effects of her grief. Gradually the hope that throbs in the heart of youth gave her some consolation. Full of thankfulness for the warning of Gyges, which had sealed her lips concerning the writing on Gannon’s tunic, she concluded that she had nothing to fear. There were no proofs against her that could keep her under restraint for a great length of time. But the days passed slowly.
Her cell was a rectangular room, with a bed in one corner. There were no openings except a small grating that looked towards the Campagna. For hours she would stand and look out of this small window upon the enormous sweep of cultivated land, bordered by the Sabine Mountains, that appeared to frown upon the all-powerful city of Rome. On clear days Tibur would sparkle amidst the purplish-green background of the mountains, like some little city seen in happy dreams. The Viae Tiburtina, Nomentana, and Praenestina ran through the farms and cultivated fields of the Campagna like large light-colored veins on an enormous leaf.