Commodus, in any gear, was not only a tall, well-knit, impressive figure
of a man, but, in his most negligent moods, he had something about him
dominating, masterful, princely and Imperial. The sight of him cowed all
who could then see him. Steadily he eyed them as they finished their
tumultuary deployment and pressed forward to see and hear. When they were
packed as closely as possible till no more could get within earshot he
spoke:
"Fellow soldiers, what does this mean?"
All were too awed at the sight of their venerated Caesar for any man to
speak up at once and the Emperor repeated:
"Fellow-soldiers, what does this mean? Tell me, I am your fellow-soldier."
Then Sextius Baculus himself replied, choking and hesitating, quailing
before his lord:
"We are your loyal soldiers from Britain; a deputation come afoot and
afloat almost two thousand miles to warn you of what no man in Rome, for
fear of you more than of your treacherous Prefect, dares to warn you.
Perennis is no fit guardian of your safety; in fact he is of all men most
unfit. For more than two years now he has been laying his plans to have
you assassinated, and to make Emperor in your place his eldest son, the
darling of the Illyrian legionaries.
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