"And then--What flashed in my right hand was my own naked sword! I
neither heard nor said anything further. Nor had I planned, nor ever
thought of, what then occurred. . . . But suddenly I felt as if a
mountain of oppressive lead had fallen from my breast. How easily I
could breathe again! All that had just before turned round me in a mad,
whirling dance stood still. The sun shone brightly in the large room; a
shaft of light, showing dancing dust, fell on Geta. He sank on his knees
close to me, with my sword in his breast. My mother made a fruitless
effort to shield him. His blood trickled over her hand. I can still see
every ring on those slender, white fingers. I also remember distinctly
how, when I raised my sword against him, my mother rushed in between us
to protect her favorite. The sharp blade, as she tried to seize it,
accidentally grazed her hand--I know not how--only the skin was slightly
cut. Yet what a scream she gave over the wound which the son had given
his mother! Julia Maesa, her daughter Mammara, and the other women,
rushed in. How they exaggerated! They made a river out of every drop of
blood.

"So the dreadful deed was done; and yet, had I let the wretch live, I
should have been a traitor to Rome, to myself, and to my father's life's
work. That day, for the first time, I was ruler of the world. Those who
accuse me of fratricide no doubt believe themselves to be right. But
they certainly are not. I know better. You also know now with me that
destiny, and not I, struck Geta out from among the living."

Here he sat for some time in breathless silence. Then he asked Melissa:

"You understand now how I came to shed my brother's blood?"

She started, and repeated gently after him: "Yes, I understand it."