Then with gleaming ensigns, and joyous songs, and shouting, and clapping of hands, they bore him in long procession to the Senate House, to obtain the ratification which the Conscript Fathers dared not refuse. At first, indeed, there had been a few shouts, ‘Britannicus! Where is Britannicus? Where is the true son of Claudius?’ And she inwardly made a note of the fact that the centurion Pudens and the knight Julius Densus had been among the number of those who raised the shout. Britannicus, too, had heard the cry, faint as it was by comparison; but when he attempted to escape out of the room, Agrippina imperiously waved him back, and Pallas detained him by the arm. He sat down in despair, and once more covered his face with his hands, while now it was the turn of Octavia to caress and comfort him. But the plot was already accomplished. The few who would have favoured his cause seemed to be swept away by the general stream. The boy had been kept so designedly in the background, that many of the people hardly knew whether he was alive or dead. He felt that he was powerless, and he had heard among the shouts of the soldiers the cry, ‘All hail, Augusta! All hail, the daughter of our Germanicus!’ He resigned himself to his fate, and Agrippina, intent on her own plans, and absorbed in the intensity of her emotions, no longer noticed his presence. Suddenly, however, he started from his seat, and stood before her. His face was pale as death, but his eyes shone with indignant light. ‘Why am not I, too, proclaimed Emperor?’ he exclaimed. ‘I do not believe that my father meant to rob me of my inheritance. I am his son, not his _adopted_ son. This is a conspiracy. Where is my father’s will? Why is it not taken to the senate, and there recited?’ The Empress was amazed at the sudden outburst. Was this the boy who seemed so meek and so helpless? This must be seen to! ‘Foolish boy,’ she said; ‘you are but a child. You have not yet assumed the manly garb. How can a boy like you bear the burden of the world’s empire? Fear not; your brother Nero will take care of you.’ ‘Take care of me!’ repeated Britannicus, indignantly, restraining with difficulty the torrent of wild words which sprang to his lips. ‘It is a conspiracy!’ he cried. ‘You have robbed me of my inheritance to give it to your son Ahenobarbus.’ Agrippina lifted up her arm as if she would have struck him, but Pallas interposed. Firmly, but not ungently, he laid his hand on the young prince’s mouth. ‘Hush,’ he said, ‘ere you do yourself fatal harm. Boy, these questions are not for you or me to settle. They are for the Senate, and the Prætorians, and the Roman people. If the soldiers have elected Nero, and the senators have confirmed their choice, he is your Emperor, and you must obey.’ ‘It is useless to resist, my brother,’ said Octavia, sadly. ‘Our father is dead. Narcissus has been sent away. We have none to help us.’