“The joke is on me!” he guffawed. “Just like me! Father told me particularly about his injunctions to Opstorius, and Pertinax himself reminded me about Almo after Father’s death. But it all went out of my head and I never thought of it from the moment Pertinax bowed himself out until this very instant. I’ll make up to you for my forgetfulness, I promise you. Go on.” Upon her telling of Almo’s idling at inns after he ran away from Fregellae, Commodus cut in with: “I liked Almo, what little I saw of him, but I had forgotten him. You make me remember him, make me recall trifling things about him, attitudes, smiles, tones of his voice, witty replies, quips. I liked him. But I like him better than ever from what you tell me of him. I understand him. I know just how he feels. I long, sometimes, to chuck Emperorizing and go off alone, with no responsibilities, and have a really good time hobnobbing with the good fellows the world is full of. I envy him. I dream of doing it, but he cut loose and did it. Good for Almo.” At first mention of the King of the Grove Commodus leapt up from his throne, strode up and down the room and clapped his hands. Two pages rushed in. “Get out!” he shouted. “I wasn’t clapping for you.” He paced the room like a caged tiger. “Think of it!” he exclaimed. “Think of it! Your lad certainly has fire in his belly, yes and brains in his head, too! Think of it! He thought it all out up there in the raw all-day mists, thought it all out, and he works towards his purpose like a pattern diplomat, like a born general, like a Scipio, like a cat after a bird! Has himself sold as a slave, bides his time, puts himself in the pink of condition, watches his opportunity. “Think of it! Disconsolate because he couldn’t marry you, moody because he has to wait so long, he seeks comfort in challenging the King of the Grove. Oh, I love him! Only a prince of good fellows would have thought of it. No ordinary adventure would divert him. He picks out the most hazardous venture possible. Oh, I love him!” When she narrated her interchange of clothing with Flexinna and her litter-journey, Commodus looked grave. The loutishness vanished from his attitude and expression. He became wholly an Emperor. “Out of Rome, outside the walls, beyond the Pomoerium all night!” he exclaimed. “That sounds bad. You were fool-hardy, too reckless entirely. Why that is impiety. That amounts to sacrilege!” As with Flexinna, Brinnaria reminded him of the Vestals’ flight after the disaster at the Allia and of their sojourn at Caere, again emphasizing the contrast between their unreprehended departure and the scrupulous steadfastness of the Flamen of Jupiter.