"Of the three great deities, the august assessors in the Capitol, Minerva was regarded by Domitian as his special patroness. Her image stood by his bedside: his customary oath was by her divinity. But now a dream apprised him that the guardian of his person was disarmed by the guardian of the empire, and that Jupiter had forbidden his daughter to protect her favourite any longer. Scared by these horrors he lost all self-control, and petulantly cried, and the cry was itself a portent: 'Now strike Jove whom he will!' From supernatural terrors he reverted again and again to earthly fears and suspicions. Henceforward the tyrant allowed none to be admitted to his presence without being previously searched; and he caused the ends of the corridor in which he took exercise to be lined with polished marble, to reflect the image of any one behind him; at the same time he inquired anxiously into the horoscope of every chief whom he might fear as a possible rival or successor. "The victim of superstition had long since, it was said, ascertained too surely the year, the day, the hour which should prove fatal to him. He had learnt too that he was to die by the sword.... The omens were now closing about the victim, and his terrors became more importunate and overwhelming. 'Something,' he exclaimed, 'is about to happen, which men shall talk of all the world over.' Drawing a drop of blood from a pimple on his forehead, 'May this be all,' he added. His attendants, to reassure him, declared that the hour had passed. Embracing the flattering tale with alacrity, and rushing at once to the extreme of confidence, he announced that the danger was over, and that he would bathe and dress for the evening repast. But the danger was just then ripening within the walls of the palace. The mysteries there enacted few, indeed, could penetrate, and the account of Domitian's fall has been coloured by invention and fancy. The story that a child, whom he suffered to attend in his private chamber, found by chance the tablets which he had placed under his pillow, and that the empress, on inspecting them, and finding herself, with his most familiar servants, designated for execution, contrived a plot for his assassination, is one so often repeated as to cause great suspicion. But neither can we accept the version of Philostratus, who would have us believe that the murder of Domitian was the deed of a single traitor, a freedman of Clemens, named Stephanus, who, indignant at his patron's death, and urged to fury by the sentence on his patron's wife, Domitilla, rushed alone into the tyrant's chamber, diverted his attention with a frivolous pretext, and smote him with the sword he bore concealed in his sleeve. It is more