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Updated: May 20, 2025
There are dinners and dances and much leaving of little pasteboard chips with names and addresses. Mr. Barker had made progress, in his own opinion, since the day when he so unfortunately roused Margaret's anger by his story. He bethought him one day that Claudius's influence had begun with the reading of books, and he determined to try something of the kind himself.
He had not promised Claudius not to say he could have vouched for him, had the Doctor stayed; but he feared that in telling Margaret this, he might be risking the betrayal of Claudius's actual destination. It would not do, however. "I really do not understand just what you said," said Margaret, looking at him. "Ah! well, no. I daresay I did not express myself very clearly.
Upon his mother's recall from banishment, he was advanced to such favour, through Nero's powerful interest with the emperor, that it was reported, assassins were employed by Messalina, Claudius's wife, to strangle him, as Britannicus's rival, whilst he was taking his noon-day repose.
Barker smiled gently round the table. Lady Victoria was palpably scared and Miss Skeat was silent. As for Margaret, she was confused and troubled. The accident of her seizing Claudius's hand, as she had done, was a thousand times more serious than any accident to the ship. The Doctor could not help stealing a glance at her, but he chimed in with Barker in praising the coolness of all three ladies.
"You never can appreciate the 'countless blessings' until you are converted to woman-worship, my friend," said Claudius, evading the question. "But," he added, "perhaps the Countess might describe them to you." But Margaret meant to do nothing of the kind. She did not want to continue the general conversation on the topic which seemed especially Claudius's own, particularly as Mr.
Margaret leaned down, resting her chin on her hands, and presently she unfolded them, and her fingers stole upwards and covered her face, and she bent her head. There was a mighty beating in Claudius's breast, and a thousand voices in the air cried to him to speak and to say what was in his heart to say. But he would not, for he had given the woman at his side the promise of his faith.
During the night, however, fearing lest Claudius would survive, she had called Claudius's physician, Xenophon, who was a friend of hers. The latter, while pretending to induce vomiting, had painted his throat with a feather dipped in a deadly poison, and had killed him.
Watson's, beside the foot of the Scala di Spagna, close to whose top tradition tells us that shameless Messalina, Claudius's empress, was mercilessly slain. And so it is throughout the city. Tradition, legend, and romance have peopled every place we visit. Wars, massacres, and horrible suffering have left a stain at every step.
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