Philostratus and Dion Cassius both unite in saying that at that
hour Apollonius was at Ephesus, preaching to the multitude. In the
middle of the sermon he hesitated, but in a moment he began anew.
Again he hesitated, his eyes half closed; then, suddenly he
shouted, "Strike him! Strike him once more!" And immediately to
his startled audience he related a scene that was occurring at
Rome, the attack on Domitian, his struggle with an assailant, his
effort to tear out his eyes, the rush of conspirators, and finally
the fall of the emperor, pierced by seven knives.
The story may not be true, and yet if it were!
VII
THE POISON IN THE PURPLE
Rome never was healthy. The tramontana visited it then as now,
fever, too, and sudden death. To emperors it was fatal. Since
Caesar a malaria had battened on them all. Nerva escaped, but only
through abdication. The mantle that fell from Domitian's shoulders
on to his was so dangerous in its splendor, that, fearing the
infection, he passed it to Ulpius Trajanus, the lustre undimmed.
Ulpius Trajanus, Trajan for brevity, a Spaniard by birth, a
soldier by choice; one who had fought against Parthian and Jew,
who had triumphed through Pannonia and made it his own; a general
whose hair had whitened on the field; a consul who had frightened
nations, was afraid of the sheen of that purple which dazzled,
corroded and killed. He bore it, indeed, but at arm's-length.
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