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cool and wary veteran was in no haste to take possession of the capital of the Roman world. He had accepted, with seeming reluctance, the title of emperor. He might fairly be perplexed by the conduct of Mucianus, since, although when success was doubtful he had urged Vespasian to comply with the desire of the soldiers, yet, now that the prize was won, might he not claim it for himself? Assured of the loyalty of his elder son Titus, he might view with just suspicion the designs of his younger son Domitian—not because this vain and profligate boy was in himself formidable, but because it was impossible to foresee what might happen in a city where a venal soldiery, a servile senate, and a brutal mob might, at any moment, start a new competitor for the throne. Were the rich, the eloquent, the magnificent Mucianus, to greet him on his arrival with such words as—