On the morning of September 18 in the year 96, Emperor Domitian was already on edge. He feared omens, dreaded the noon hour, and trusted fewer and fewer people. What he didn’t know was that the real danger wasn’t in the stars. It was walking toward him in the form of a steward named Stephanus, his arm wrapped in bandages, hiding a dagger.

Domitian sat to read a petition. Stephanus struck. The first blow went to the groin, and the emperor cried out for a sword that was no longer there. The doors were locked. Others rushed in, and Domitian fell under their blades. By evening, Rome had a new emperor, the elderly Nerva.

The Senate cheered, the people shrugged, and the soldiers fumed. The Flavian dynasty was gone in an instant, killed not on the battlefield but in the marble silence of a palace chamber.