They had missed the beginning ceremonies: the priests chanting, the guards in red and gold, the white bulls led in ceremonial parade around the arena with little gilded boys dancing on their backs. The gladiators were parading past, their faces set and withdrawn under their helmets, and they saluted the Emperor as one. Half would die later that afternoon, unless the crowd was in a benevolent mood. Otho acknowledged them with a casual wave, never ceasing in his airy conversation with a dozen hangers-on.

Eager suitors towed Diana off, and Cornelia fell back against the farthest wall with tight lips. Marcella knew her sister didn’t approve of the games, but then none of them did. Diana hated the slaughter of animals, Lollia had a slave-blood sympathy for the captives in the arena, and Cornelia thought the whole thing in bad taste. Marcella simply couldn’t see the point of it all. Such petty power, making a few desperate men hack each other to death for a mob’s pleasure. Real power was something bigger, grander . . . but the plebs still packed into the arena in their thousands, screaming over the gladiators as if they were gods before they died like dogs.

Marcella found herself a seat beside Diana where fluttering suitors could be counted on to block the view, and Lollia courted oblivion her own way, drinking wine freely and offering token smiles to the Emperor’s jokes. Lollia still looked moody these days, and she did a great deal of gloomy muttering about the omens. “Rome’s like a woman,” she declared. “Thrax told me that, and he’s right. Rome is a woman, the Emperor is her husband, and she doesn’t want him to leave.”

Or maybe Rome wants a new husband, Marcella thought, looking over at Lucius, where he honked laughter with Otho’s officers. I certainly wouldn’t mind. She’d had to accost Lucius again that morning, and it hadn’t gone well. “So you don’t want to set up a household—but I really will need some money of my own, you know.”

“Why?” He blinked. “Your brother feeds you. What else do you need?”

“What else? You mean I have to go hat in hand to Tullia every time I want a coin to go to the bathhouse or the theatre or to buy new pens?”

“Just ask Lollia nicely, she’ll buy you anything you want.” He waved a hand in dismissal.

“Maybe I’ll just find a lover to pay my bills, Lucius!” Marcella snarled.

“Do that. I’m sure you can keep someone interested for a week or two.” He’d wandered away, yawning, and Marcella stamped after him.