She chattered on about the army, the difficulties Otho was having in setting up supplies, the insistence of so many of his entourage on bringing their barbers and their servants and their silver plate with them. Cornelia asked leading questions, stored away answers. The Campus Martius was a bustle of movement around them: clusters of swaggering Praetorians, young tribunes dashing their little low-slung chariots back and forth, giggling girls making eyes at the soldiers. It was a gray overcast day with a brisk wind flapping through and setting everyone’s cloaks alight on the air, but nothing could damp the giddy sense of a party.

“Lady Cornelia!” A braying voice came behind them, and Cornelia turned. A man leaned out of a lavish gold-trimmed litter with aqua silk curtains, waving a beringed hand. Proculus, the new Praetorian Prefect—and now one of Otho’s generals.

Her smile came effortlessly this time. “Prefect!” Bestowing a warm hand. “Congratulations upon your new rank.”

“Proculus, Lady Cornelia, make it Proculus. And thank you. Wine?”

Cornelia accepted a cup. Marcella paused, brows raised, but another acquaintance called to her and Cornelia waved her on. Prefect Proculus splashed a cup for himself, spattering the slave holding the flagon. “Been a long while since I’ve seen you at the Campus Martius, Lady Cornelia.”

“With the army to leave so soon, everyone is here.” She sipped her wine. “Tell me, when do you leave?”

“Oh, two days. Three days.” Wine dribbled down his chin as he drank. “Been pushed back twice, you know. Fortuna knows if we’ll be ready in time. The legions are dragging their heels up north, and I can’t see rushing to meet them if they’re going to be late, eh?”

“Late?” Another smile. “How late?”

“Late enough. Come sit.” He patted the litter cushions beside him. Cornelia settled herself, feeling as if she were moving through deep water.

“Surely you Praetorians can handle Vitellius on your own?” She tried for Lollia’s artlessness.

“Of course we can!” he said indignantly. “That fat drunk—feasts four times daily, you know; it’s a wonder he hasn’t burst from eating by now. My lads will whip him any day of the week—”

Your lads killed my husband. Of course this fool was too drunk to remember that.

“Always admired you, y’know.” He squinted at her with a lazy smile. “Give me that pretty hand of yours. Let’s see if you taste as good as you smell—”

Cornelia managed another smile, allowing him to draw her farther into the litter. “What about the Emperor’s maritime forces?” she murmured. “Shouldn’t that make a difference to your fight?”

“Of course it will.” He nibbled the inside of her wrist, twitching the litter curtains shut. “The Emperor wants us to attack Narbonensis.”