“Aren’t you even interested that Vespasian’s been proclaimed Emperor?” Marcella didn’t understand her sister. What an exciting time they were all living through, and all Cornelia could do was mope around taking endless trips to the bathhouse! “Surely you realize this means war.”

Cornelia pushed a strand of hair behind her ears. “We’ve had war all year.”

“But Vespasian has the eastern legions! The Tenth, the Fourth, the Twelfth, and the Fifteenth—” Marcella ticked them off with satisfaction. “He’ll march on Rome, and Vitellius will have to muster an army to beat him. And I wonder . . .” She trailed off, thoughtful.

“I ever tell you how I got this limp, girl?” Up in the Imperial box, Vitellius heaved his bulk out of his carved chair.

“A battle in Africa, wasn’t it?” Diana took his arm as he swayed. “Gods’ wheels, you’re drunk. Lean on me, Caesar.”

“I tell everyone it was a battle. But the truth? A horse kicked me.” Vitellius grinned down at Diana. “Don’t tell.”

“See this, Caesar?” Diana lifted the hem of her red silk dress, showing an ankle Marcella couldn’t see. “I told my family I tripped getting out of a litter, but really—” She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.

“Really?” A laugh. “What a devil you are.”

“Don’t tell, Caesar?”

“Not if you won’t.” He ruffled her hair. “What a pair of frauds we are, eh?”

His smile had a bluff kind of charm, Marcella conceded. Despite his grosser habits, Vitellius had a certain direct appeal: he laughed when he was amused, ate when he was hungry, drank when he was thirsty, and rarely got angry at anyone. Refreshing after so many subtle politicians with wheels spinning in their heads and plots behind their backs—but would such easy simplicity be enough to hold the loyalty of his generals? They’re a shifty bunch. If more legions went over to Vespasian, the rats might just start wondering which ship was about to sink . . .

The play halted momentarily as the Emperor left the box to go relieve himself, and a buzz of half hearted overheated gossip rose. “Where’s Lollia?” Diana was asking Fabius, flopping back onto her stool. “She likes the theater.”

“The bitch says the heat’s giving her headaches,” Lollia’s husband complained.

“You’re very stupid to treat her so badly,” Diana told Fabius calmly. “But ambitious little toads like you are usually stupid.”

Fabius looked at Diana with loathing. “You won’t always be the Emperor’s pet, girl.”