“The Emperor doesn’t care about the rules.” Domitian’s hand settled on her knee, moist and warm. “So why should I?”

Marcella smiled and deftly shifted away. “Behave, now.”

“Why?” he breathed. “You weren’t always so well-behaved.”

“That was a mistake. I was very distressed after what I’d seen in Bedriacum.” Ever since that swift ferocious coupling in the garden overlooking the city, Marcella had been careful not to allow Domitian any further intimacies. He worked so much harder for her when he was frustrated . . . and he was so easily frustrated. Sulky, he flopped back in his seat and started to mutter the latest news from his father in Judaea, but Marcella only listened with half an ear. Her eyes had settled on one discontented face in the crowd below, a face she had noted before.

“Excuse me,” she murmured to Domitian, rising and pulling the pale-green veil over her hair. “I won’t be a moment—

“Caecina Alienus!” Marcella smiled, sinking into the seat beside the man both her sister and Diana had turned down. “I did not know you were such a devotee of the theater.”

“A soldier can make time for the arts, Lady.” His German-accented bass was surly—he could hardly be pleased to see another member of the Cornelii, after what happened with the first two—but he gave Marcella a curt nod before turning his attention back to the stage. Several of his officers diced beside him, bored.

“Isn’t Fabius at the Senate now?” she asked innocently. “Surely you’re his little shadow.”

Alienus scowled—a man of considerable power, Marcella knew, but not as high in Vitellius’s favor as Fabius Valens. And no doubt smarting from being rejected—publicly—by two patrician brides in a row.

“What good taste you have,” Marcella said, fanning herself. “Theater is for subtle men—wasted on these straightforward sorts like Fabius. Vitellius too, really.”

“Mmm.” Alienus glowered at the stage.

“I think more things are wasted on Vitellius besides theater,” Marcella continued. “Good men like yourself, for example.”

A fleeting glance from below thick brows.

“I should like to tell you something, Commander.” She dropped her voice. “Of course we all know that the eastern legions proclaimed Governor Vespasian as Emperor some weeks ago. You probably don’t know that the Moesian legions have declared for him as well, five days back.”

“What?” She had Alienus’s full attention now, the dark eyes narrowed. “Five days—how could you possibly know that?”

“Vespasian’s younger son Domitian. He’s mad for me.” Marcella smiled, keeping up the fan’s placid movement. “So you see, I do know what I’m talking about. Vespasian has four legions in Judaea, but it’s a long time before they can get here, isn’t it? However, the legate of the Moesian legions has persuaded his men to march at once on Rome . . . and they are much closer.”

“I don’t believe you.”