“Why should you?” Marcella tilted a shoulder. “I’m just a woman whispering rumors during a play. You’ll receive confirmation of the rumors in a few days’ time, however, and perhaps then you should come see me.” She rose.

“Why would I do that?” Alienus challenged.

“Why?” Marcella looked back over her shoulder. “Because unlike Vitellius, Vespasian isn’t the Emperor to overlook good men. Maybe you should consider that.”

She drifted back to her seat, where a scowling Domitian took possession of her hand. “What kept you so long?”

“Nothing unimportant.” She put an arm about him, stroking the back of his neck openly, and he dove forward to bury his lips between her breasts. She looked over his shoulder at Alienus, watching her with narrowed eyes, and lifted an eyebrow. See, you ambitious little man? I do have sources.

“Domitian,” she murmured, pushing him back a little. “You may want to drop a word in Caecina Alienus’s ear sometime soon.”

“Alienus?” Domitian lifted his head from where he’d been nibbling along the line of her shoulder. “Why are you talking about him? If you’re bedding that thug in breeches—”

“You don’t have a rival, you silly boy.” Flicking the tip of his nose. “I just know an opportunity when I see one. Alienus is a powerful man—and lately he’s been humiliated by two proposed brides, edged out by Fabius Valens, and neglected by the Emperor. I think he’s feeling . . . restless.”

“So?” Domitian scowled.

“So, that could be exploited. Why don’t you and your uncle host a dinner party, and invite him. Put him next to me, and I’ll drop a few words in his ear about your father. How generously he rewards his supporters. Then you can chime in with convincing details.”

Domitian’s black eyes began to gleam.

“Maybe bring your pet astrologer,” Marcella suggested. “He must be hard up these days; Vitellius doesn’t like astrologers. He could say a few encouraging words about the fates of all those who serve your father . . .”

“You’re a goddess,” Domitian breathed.

Marcella smiled. “Perhaps I am.”

CORNELIA remembered the days back at the beginning of this strange year when she’d been meeting with Vitellius’s brother to pass on information about Otho; how easily she had managed to come and go unnoticed from her brother’s house for those clandestine gatherings. I could be bedding half of Rome and my family would be the last to know, she’d thought at the time, and scoffed inside at the patrician matrons who bemoaned the difficulties of meeting with their lovers.

She knew what they were moaning about now.

“My family thinks I’m at the theater with my sister,” Cornelia said breathlessly, coming through the rickety door of the whorehouse and landing in Drusus’s arms.

“Good.” He pinned her against the wall of his room, pushing the veil off her hair, kissing her throat. “How long?”