“And he’s still in bed recovering from food poisoning.” From a dish of red mullet at a banquet; not enough to kill him, just enough to keep him in bed here in Rome instead of marching north in command of Vitellius’s army.

“Who wouldn’t get food poisoning, trying to keep up with Vitellius at a banquet?” Lollia had said. “Though he’s not too sick to demand I join him in bed. These days, I just don’t seem to have any luck at all.”

Because all the luck these days is coming to me, Marcella thought. With Fabius sweating off his dish of red mullet in bed, Vitellius’s army had been led north by . . . Caecina Alienus.

Really, it couldn’t have worked out better. Marcella wished she could have joined Alienus and the army, to be in at the battle as she’d been at Bedriacum to see Otho’s end, but there was no mortal way to manage it this time. And anyway, things were still quite exciting enough here in the city.

Domitian’s voice was accusing again. “I don’t see why you’re so sure of Alienus. He never said he’d turn for my father’s side.”

“Not in so many words,” said Marcella. “But he’s got the army stalled now, doesn’t he?”

“If he’s going to turn, then why is he negotiating?”

“Because he wants the strongest position possible before he turns his troops over.” She stroked a finger down Domitian’s wrist. “Trust me. He’ll turn. Wasn’t it lucky he ended up in command of Vitellius’s army, and not Fabius? If your father ever takes the purple, he could owe it all to a bad dish of seafood.”

“Or to you.” Domitian’s black eyes assessed her. “Did you have anything to do with that bout of food poisoning?”

“Really,” Marcella rebuked. “All I do is pass on whispers. You think I would poison a man?”

“You’re the cleverest woman I know,” said Domitian. “I don’t like clever women, usually.” He wrapped a hand around her ankle, sliding up her leg again. Marcella brushed him away, but not too fast.

“You’d better go. My bearers have marched five times around the Forum now—someone’s bound to notice.”

He got out, sulky, and Marcella leaned down and kissed him loosely at the corner of the mouth. His lips dove after hers, hungry.

“Don’t put your tongue in my mouth,” Marcella advised. “I’ll see you when I hear more.”