Marcella lugged four buckets over, two at a time, as Diana began unbuckling straps and traces. The first stallion shook himself in relief as the bridle slid over his ears, and Diana murmured loving nonsense at him.

“You really were splendid, Diana.” Marcella heaved up a bucket for the horse to drink. “Lollia says you saved her and Cornelia, and I don’t doubt it.”

“You were the one in real danger.” Diana unbuckled the breastplate from the old stallion’s heavy chest, looking at Marcella. “What were you doing down there in the Campus Martius?”

Marcella shrugged. “I wanted to see what would happen.”

“You could have died.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” She smiled. “You saved me, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.” Diana rubbed the second stallion’s silky nose as he started eagerly for the water bucket. “We might all be dead if Vitellius hadn’t given me the horses.”

“Vitellius?”

“He was hiding in the Blues stable.” She hauled an armload of harness to one side. “I spoke with him. He was . . .”

“What?” Marcella asked eagerly. “Tell me!”

Diana looked at her. “Nothing. He gave me the horses. I suppose he’s dead now.”

“Do you have to be so close-mouthed?” Marcella said, exasperated.

“There’s nothing to tell.” Diana looped ropes about two of the arched chestnut necks, and the stallions followed her docile as ponies to their stalls. Marcella rolled her eyes. But by the time Diana put up all four horses with hay and more fond words, Lollia and Cornelia were awake and there was no more privacy to press Diana for her secrets. The one time she knows anything interesting, Marcella thought, is the one time she keeps her mouth shut!

“Juno’s mercy, whenever did you find time to pack?” Cornelia was asking as Lollia rummaged in her satchel and triumphantly produced a packet of bread and cheese.

“Well, I resigned myself to a noble death as was proper.” Lollia began parceling the bread out among them. “But I thought that just in case we had to do the sensible thing and flee instead of the patrician thing and die, it would be nice to have some food and perhaps a little money and an extra palla or two . . .” She produced coins, cloaks, and more food like a conjurer.

Cornelia laughed, but the laughter died away quickly and she looked out the wide barn doors toward the city. “Worried for your soldier?” Diana said, rummaging about the barn for rags to tie up her blood-crusted hands.

“Soldier?” Lollia dug to the bottom of the pack.

“You didn’t know about Cornelia’s lover?” Marcella spread her palla out on the hay to catch the breadcrumbs from Lollia’s bread. “Tullia screamed loud enough to be heard in Gaul.”