“Of course I knew about Cornelia’s lover, and long before you did! So that was him, the soldier at the house? Of course it was. He came to protect you, how romantic! Who is he? You have to tell us now, my honey.”

“Centurion Drusus Sempronius Densus.” Cornelia took a chunk of cheese and started to nibble. Even if Cornelia were starving, Marcella thought in amusement, she’d never wolf her food. “Formerly of the Praetorian Guard.”

“So that’s where I knew him.” Lollia sounded satisfied. “Your old bodyguard. I always used to think he had an eye for you—”

“How long did it go on?” Marcella wondered. “You never did tell me.”

“Over four months,” Cornelia said, composed. “And that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

“Do you suppose we could return to the city today?” Marcella broke a chunk of bread in half as she gazed out at the road, letting her own eyes drift out toward the city. “Just think what must be happening . . .”

“If you’re that curious, you can go alone.” Diana was bandaging up her bloody hands. “We stay here a few days until things calm down.”

“Who are you to give orders?” Marcella said, nettled.

Diana looked back at her calmly. “I’m the only one who can drive a chariot, that’s who I am. Unless you plan on walking back to the city? Because the horses are staying here, and so should all four of us until things settle down.”

Marcella glared. Cornelia didn’t look happy either—still worrying for her soldier—but Lollia flopped back into the straw with a groan of contentment.

“A few days to sleep in this delightful hay—bliss, even if it is scratchy. I don’t think I’d even care if some legionary raped me at this point, as long as he didn’t wake me up. I could even sleep through sex with Fabius, and that’s saying something. Gods, I hope he really is dead. Pass the cheese?”

They slept a great deal over the next day. Lollia made friends with the nameless black dog who haunted the barn, as well as the horses who had saved their lives—even the savage old stallion succumbed to her cooing and let her put braids in his mane. “It appears,” Marcella observed, “that no male of any species can resist Lollia.” Marcella spent a good deal of time staring down the road toward the city, calculating a dozen different possibilities for Rome’s outcome. Vespasian is Emperor? Vitellius is prisoner? Vitellius is dead . . .