THE first day of the new year belonged to Janus, god of doorways, god of beginnings, and as always Cornelia and her cousins exchanged coins stamped with Janus’s double-faced profile. One face looked forward and the other back, and on the first day of this year, it couldn’t have been more appropriate. Cornelia was looking ahead to the future along with the rest of Rome, looking ahead to Emperor Vespasian as he made his triumphal entry into the city . . . but she couldn’t help looking back too, and she felt a twinge as she remembered an emperor who was torn to pieces in the Forum and an emperor who marched north to defeat and suicide and an emperor who died alone and terrified in a stable. Three dead emperors, and the thousands who had died supporting them.

Emperor Vespasian entered the city today, on the first day of the year, and later Cornelia heard how loudly he had been cheered. But she hadn’t been there to cheer for him. She had other words to say, more important words.

“Quando tu Gaius, ego Gaia . . .” Drusus’s hands squeezed hers fiercely as she recited the ritual vows, and even through the red haze of the bridal veil she could see the tears in his eyes. Just a small wedding, only family and friends gathered around the public shrine—Lollia bouncing up and down on her toes, Diana slipping in late as always, Drusus’s parents and sister clustered together proud and a little shy. Marcella wasn’t there—even a prince’s wife apparently knew better than to come where she was so bluntly unwanted. Cornelia was grateful.

Drusus’s hand squeezed hers again as the priest brought a white goat forward for the matrimonial sacrifice, and Cornelia looked up at the marble statue of Juno that gazed down on her. Is she smiling at me? Perhaps.

The goat escaped the priest’s knife and ran bleating down the street. Cornelia couldn’t suppress a giggle as the priest began to swear, and Drusus was so convulsed with laughter he could hardly speak. “Let it go,” Lollia called from the circle of guests. “Some woman in the slums will be the richer for a nice milking goat by evening. That’s a better wedding omen than goat blood on our shoes!”

Cornelia couldn’t have agreed more.

The wedding party broke up amicably, streaming back up the street toward the house of Lollia’s grandfather, who had offered to host the feast. Drusus snugged Cornelia close against his side, pushing her veil back so he could kiss her. “All mine now,” he whispered, and his hand brushed her stomach, which had just barely begun to round.