Tullia banged the door shut. “Dear,” Gaius said nervously, but she whipped up a hand to quiet the triclinium that was now astir with whispers and giggles. Cornelia clamped harder on the bubble in her throat, trying her best to be appalled. Shocking of Lollia. I am furious. Just furious. She coughed.

“That’s enough,” Tullia said, not shrieking but whispering. “I’ve tried my best. I’ve tried to bring morals to this family, but I’ve failed. Failed! I don’t think Juno herself could succeed. You’re all degenerates”—her bulging eyes swept Lollia’s grandfather with his tipsy laurel wreath—“and plebs”—glaring at Drusus—“and sluts”—looking at Diana.

“Why am I a slut?” Diana wondered.

“Now, now,” Gaius said, placating, but Tullia rounded on him.

“And you! I’m done with you! You and your degenerate uncontrollable family!” She yanked off her wedding ring and flung it at his feet, bosom heaving. “Done!”

Gaius opened his mouth. He closed it again. He turned scarlet. Wordlessly Cornelia handed him her cup of wine, and he drained it in one swallow.

“Well?” Tullia shrieked.

Gaius pointed at the door. “Get out,” he whispered.

Someone tittered. Tullia turned the color of a plum, and suddenly the whole room was roaring with laughter.

“Ohh—” Tullia’s mouth opened in a soundless shriek. She whirled and ran out of the room, gone forever if the gods were good, and Lollia’s grandfather was chortling and Diana was clapping, and Cornelia dropped her head against her new husband’s shoulder and laughed until her eyes watered.

“Here, brother.” Drusus refilled Gaius’s wine cup. “Have another.”

“Gods, yes,” said Gaius, and grabbed the whole decanter.

IT was near dusk by the time Diana could get away. The party was clearly going to run late and wild. Lollia and her freedman had long since disappeared; Cornelia lay with her head in Drusus’s lap as he ran a hand over her stomach and tried to feel the baby, which she insisted was moving; and Nessus the Imperial astrologer had managed to stay behind when Domitian’s entourage left and was happily telling fortunes. “No, no,” he clucked over the pink palm of Lollia’s grandfather, “don’t invest in Egyptian grain, they’re going to have some bad flooding next year. Silver mines in Gaul, that’s the thing—” The rest of the revelers, those still standing, were being led by Gaius, who had not gotten so drunk since becoming the dignified and responsible paterfamilias of the Cornelii.

“Diana,” he said vaguely, waving a wine cup at her as she took her leave. “Y’re very pretty, you know—always thought so—drive a chariot like a man, but v’ry pretty for all that. More wine! Stay and have a cup?” He patted the cushions beside him. “I might marry you, y’know—you wouldn’t fuss and scream at a chap, would you?”