CORNELIA always hated the public slave market. The pushing, the shoving, the auctioneers shouting like cattle drovers, the jeers of the men who just came to see the female slaves stripped naked. So off-putting—she always attended private showings for her slaves.

“My dear ladies.” An unctuous little man bowed before Lollia and Cornelia. “You honor me with your patronage. Only the finest slaves to be seen here, all healthy and docile—”

“You know what I find depressing?” Lollia complained. “That a trip to the slave auction is the highlight of my month.”

“You have only yourself to blame,” Cornelia pointed out, filing slowly past the long row of slaves on their display pedestals. “Kissing a charioteer at a party—Juno’s mercy, most husbands would object to that!”

“Oh, it’s not kissing a charioteer that he objects to. It’s the indiscretion . ‘I will not have my wife known as a whore,’ ” Lollia mimicked savagely. “ ‘Since you seem unable to behave yourself in public, you are henceforth confined to the house. Properly supervised, you may go to the Forum, to the bathhouse, to visit your family, and to such entertainments as I deem appropriate.’ And believe me, there isn’t much he deems appropriate.”

Cornelia perused the line of slaves, absently accepting a cup of barley water from the hovering slave dealer. Male and female slaves alike were dressed in crisp white tunics, limbs oiled and gleaming in the lamplight, a discreet plaque hanging about each neck to advertise names and skills. Servitors, secretaries, scribes . . . a proper cook, that was what Cornelia needed. Her current cook would be quite defeated by the prospect of a forty-course banquet. Not that her own tastes were so elaborate, of course—or Piso’s—but an emperor’s heir had to keep up certain standards when he entertained . . .

If Galba chooses him. But she squelched that thought firmly. Of course the Emperor would choose Piso. There were no other possible candidates. Some people might appear more popular and charming, some people might be sprinkling money about like spring rain, but that didn’t matter in the long run. Men of character and integrity would always win over men of charm and money.

“I thought I’d buy a new maid to replace that harpy Old Flaccid set to spy on me,” Lollia was saying meditatively. “But perhaps I need something else too. Something large and handsome and male to help me pass the time.”

“Lollia, really.”

“Well, who else is supposed to keep me occupied while I’m under house arrest? Unless you’re willing to lend me that stalwart centurion of yours on your next visit. He can show me what he can do with his spear, and you can talk all you want about Piso being Emperor.”

“I hope you’re just trying to be funny, because if you sincerely think I would ever—”

“Oh, don’t ruffle your feathers,” Lollia sighed.