You’re ill, he told himself. That fish you ate last night. A piece of bad fish, and now you’re hallucinating.

But he wasn’t. Clear as day he saw widowhood for three of the four girls; a fair amount of misery for one and fame for another; a total of eleven husbands and eight children between them—and of course, that one little hand spilling over with blood.

The four girls went skipping off into the Forum after some new diversion, veils fluttering behind them. The nursemaid counted a few coins into Nessus’s hand, gave a censorious sniff at his threadbare tunic for good measure, and swished off after her charges. Nessus quickly packed up his star charts and headed to the nearest tavern.

He had had his first vision of the future, and he needed a drink.

“I am entering on the history of a period rich in disasters, frightful in its wars, torn by civil strife, and even in peace full of horrors. Four emperors perished by the sword.”

—TACITUS

PART ONE - GALBA

PART ONE

GALBA

June A.D. 68–January A.D. 69

“All pronounced him worthy of the empire, until he became emperor.”

—TACITUS

One

One

WE’RE going to a wedding, not a battle.” Marcella blinked as her sister came into the bedroom hauling a huge spear. “Or are you planning on killing the bride?”

“Don’t tempt me.” Cornelia sighed, looking up the length of the spear. “Lollia and her weddings . . . I sent my maid out for just the spearhead, but of course she came back with the whole spear. Put that pen down for once, won’t you, and help me get the shaft off.”

Marcella shoved her writing tablet to one side and rose from the desk. She and her sister tussled the spear between them, Cornelia yanking at the head and Marcella twisting the long shaft. “It’s not coming,” Marcella complained, just as the blade came loose and sent them tumbling in opposite directions. Marcella banged her elbow against the tiles and swore. Cornelia began a dignified reproof but started to giggle instead. Her stern, serene face cracked for just a moment into a little girl’s, bracketed by those deep dimples she disliked so much. Marcella started to giggle too.

“All this trouble,” she said ruefully, “just so you can part Lollia’s hair with a dead gladiator’s spearhead and give her a happy marriage. Did it work the first two times?”

“I have faith.”

“It didn’t work at my wedding either—”

“Enough!” Cornelia rose, holding out one elegantly ringed hand. Marcella took it and scrambled up. “Aren’t you ready yet? I swore I’d be there early to help Lollia.”