But Cornelia rushed on, unhearing. “—and he talked about shame, too, reminding them of their duty. I wish he hadn’t done that, but Galba thought it best if he shamed the guards into doing the right thing—and it doesn’t matter, Densus assured me the men received him well enough—”

“Cornelia—”

“And now some people are urging Galba to reinforce the palace and arm the slaves, in case there’s a fight, and others are urging him to go out and meet Otho head-on—”

“Cornelia, come home.” Lollia cut off her babbling. “Wait with us until it’s all safely over.”

“My place is with my husband.” Cornelia’s cold hand flinched in Marcella’s, and then she drew herself visibly together. “But truly, you should all—”

“Lollia!” Old Flaccid caught sight of his wife for the first time and started flapping his hands. “Go home at once—the idea of coming here now—”

“Oh, don’t hiss at me.” Lollia rolled her eyes. “It’s like being married to a gander—”

“I’ve just fetched a litter,” Cornelia said soothingly. The slaves were starting to get excited now, whispering in corners behind their hands, and none of them wanted to listen to her. But she was the Empress of Rome, or something very near to it, and when she clapped her hands they scattered obediently. Marcella had never felt prouder of her sister.

A gap in the babble drew Marcella’s eyes as Cornelia hastened them all out. Galba was tossing his toga aside, snarling at the hovering courtiers as his breastplate and greaves were brought forward.

“It looks like he’ll go out to meet them,” Marcella said.

“Yes.” Cornelia was pale now, but her voice was still composed.

“Do I have to leave?” Marcella begged. “Just when all the excitement is beginning? I may have written about history, but I’ve never seen it happen—”

“Out,” Cornelia ordered in the big-sister voice she had not used since they were small, and bundled Marcella into the hired litter after her cousins.

The bearers jolted below as they swung away from the palace, but none of them called down for a smoother pace. Lollia nibbled her nails anxiously, but Marcella couldn’t help peeking through the curtains and Diana peered over her shoulder. The light was purple with dusk, and after a while Marcella began seeing people—bakers, brewers, old soldiers, beggars and urchins, women with children clinging to their skirts—gathered along the street. Saying nothing, just watching silently. Though there was shouting in the distance.

“Turn ahead,” Marcella called down to the litter-bearers as the surge of shouting grew louder. “Avoid the Forum.”