The November morning had dawned blue and cold. Breath puffed white on the air as Marcella slipped down from the litter at the outdoor shrine of Juno and went to join the wedding guests already waiting. Cornelia had gone to assist the bride, still toting the spearhead. We’ll see if it works any better this time, Marcella thought as she slipped in with a group of cousins, avoiding her brother and his loathsome new wife. At the shrine stood Lollia’s latest betrothed with his own entourage—Marcella had to admit he wasn’t an appetizing sight. Fifty-seven, bald, wrinkled, and glaring . . . but he was very eminent; consul and adviser to Emperor Galba. All Lollia’s husbands were eminent. The richest heiress in Rome can afford to choose.

Strains of music came fading through the crisp air at last, and the guests rustled. The bridal procession: flute players, slaves tossing flowers into the street . . . Lollia’s proud grandfather, born a slave and now one of the richest men in Rome, a festival wreath perched atop his wig . . . a curly-haired doll of a little girl, Lollia’s daughter from the first of her short marriages, beaming from her great-grandfather’s arms . . . Cornelia, regal as any empress, leading the bride by the hand to her newest husband . . . and the bride herself in her long white tunica: Cornelia Tertia, known to everyone as Lollia. Not the prettiest of the four cousins, most agreed, but Lollia did have a soft chin, a lush mouth that looked almost bruised, and merry painted eyes. Her mass of curls, dutifully parted by Cornelia with a gladiator’s spear to ensure luck for her coming marriage, had this month been dyed a violent red that clashed cheerfully with the flame-colored bridal veil. Lollia’s kohl-rimmed eye gave a wink to Marcella as she passed, and Marcella smothered a snort of laughter.

Cornelia put Lollia’s hand into that of Senator Flaccus Vinius and took her own place in the crowd of wedding guests. “Don’t tell me,” Marcella murmured. “You gave Lollia your little speech about how when she put the red veil on she was a carefree girl, and when she takes it off she’ll be a married woman with all the attendant duties and responsibilities.”

“What makes you say that?” Cornelia whispered back as the priest began to intone a homily on the virtues of marriage.

“You gave me the same speech at my wedding. You really should get some new material, you know.”

“Well, I’m her bridal escort. I’m supposed to prepare her for what’s coming.”

“She’s nineteen, and it’s her third wedding. Believe me, she knows what’s coming.”

“Ssshh!”

“Quando tu Gaius, ego Gaia.” Lollia joined hands with her senator at the altar, intoning the ritual words.

“At my wedding I was so excited I could hardly stammer the vows,” Cornelia whispered, and Marcella heard the smile in her voice.