“He won’t be your husband forever. I had Nessus read your stars—”

“Yes, yes, your pet astrologer. Forgive me if I doubt him.” Marcella knew the names of a handful of famous astrologers, but none were named Nessus. Some charlatan getting his money’s worth out of a boy’s dreams.

“Nessus is never wrong!” Domitian launched into some speech about his plans to stand for election soon, and how Nessus had guaranteed he would be made praetor. Marcella worked her shuttle back and forth without listening. She was still trying to write an account of Galba’s death to finish the scroll of his too-short reign, wondering if she would ever be able to describe the air of peculiar, lascivious hysteria that had overcome the crowd when Galba was killed before their eyes. A strange mood, difficult to convey on the page, and she was meditating on a choice of words while Domitian droned on in the background, when a familiar voice came from the archway.

“My dear, how industrious you look.”

“Lucius.” Marcella offered an unenthusiastic cheek for a kiss as her husband, Lucius Aelius Lamia, tossed his cloak at a slave and came across the chamber. “I had no idea you were returning from Judaea so soon.”

“Neither did I. Governor Vespasian wanted a messenger—”

“How is my father?” Domitian interrupted, scowling.

“Very well,” Lucius said. “Young Domitian, isn’t it? Your father and brother sent letters for you. I’ll call on you later to deliver them.”

He waved a dismissive hand, and Domitian had no choice but to rise. “I’ll see you again soon,” he informed Marcella, ignoring her husband, and stalked out.

“I see you have an admirer,” Lucius observed.

“He’s a pest,” Marcella shrugged. “How are you, Lucius?”

“Well enough.” He settled himself in Domitian’s chair, gesturing for wine and refreshments. Marcella picked up her shuttle again as he began complaining about the roads and the length of his journey. A tall man of thirty-four, a handsome face with a receding chin and dark hair thinning on top, which displeased him. Married four years, and Marcella doubted they’d spent more than four months at once under the same roof. “It would be shocking if you weren’t so casual about it,” Cornelia had always disapproved, though these days she was too sunk in grief to disapprove of anything much.

“So what brings you back to Rome so suddenly, Lucius?” Marcella paused to untangle a strand of knotted wool.

“Vespasian has decided to declare his support for Otho.” Lucius reached for the dish of oysters in herbed sauce that a slave had just brought in. Always eating heartily from other people’s tables, Marcella thought. “And I have been sent to convey Vespasian’s oath of loyalty.”

“Otho will be relieved. There’s enough trouble from Germania without adding Judaea into the mix.”

“More trouble than you know.”

“Well? Tell me!”