Lucius paused, savoring the moment. He didn’t normally waste dramatic news on Marcella, but apparently even a wife was better than no audience at all. “Governor Vitellius of Lower Germania was proclaimed Emperor by his legions—and now he’s marching on Rome.”

“No!” Marcella dropped her shuttle, turning with brows raised. Lucius so rarely managed to surprise her with anything. “Otho’s only been Emperor a month—”

“Yes, Vespasian had quite a time deciding which claimant to support.” Lucius popped an oyster into his mouth. “But on the whole, he thought he’d be better off with Otho. Otho’s quite clever, after all. And Vitellius . . .”

“Is a drunk.” Marcella conjured up the mental picture she’d drawn of fat Vitellius, the few times she’d ever seen him. Drunk, yes, that was fair. She’d seen him at a faction party where he’d roared out slogans for the Blues, whom he adored, and then passed out face first in a planter. Had he ever shown ambition for anything more than food, wine, and chariot racing? A detailed study of his previous appointments might reveal something . . . “He must have been very drunk when the legions proclaimed him Emperor, or he’d never have had the nerve to go through with it.”

“And now he’s being propped up by a pair of scoundrels.” Lucius attacked the oysters again. “Tullia should use more spices on these. Pass me that dish, will you?”

“Scoundrels?” Marcella prompted impatiently.

“Yes, two of Vitellius’s army commanders. Fabius Valens and Caecina Alienus. They’re riding him along, stealing everything in sight and filling him with wine whenever he starts getting doubts.”

“Fabius Valens and Caecina Alienus.” Marcella stored the names away, refilling her husband’s plate in the hopes he’d keep talking. “I’m surprised Vitellius is coming south with an army. If I planned on becoming an Emperor, I’d just pay someone here in Rome to put a knife in Otho’s back. Much simpler.”

“My dear, he hasn’t a chance in the world of becoming emperor. He’s just another usurper.”

“One of those has already succeeded this year—I’m not surprised someone else decided to give it a try.” Marcella picked up her shuttle again. “I’m sure Vitellius is being very official about it all, dating his reign from the day he first woke up with a laurel circlet on his head and a blistering hangover. And he does have a few legions backing him up . . . really, what’s an emperor besides a man with a laurel circlet and a few legions?” She set the loom going again. “Perhaps I’ll write an account of Vitellius too, as long as he lasts. It used to be so simple when there was only one at a time. But perhaps not as interesting . . .”

“Still scribbling, I see.” Lucius looked amused.

“Why shouldn’t I write?”

“My dear, you’ll never publish.”