“I could publish under a man’s name.”

“The idea!” Lucius guffawed. “Anyone would know a woman’s point of view.”

“I don’t write silly tittle-tattle, and you know it,” Marcella said coolly. “I give faithful, impartial accounting of Rome’s rulers.”

“Well, perhaps I’ll read a bit someday.” Tolerant.

“What a pity you didn’t go into politics, Lucius. You have a great talent for making promises you have no intention of keeping.”

“One needs supporters to enter the Senate, my dear.” The amusement was starting to strip off his voice. “Clients . . . funds . . . a wife who advances her husband’s career through useful means . . .”

“Perhaps you should start with funds,” Marcella said sweetly. “I’m sure Lollia’s grandfather could give you a loan. Or should I say another loan? Did you ever pay off the first one, Lucius?”

An irate glance. Perhaps this wasn’t the best way to get what she wanted . . . One of Cornelia’s little marital platitudes flashed through her head, something about honey being more effective on husbands than vinegar. “You’ll have heard about my sister’s bereavement, of course.” Marcella leaned forward to refill her husband’s goblet, now conciliatory. “I know she would appreciate your condolences.”

“Of course, poor Piso. Such a bore. Your sister should marry again. Otho has plenty of followers who will be wanting a wife.”

“Cornelia can’t even hear Otho’s name without spitting.” Marcella put away the decanter. “She’d open her throat with her fingernails before she married any of his cronies.”

“How dramatic.” Lucius rotated his goblet between manicured fingertips—as much as he was on the road, he always managed to keep himself immaculate. He was forever tut-tutting Marcella for her ink spots.

“So you serve Vespasian now.” Marcella called for the slaves to take away the empty dishes and bring fruit. “Is he anything like his tiresome son?”

“I don’t know Domitian, but his father is very shrewd. The legions wanted to proclaim him Emperor too, you know.”

“Fortuna’s sake, not four,” Marcella sighed. “There’s trouble enough with three. Why did he refuse?”

“Better to be a live Governor of Judaea than a dead Emperor of Rome.”

“He is shrewd. But he still has a tiresome son.”

“I can hardly blame the boy for admiring you, my dear. He has excellent taste.”

Marcella smiled rather thinly at the compliment. She knew perfectly well that her husband’s tastes ran to boyish women, the younger and skinnier the better. Most husbands would be glad to have access to breasts like these, but oh no, not Lucius. Not that she really wanted him in her bed, but still . . .

“Gods, I’m tired.” He yawned, stretching. “I’ve been hanging about Otho’s halls waiting for an audience since dawn.”