“Don’t be ridiculous.” Passing a blanket over to a wide-eyed woman with two bedraggled children clinging to each hip. “It’s my job.”

“The steward, he can take care of it.”

“He’ll pocket all the coppers and sell the grain.”

“Not when I watch,” Thrax said. He’d already caught one of the grooms hoarding blankets to sell out the back of the stables to desperate beggars. He’d lifted the man up with one hand, cracked him a few times against a roof beam, and tossed him into an overflowing gutter full of stinking refuse. I do like a man of action!

Thrax stuck at Lollia’s elbow all afternoon, passing new bags of coppers when she’d given out the last coins in her hands, scowling at a butcher who raved too loudly about the damages done to his shop. When Flavia escaped her nurse and came running down to the courtyard, it was Thrax who saw her first and swung her up to sit on his shoulders before her feet could even get muddy. He took a moment to run her through the rain, her little hands stretched out to catch the falling drops, then swung her down and returned her squealing to her nurse. His golden hair was just as bright in the rain as in the sunlight, Lollia thought. And he did look wonderful wet! Tunic clinging to wide shoulders and long flanks, muscles moving under a rainy gleam of skin . . .

“That’s the end of the flatbread, Domina,” the steward reported.

“Close the gates until tomorrow, then.”

The maids dispensed the last blankets; Lollia divvied up her remaining coppers and allowed the shivering children to dip a second bowl into the soup cauldron to take away with them. Thrax and the grooms herded the rest out through the gates. There were a few grumbles, but Lollia had had the grooms armed with stout cudgels, and no one put up much of a fuss. More than one house in this city had been overrun by desperate plebs looking for shelter, and there would probably be more—but none of them would belong to her.

“There you are, m’dear.” Her grandfather came in from the atrium, shaking out his wet cloak. “All in hand?”

“All in hand.”

“That’s my jewel.” He patted her cheek. “I’ve just arranged for an extra wagonload of grain barrels—delivery tomorrow, you can take care of that?”

“Of course.” Lollia sneezed. “Any more buildings come crashing down in this rain?”

“No, but that tenement I just bought near the Pincian Hill needs shoring up—the roof looks shaky. I’ll supervise the workers tomorrow myself.” Lollia’s grandfather put a plump hand on her damp hair, frowning. “Get warm, m’dear, get warm at once. I won’t have you sick. Thrax, put her to bed, if you please.”