“Disapprove,” Plotina sniffed. There was very little in Moguntiacum of which she approved. The town was dirty, the slaves insolent, and these quarters she had been assigned barely adequate for decent living. Rough walls, garishly colored cushions on the couches, and those German lamps that smoked day and night. She had brought her own modest luxuries—the polished steel mirror at her table, her little writing desk where she attended so much Imperial business; the appurtenances expected and due one of her position. But oh, how glad she would be to return to Rome! There was nothing about Moguntiacum that the Empress of Rome found pleasing.

Least of all the rumors she had uncovered—all right, the rumors she had made sure she uncovered—about Dear Publius’s little wife.

“So Vibia Sabina invited herself along on the campaign,” Dear Publius was saying. Lovely to see him in a dinner synthesis for once, handsome and formal and bearded, rather than the ever-present breastplate. Plotina sometimes thought herself doomed to spend her whole life surrounded by men in armor. “I admit I was displeased at the outset, but she did not inconvenience me. She may even have assisted me. She was useful in one or two matters—a problem with the supply officers she brought to the Emperor’s attention, and another matter with my senior medicus. Trajan grew very fond of having her at his dinner table, and therefore me as well. And there is no doubt she enjoyed herself on the march.”

“Yes,” Plotina said significantly. “I hear she did.”

“What do you mean?”

Plotina raised her eyebrows, taking her time as she put on her amethyst earrings. Hadrian wandered up behind her, surveying his own reflection in her polished steel mirror.

“So good to have a proper barber again,” he murmured, fingering his beard. “One hates the feeling of stubble growing halfway down one’s neck, but Trajan lets these things slide on campaign, and it seems best to follow his example… I suppose you mean, my dear Plotina, that my wife took a lover during the campaign?”

“I’m surprised to hear you say it so lightly.”

Hadrian shrugged. “A wife can call her bed her own, as far as I am concerned, so long as she is discreet.”

“I raised you to think better than that,” Plotina said tartly. “But we will leave that matter for the moment. Discretion is all, you say? I don’t believe Vibia Sabina was discreet. I have heard disturbing rumors from slaves, from the legion’s aides, even from junior officers. The girl spent her evenings… well, I don’t like to say…”

“I think you had better not.” Hadrian glanced at the slave standing with a flagon of barley water in one corner, the other slave folding Plotina’s silks into their casket.