“He seems happy there.” Vix reached for the bowl of fruit again when Titus asked about Demetra’s handsome little son. “I drop in now and then, make sure he’s cared for.”

“See? Practice for when you have your own sons.”

“Don’t want any. Or a wife. And who are you to be giving me marriage advice? You’re managing well enough on your own.” Vix watched the swing of Ennia’s hips as she retreated into the kitchen. “Or maybe not quite on your own…”

“I’m too busy organizing the Emperor’s building projects to get married. I’ve got so much marble dust in my hair when I get home, no wife would put up with it.”

“You helped with the triumphal column?” Vix asked eagerly. “I haven’t seen it yet—”

“If you think the column’s impressive, wait till you see the public baths Trajan commissioned. The biggest you ever saw. He wants them done tomorrow, but I wager they’ll keep me busy for the next five years.”

“Such a waste.” Vix fiddled restlessly with the hilt of the knife at his waist. “He should be conquering the world, not building bathhouses!”

“I’m not certain I agree with you there, but Emperor Trajan might. One hears he’s considering an invasion of Parthia.”

“Parthia?” That perked Vix up visibly. “Don’t suppose the Tenth will go. Damn, but I’d like to see Parthia. Brown women and hot skies—hot battles too, I imagine…”

Vix and Titus conquered Parthia over another cup of wine, toasting imaginary victories. Halfway through a dreamy invasion of Babylon Vix began to yawn; by the sacking of Hatra he was fast asleep with his head on the table.

“See?” Titus dragged a blanket out from the bedroom to throw over his friend. “You need a wife. Then she could do this for you, and not me.”

But Vix was already snoring.

SABINA

Sabina couldn’t remember when she’d had to start timing her moments to be sure of catching her husband in a good mood. The only time a good mood seemed certain was right after he had killed something.

“A good hunt?” she asked as he came into the triclinium, slapping a pair of bloody gloves against one hand. It was early still, the white marble walls on the triclinium stained pink through the east-facing windows.

“A deer.” He moved as restlessly as the pair of hunting dogs weaving and growling about his feet, as if they were all three still smelling the morning mist, the fleeing prey, the spurting blood. “Only a doe, but one settles for what one can get.”

“I didn’t think you liked settling for anything, Hadrian.”