“We agreed it was time you married,” she pointed out as he continued to pace. “Right in this room we agreed it.” A fine sunny morning; Hadrian always came to call on her before midday if his duties permitted, and she had lost no time in dismissing the slaves from her cozy study and informing him she had at last found him a bride. “It’s high time you took a wife,” Plotina continued, “and you asked me to find you a suitable candidate.”

“Not Vibia Sabina. I don’t like the girl.”

“Why not? She’s quiet, well mannered, decently bred. She has a fine dowry and even finer connections.”

“Her mother was the greatest whore since Messalina!”

“And her father has one of the most respected voices in the Senate house. His support would carry your career far.” Plotina smiled. “I do so want to see you consul someday, Dear Publius. By thirty if I can manage it, and I expect I can.”

“Not with a wife like that. She may look quiet, but she has a taste for low company. I saw her at the races, rubbing elbows with plebs.”

“Once you’re married, she’ll have to keep the company you choose,” Plotina pointed out. “Surely you can rein in one errant little wife?”

“She’s very young,” Hadrian complained. “I don’t like little girls.”

“I wish she were younger,” Plotina sighed. A ripe biddable little thing of fourteen who would do as she was told—the ideal daughter-in-law. “Sabina’s father should have arranged her marriage three or four years ago instead of letting her loll about the house reading Homer. Still, if he had then she would not be available for you. The gods arrange these things for a reason.” They generally arranged things to suit Plotina, she found. And what they did not arrange, she could contrive for herself.

“I don’t think the girl is as biddable as you say,” Hadrian was saying. “She says all the right things, but I can feel her laughing at me.”

“Nonsense; who would ever laugh at you?” Plotina looked back to her wax tablet. “Just leave her to me; I will train her up to satisfaction after your marriage. Hand me that stylus?”

“Checking the household accounts again?” Hadrian shook his head, amused. “An army of stewards at your beck and call, and the Empress of Rome still does her own figures.”

“My last steward tried to cheat me. I had to make an example and have his hands chopped off.” Plotina scraped the tablet clean and made a fresh heading. “Besides, I have always kept my own household accounts. I see no reason to change simply because my household is larger. You will recall, Dear Publius, that when I entered the palace for the first time—”