“Yes, yes, you declared you would leave the palace the same woman as you entered it.” Hadrian’s eyes crinkled. “You’ve told me that a hundred times.”

“I hope I’ve done more than quote it at you.”

“Certainly, my lady.” He bent and kissed the top of her head. “You have not changed in the slightest.”

“You have, and not entirely for the better.” Plotina patted his furred cheek. “I don’t like that beard.”

“And I don’t like your choice of bride.” The scowl returned, and he flung himself into the chair opposite her. “Why Vibia Sabina?”

“You require a wife of breeding and connections, with the poise to host your colleagues and rivals as you climb the ladder.”

“You have always done that for me,” he observed.

“And will continue to do so.” Plotina began copying a list of figures out on her slate. “But a wife will give you sons, and a man should have sons.”

“Trajan—”

“Is also very fond of Sabina,” Plotina interrupted smoothly. “You will rise in his favor as well, marrying her.”

“I should already have his favor,” Hadrian grumbled.

Plotina felt a pang. “You should take more interest in Dear Publius,” she had told her husband many times. “He’s your ward. He should be like a son to you.”

“Well, he isn’t.” Trajan had been short with her, very short. “I’ve done my duty by him, haven’t I? Cold moody little bugger he was as a boy, and he’s a cold moody bugger now. Enough is enough.”

No, Plotina thought, it’s not nearly enough. But she knew when to drop the matter for later. Trajan could be so stubborn.

“Marry little Sabina,” she said, “and you’ll get on better with my husband. He’s even a distant great-uncle to her on her father’s side—the marriage will make you family, not just a ward. The Emperor will see you more frequently, get to appreciate you better. You’ll see.”

“It’ll take more than a marriage to make the Emperor like me.”

If you’d kept your hands off that dancer Trajan liked so much, you’d stand better with him today, Plotina thought. What a debacle that had been! Trajan had been very cross about having his pet poached from under his nose, and in the end Plotina had had to pack that smooth-cheeked little whore off to a brothel in Ostia, just to keep the peace in her household. All young men had wild oats to sow, but couldn’t they be more careful about where they scattered the seeds? It was a thought Plotina kept to herself. There were things young men fondly thought their mothers did not know. Mothers always did know, of course, but if they were wise they kept their own counsel. And who was wiser than Plotina, who was not just the mother Dear Publius should have had, but the Mother of Rome?