“This marriage will be a start in the right direction,” she said instead. “Trajan likes Sabina, and if you marry her he’ll like you. So why don’t you go pay a visit on the Norbanus household this afternoon?”

“I suppose I could speak to her father.” Grudgingly. “Advance my prospects.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to address yourself to Sabina as well, my dear. Her father is letting her have some choice in her marriage.” Plotina exhaled. “What is this world coming to? He always was far too lenient a father.”

“I’ll take a firmer line with his grandsons, then.” Hadrian rose, kissing her hand. “You win, my lady. Senator Norbanus’s daughter it is.”

“Shave off that beard?” Plotina begged. “I’m sure no girl wishes to marry a hedge.”

SABINA

“It’s perfect.” Sabina looked down at the little figure in marble. “Uncle Paris, I don’t know how you do it.”

He took her thanks serenely, hardly bothering to look up from the new block of marble now occupying his worktable. Sabina wandered the studio, used to his silences. Long windows letting in a flood of pale gold morning sunshine, scraps of marble and stone dust everywhere—and shelves, rank on rank of shelves crammed full of marble pieces. A bust of Emperor Trajan, looking vigorous… a half-finished study of a nymph, exquisite arms and shoulders rising from a rough chunk of stone… a granite Hercules with his lion skin and club… Uncle Paris might be old now, his hair gone white and his eyes cloudy, but his hands with their chisel and mallet were clearly as steady as ever. He must have been quite a scandal when he was young—Sabina could well imagine the whispers. A boy of good family sculpting marble like a common artisan? My dear, the shame of it! But the family had gotten used to him by now, and left him alone with his marble and his gift for shaping it.

“I wish I had a talent,” Sabina confided to a suspicious-eyed bust of the old emperor Domitian. Even an awkward talent like sculpting marble, or Aunt Diana’s passion for training horses—it would still make life simpler. You’d know what the gods intended you to be. It was just a matter of clearing any obstacles out of the way, and getting on with it.

She’d wanted to smack Vix that day at the races a few weeks ago. Anyone with eyes in their head could see what he was supposed to be, and instead he wasted his time skulking around alleys, picking fights, and kissing the wrong girls.

A deep voice sounded behind her. “Vibia Sabina.”

“Publius Aelius Hadrian.” She turned, aping his formal tones just a little. “Wait, hold still!”

“What?” he frowned, his broad hand twitching the folds of his toga.