I saluted, took my leave, assembled my men, did a fast march back toward Antioch, and took ship for Cyprus.

When I landed—

That’s a day I don’t like to remember.

The dreams are bad enough.

PLOTINA

“My dear, what a vision you are.” Plotina kissed the tall blond column of a girl on both cheeks. “Senator Norbanus, I hear your Faustina is the toast of Rome. You’ve not arranged a marriage for her yet?”

“She’ll make her own choice, as long as the Emperor approves it.” Senator Norbanus had to tilt his head back to smile at his much-taller daughter. “I admit I’m quite selfishly glad she hasn’t chosen yet.”

“I’ve met none who measure up to my father.” Faustina kissed his cheek. “Oh, gods, here comes that tedious old prat Servianus. Father, do you mind if I hide?”

“I’d hide myself if I could.” Marcus waved her away, tolerant, and Faustina curtsied swiftly to Plotina and disappeared into the atrium full of guests to reappear at her mother’s side. Nineteen years old, Plotina thought, and what a picture. Beautiful but demure in her floating yards of pale yellow silk; vivacious but dignified with her greetings for each guest. A royal pedigree and a royal dowry to match; hips made for babies and manners made for a palace. Why, why hadn’t little Faustina been born the elder daughter? She’d have made a far better wife for Dear Publius than her globe-trotting harlot of a sister. Plotina closed her eyes, thinking of the dinner party when That Dress had shocked so many of Dear Publius’s associates. Thank goodness the slut was off disporting herself in Ephesus or Syria or someplace—far enough away, at any rate, for her escapades to be filtered and muted by distance. Irritatingly, there was far more discussion in Rome about the hospital Sabina had founded in some Pannonian sinkhole, or the dowries she donated to poor freeborn girls in Campania, than there was gossip about her lovers! Plotina had to give the little whore credit; she was certainly clever enough to cover her misdoings with a cloak of good works.

The guests were taking their places now in the triclinium, where the dining couches had been banished for long rows of chairs. A public reading of Senator Norbanus’s latest treatise—he might have retired from the Senate this year, but his pen flowed on unchecked. Plotina frowned, taking her own place of honor at the head of the guests. Really, what a relief it would be when the good senator was finally taken to the afterlife, or at least stopped meddling in politics. His opinion still carried far too much weight for her taste, and he had never been more than politely supportive of Dear Publius. Still, the occasion offered certain opportunities.