“When? I leave tomorrow. The Emperor wants me in Hatra, and after that—”

“Oh,” said my wife, her face blank.

“It won’t be for long.” I tried to sound encouraging. “As soon as we take Hatra, I’ll be back here to Antioch.”

“You said that after Seleucia.”

“Well, you’re the one who insisted on staying here,” I said shortly.

“They spit on me when I go to the market.” Her voice was expressionless. “They ask me if I eat dead babies, like the Jews who rebelled in Alexandria. I tell them there aren’t any Jews left alive in Alexandria to eat anything, much less babies. That’s usually when they spit on me.”

“Mirah—”

“I don’t take the girls out much. Who spits on little girls?” Her hand caressed Chaya’s cap of fine dark hair, finally grown out from Antinous’s ragged haircut. “Romans.”

“Antiochenes,” I shot back.

“They’re all Romans,” Mirah said wearily. “When can we go home, Vix?”

“I don’t know,” I said, and kissed her. She kissed me back, and the dimple by her mouth flickered, but later that night when she thought I’d gone to sleep I heard her crying. Long shuddering sobs racking the body she’d curled into a ball as far away on the bed as possible. God help me, I was glad to get away.

TITUS

“A girl to see you, Dominus.”

“It’s not Lady Julia Statilia, is it?” A certain notorious young widow, a friend to Titus’s sisters, who had lately decided Titus would make her a splendid fourth husband. Titus wasn’t quite so keen on the idea. “Tell her I’m out. In fact, tell her I’ve gone to Africa, or maybe India. Which one’s farther away?”

“It’s not that Gorgon at the door, Dominus.” Ennia’s voice sounded approving. “It’s Senator Norbanus’s daughter.”

“Faustina?” Titus rose from his desk. “Show her in.”

Sabina’s little sister swept in, trailing a freedman and a brace of maids, flushed pink as her gown from the summer heat of the street outside and looking very pleased with herself. “Tell me I’m wonderful.”

“You’re wonderful,” Titus agreed.

“Tell me I’m clever too. And brave.”

“All those things, to be sure.” He bowed from behind his desk. “But why?”

Faustina looked smug. “Because I’ve found your bathhouse thief for you!”

“‘To accept a favor is to sell freedom,’” Titus murmured.

“Syrus,” Faustina said, triumphant.

“Syrus or Cyrus?”

Her face fell. “There’s more than one?”

“Never mind. Either way, I will take your favor and become your slave. Who’s my bathhouse thief?”

Faustina turned to Ennia with a dazzling smile. “Ennia, isn’t it? Can you take my maids to the kitchens and see they get a cold drink? They’ve been very patient tramping after me all afternoon, and they deserve to sit down.”