I couldn’t help a twinge of disappointment. Sabina had put me off the night I kissed her, like a good girl should, but her finger had traced those deliberate circles on the back of the neck that had raised the hair on my arms—raised more than hair, truth be told, and that was not anything to be thinking about right now either. I shifted partway behind a handy chair.

“—Sabina’s idea, taking Calpurnia to the coast for a while,” the senator had continued, unaware of me. “My wife is to have another child”—a smile lit his face, softening the harsh marble-carved lines out of all recognition—“and she’s often queasy in the early months, so Sabina suggested sea air.”

He seemed to shake himself a little, looking back at me. “My idea, in any case, to offer you this position. It occurred to me that you stand some danger of becoming a thug. Your parents, I am sure, would not want that, and I do owe them a debt.”

“Hey,” I said. “I’m no thug.”

“You extort drunk boys in alleys for… what reason, then?”

Maybe he did know more than I took him for. “It’s a living.”

“Not much of one.”

“Being a bodyguard isn’t much either.”

“Consider it a stepping-stone. You will encounter interesting people in this house, people who might be able to help you. A bright young household officer might find a well-placed legate willing to sponsor him as a centurion.”

“In return for services rendered,” I snickered. “No, thanks.”

His mouth quirked. “That’s a danger, true. But there are benefits outweighing the dangers. Emperor Trajan always has his eye out for bright young warriors, and his officers are beginning to look for them too.”

Emperor Trajan. Rumor in the wine shops had it he was heading back up north to Germania soon, to step once and for all on a rebellious king in Dacia who wore a lion skin. I wouldn’t mind seeing an emperor closer up than a box at the races. Maybe something would come of working here, something more than just the lodging and light work and regular pay… I thought of fine, flower-tangled hair flowing through my hands, but blinked that particular image back.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent.” The senator poured a pale stream of wine into a goblet from a decanter at his elbow and pushed it toward me. “Welcome to the Norbanus household, Vercingetorix.”

“Thank you, sir. Dominus.” I remembered the change just in time—I’d have to address him as master of the house, now that I’d joined the household.

Steady pay or not, I didn’t really like calling anyone Master again.

Spring fluttered toward a damp hot summer, and I slid into the Norbanus household like an eel into a mud bank. And I had it good.