“I’ll be on my feet in a few days,” Trajan said, and coughed. Sabina slid an arm under his shoulders and helped raise him to breathe easier. “A week at most.”

“Of course you will, Caesar,” Sabina lied.

“So this is strictly a precaution, mind. I want to write a letter—the succession. Leave instructions who’s to follow me.”

“But—” Sabina blinked. “Not that I don’t approve, but why talk to me about it?”

“Because if I talk to any of my officers they’ll all be putting their own names forward, and I’ve already heard everything I want to hear on the subject from Plotina.” Another cough. “You won’t try to influence my choice, Vibia Sabina. You’ll listen and keep your mouth shut, like a good soldier.”

“True.” Sabina felt her heart fluttering in her chest like a moth. “So who will follow you?”

“That’s the question, eh? Thought I’d draw up a list and let the Senate choose. The buggers have a need to feel consulted, so I thought I’d give them five names.”

“I see… and is Hadrian one of them?”

“Gods’ bones, no.”

Sabina let out a long breath. She felt oddly giddy. The matter had been hanging over her head for so long, living in every silence between her and Hadrian—and now it was gone.

Publius Aelius Hadrian would not be emperor.

“Five names,” Trajan was saying. “First, former consuls Palma and Celsus.”

“Are you sure, Caesar?” Sabina said doubtfully, dragging her mind back to the matter at hand. “They’re both—well, I remember you saying Palma was a hothead and Celsus was an honest man but a fool.”

Trajan paid no attention. “Lusius Quietus for the third name—”

“The Senate will never choose a Berber, Caesar.” Sabina blinked. “Um… have you really thought about these names?”

“Of course I have, girl.” Trajan sounded waspish, if slurred. “Give me a little credit! The Senate won’t choose any of them. Fools and hotheads and Berbers don’t get to be Emperor of Rome! The Senate will flick past all three with a shudder, and settle on the name I really want.”

“Ah.” Sabina raised her eyebrows. “Very cunning, Caesar. I always knew that simple soldier act of yours was a sham.”

Trajan tried to wink at her, but his eyelid just twitched. “They’ll pick Gaius Avidius Nigrinus. Solid fellow, honest. A safe pair of hands. Not much flair, but he’ll do.”

Sabina pondered. “But that’s only four names. Three impossible choices, and your real candidate. Who’s the fifth—former consul Servianus, maybe?”

“That old tortoise? Are you mad?”

“You’ve mentioned his name before. At a dinner party, you said he would make a fine candidate for—”

“I was drunk. No, my fifth name has to be my backup in case the Senate doesn’t choose Nigrinus. And that name is Titus Aurelius Fulvus Boionius Arrius Antoninus.”