“Trajan was a good man,” Hadrian went on, rubbing a hand thoughtfully down the dog’s long back. “It’s necessary for an emperor to be a good man, if he wishes to last. Augustus knew that—a ruthless despot, really, but he calculated a very nice pose as a likable fellow. Intelligent of him, because ruthless despots get themselves murdered—Caligula, Nero, Domitian. The good men rule long years—Vespasian, Trajan. My name will be listed with theirs. But they were good men by nature, and I am not. I know how to be cruel. I also know how to put on a good show, so few people know it. Hunting helps keep it in check; allowable bloodshed, as it were…”

I remembered Hadrian killing that stag in Dacia, smiling down at the spray of blood across his foot.

He shook himself a little, returning to the present. “Make no mistake, Vercingetorix—kindness, for me, is all sham. I tend to revert to form if crossed. Don’t cross me.”

He rose from the chair then in his immaculate pleated black linens, crossing to pick up the packet of orders I’d flung at him. “You may go.” Offering the little bundle. “I think we will work well together.”

“And I think you’re a dank spotty little coward,” I said evenly. “You always were. Now you’re just a dank spotty little coward in a purple cloak.”

Hadrian’s face rippled, like a lake with something powerful and chitinous moving under the surface. His hand lashed up to strike me, but he wasn’t the only one who was fast. I caught his wrist with one hand, throwing it away with such force that he stumbled. The dog growled.

“You struck me once in Dacia,” I said. “I’ll work for you, Caesar, since you haven’t left me much choice. I’ll work for you, and I’ll kill your enemies, and I’ll even guard your fucking back. But as I told you years ago—you will never strike me again.”

He straightened slowly, and I should have been afraid. That still, bearded face, those stony eyes, they would have terrified a god. But I’m not a god, just a stupid barbarian who never knows when to back down, so I looked him right in the eye.

“Go,” Hadrian said at last, in a voice as even as mine. “You have new duties to perform, and I have a funeral cortege to plan. Trajan must be properly mourned. A great man,” he said, and what floored me most was that I could see the bastard meant it. “Will you tell my wife she may enter? She should be waiting outside.”

I turned to go.