Pregnant again—Marcus certainly hadn’t wasted any time. Such a levelheaded man, really the backbone of the Senate, but everyone knew what a fool he was for his wife (and at his age too!). Though Calpurnia was a nice little thing, if prone to levity. Not to mention the occasional display of bosom. “Lady Calpurnia, I do hope you will forgive my husband looking like a peasant? I simply could not stuff him into a proper synthesis for dinner.”

“I’m strangled half the day in a damned toga,” Trajan complained good-naturedly. “I knew Marcus wouldn’t mind if an old soldier abandoned custom for once and made himself comfortable.”

“Men.” Plotina lifted pointed eyebrows to Calpurnia. The atrium was filled with guests now, drifting and chattering, the women tinkling laughter over the lower rumble of male voices, backed by the trickle of water in the central fountain and the plucking of lutes from an alcove. Trajan was already laughing loudest of all, making jokes, clapping backs hard enough to flatten them. “He’s such a child,” Plotina said to Calpurnia. “Most men are, I find, but some more than others. Perhaps I might steal you a moment for a real discussion? I’ve a matter of great importance—”

“Of course, Empress. Wine?”

“Barley water. I never touch wine.” Didn’t everyone know that?

The two women fell into promenade along the colonnaded end of the atrium. Calpurnia paused here and there to direct a slave, drop a quiet word in her steward’s ear, greet a guest, give a murmur of instruction—“go rescue Marcus from that crushing old bore Servianus, will you?”—and Plotina gave a regal nod to the curtsies that followed her in a ripple across the room. “It’s about your stepdaughter.”

“I knew you’d notice Sabina’s lateness,” Calpurnia said ruefully. “I’m sure she’s still primping. You know how girls are.”

Certainly not. Plotina had never primped before a mirror in her life, girl or not. But she brushed that aside. The matter had to be settled, and it might as well be settled tonight. “Vibia Sabina’s marriage. Surely it’s been put off long enough.”

“I’m afraid she hasn’t made up her mind. Marcus means to let her have her own way—within reason, of course.”

“Senator Norbanus is far too lax with her. It is not for a green girl to make such an important decision.”

“Sabina has a good head on her shoulders.” Calpurnia smiled. “Far wiser than I was at her age.”

Plotina felt the beginnings of a headache at her temples, right where the coiled bands of her hair had been anchored down with long pins. When the headaches really came, the pins felt like they were boring all the way through her skull. “I will speak frankly, Calpurnia. Dear Publius is besotted with her.”

“Is he?” Calpurnia sounded noncommittal. “Really.”