I got roaring drunk that night. Had a girl, had two, hoped Sabina was eating her faithless heart out. “Here’s to patrician bitches!” I shouted, raising my cup, and the rest of the tavern drank with me. I drank the rest of Lady Calpurnia’s purse away and was digging at my pouch for more coins when I found something and tinkling—an elaborate silver earring set with tiny garnets. I looked at it a while and was tempted to toss it to the table to pay my bill, but it was worth more than I’d drunk, and only the rich can afford grand gestures. I might as well have full value out of that earring. “First full value I got out of her,” I growled, and tucked it away again.

It was midnight by the time I staggered out, and I must have gotten used to living in a nicer part of the city because I forgot the cardinal rule of the Subura: Don’t travel alone.

“This is from Tribune Hadrian.” A snarl came from behind me, and a massive blow on my skull drove me to my knees.

I fought, but there were at least five of them and I was reeling drunk. Three of them held me while the other two alternated hitting me. By the time they were done I had a broken nose, a handful of broken ribs, and a face so bruised even my mother wouldn’t have known me. They dropped me and kicked me around for a while, and once I curled up in a ball trying to protect my innards, the leader leaned down and yanked my head back by the hair. “Next time you want to make a man look ridiculous in front of the Emperor,” he recited in the tones of a memorized message, “don’t choose Tribune Hadrian.”

“Tell the tribune his bride’s a whore,” I mumbled. “Tell him I had her three times a night for months.” But my mouth was full of blood and the thugs had already swaggered off. I lay there spitting out blood for a while. Some urchins came along and stole my sandals and cloak.

It really hadn’t been a very good week.

TITUS

Titus blinked, looking down. “Hello there,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Lift me up,” the little girl said imperiously, tugging again at his sleeve. “I want to see.”

Titus reached down and lifted up the little fair-haired girl in her embroidered blue dress. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

“Yes, I am. I’m Antonia, my mother came to the wedding—”

“No, you little liar, you’re Faustina. You’re Sabina’s little sister, and after the wedding feast I distinctly heard your mother say that you were too little to walk along with the wedding procession.”

Faustina scowled, caught. “But I want to see!”