“So did I, at your age.” He shifted her to his right arm, her five-year-old weight warm and sweet-smelling, and joined the back of the wedding procession that had just formed at the Norbanus house. Senator Norbanus looked proud and a little rueful, reaching up to hold hands with his wife, who rode in a litter because she declared she could not walk one more step on her swollen feet, much less the mile to the house of her new son-in-law. Beaming slaves had come out with torches to light the way, casting shadows over the chattering crowd of guests. Tribune Hadrian stood triumphant, his massive handsome head thrown back against a darkening twilight sky as he spoke with a beaming Empress Plotina. And on Hadrian’s other arm stood a small figure in a saffron cloak: the bride, smiling serenely under her scarlet bridal veil. In the torchlight, the veil looked like a sheet of flame.

“I like the red veil,” Faustina said critically in Titus’s arms. “’Bina’s pretty in red.”

“Yes,” he said. “She is.”

The procession flowed down the street in a wave of music and well-wishes. Slaves sang wedding songs, the bawdier verses causing the Empress to exhale threateningly. Hadrian paced along, tossing walnuts out at the guests who called congratulations—a symbol of the prosperity to come. Sabina was led along by a trio of pages, one at each hand and one lighting the way with a torch. Evening passersby pointed and waved, calling out good-luck wishes. Titus paced slowly at the back, Faustina craning in his arms.

“There’s the house,” she said breathlessly. “Now he carries her over the doorstep, Mama told me. Mama said she didn’t want Father to carry her when they were married; she thought he’d hurt his bad shoulder. But he said he’d manage it somehow; he didn’t even try with the first two wives and look how they turned out. An’ he did, he carried Mama right over—”

Titus watched as the threshold of Sabina’s new home was sanctified, the prayer uttered. Then Hadrian handed aside the basket of walnuts and came toward his bride, and she smiled at him and held her arms up. He lifted her easily, tossing her up as the crowd cheered, and carried her over the threshold. The guests followed in a bright stream.

“I think that’s all we can see,” Titus told little Faustina. “Your mother will catch us if we go in. I’ll take you back, and you’ll be safe in your bed with no one the wiser by the time they all get home.”

Faustina gave a reluctant nod. Titus shifted her to his other arm and summoned one of the torchbearers to light their way back to the Norbanus house. It was nearly dark, just a streak of red and purple remaining in the west where the sun had vanished.