Another pause. Domitian glanced up from his letters and looked Paulinus in the eye. Paulinus looked back. He didn’t know what to do with his hands.

The Emperor tilted his head at the servants, the guards, the scurrying secretaries. “Leave us.”

They filed out, whispering.

“I am putting your cousin Lappius forward for the position of consul next year. He’s a fool, but a fool can do relatively little harm as consul.” Domitian’s hands stilled for the first time, dropping the pen and thoughtfully tapping the desk. “Commander Trajan will have another military post that promises much action. I reward loyal men. I need them around me, for the day when some assassin tries for my life.”

Paulinus remembered the mess hall rumors: The Emperor’s scared of his own shadow—

“I know they say I’m afraid of my own shadow.” Domitian mirrored Paulinus’s thoughts again, and he jumped. “But with half of ten previous Emperors dying by the knife, I would be foolish not to fear assassins. It’s a dangerous job, being Emperor.” Domitian contemplated his fingertips. “I’m not asking for pity. But one gets . . . tired.”

Paulinus felt an unexpected twist of sympathy. “I don’t envy you, Caesar,” he said candidly. “People might assume I want your job just because my great-grandfather was an Emperor. But I wouldn’t have it for anything.”

Domitian looked at him sharply, opening his mouth. He closed it again, sharpness fading into speculation. “You know—” thoughtful—“I think I believe you.”

They traded glances again, in simple curiosity.

Domitian nodded once and reached for a sheet of parchment. He wrote out a rapid page, then stamped the Imperial seal at the bottom and tossed the still-wet document across the table at Paulinus.

Paulinus skimmed the formal phrases. “. . . we hereby recognize Tribune Paulinus Vibius Augustus Norbanus . . . in reward for his loyalty and devotion . . . award the title and responsibilities of—”

He blinked. Jumped back. Read more carefully. “Award the title and responsibilities of—”

He lifted his eyes, astonished. “Caesar—it’s too much.”

“I’ll be judge of that.”

“Surely there must be more qualified men—”

“Of course there are more qualified men. They will all loathe you for jumping over their heads and try to undermine you at every turn. Accept that position, and you make a hundred mortal enemies. Do you want it?”

“Well—of course I want it, but—”

“Then why are you trying to talk me out of it?”

“I’m not trying to talk you out of it, Caesar. I just think that—”

Domitian’s black eyes were amused. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to contradict an Emperor?”

Paulinus felt his mouth opening and shutting like a fish’s. His ears were roaring. “Well. I didn’t mean to contradict you. Caesar. I just—”

“Good.” The Imperial hand extended. “Congratulations, Prefect.”

LEPIDA

I really was glad that Saturninus’s little rebellion fizzled out in Germania. He wouldn’t have made a good Emperor at all. Everybody knew he liked boys, and where would that have left me? So I was quite relieved, along with the rest of Rome, when the rebellion had been crushed. There was a little bonus in it for me: Domitian would be sure to come back to the city at long last, and I had a new flame-orange stola encrusted with gold embroidery that would dazzle his eyes . . .