“You know he talks to her? You suppose she advises him—the voice behind the throne, and all that?”

Silently I laughed. I had no influence over Domitian at all; he’d left me in no doubt of that. “Don’t plan on meddling in Imperial affairs,” he’d said coolly on my first overnight stay at the palace. “I never ask my women for advice. A rule for living that follows ‘Never anger the gods’ and ‘Never bet on gladiators.’ ”

I already knew about that last one.

The slave women again: “You think he’ll tire of her soon?”

Even if he did, my future was assured. There would be many men in Brundisium wanting to hear what in my voice had so fascinated the ruler of the world. Everywhere I went I was courted and congratulated. Only Larcius seemed concerned.

“I hate to see you like this, child.” Embarrassed. “You’re a singer. An artist. Not a courtesan.”

“The Emperor knows that. He gave me lyre strings, didn’t he? Enough to keep me playing until I’m fifty.”

“Don’t be tiresome, child. You know what I mean!”

I smiled. A bit of insolence in that smile was borrowed from my son, but I couldn’t help it. Larcius sighed. “Well, I hope you know what you’re doing. You’re missing a great many engagements, you know. Centurion Densus and Lady Cornelia Prima asked for you to sing for their eldest daughter’s wedding, and they’ve always been some of your favorite patrons—”

“Tell them no.” My Imperial lover didn’t like to share my time. In a way it was refreshing—the Emperor had singled me out, and as a result I didn’t have to be subservient to anyone anymore. Except him.

The melody I was trying to write unstuck itself in my head and flowed out of the stylus. Rather nice. It would go well with the text of an old Greek poem that I had in mind. Maybe I’d get a word of grudging praise out of the Emperor: “Not good, but not bad, either.”

“Thea?” Penelope burst in, her gray curls vibrating with exasperation. “Thea, that child of yours is beating up Chloe’s son again—”

By the time I rushed down the hall in my bed robe, Vix’s roars were filling the house.

“Call my mother a cheap whore!” Vix and Chloe’s son were lurching about the atrium swinging at one another. “She’s not either cheap! She’s very expensive! She’s the best! Your mother gives it away for FREE!”

They fell with a crash into the tiled atrium pool. Vix came up spluttering and roaring, still swinging. I grabbed him by the doubled-up fists, hauled him out of the pool, made the appropriate apologies, and dragged him down the hall again. “You cannot keep going around picking fights! What did Chloe’s son say to you?”

“That you were the Emperor’s whore.”

“I am the Emperor’s whore, Vix!” Dragging him into my bedchamber.

“Yeah, but he said you weren’t no singer! Said you’d do anything for a copper. Said—”