I looked at her sharply, searching for veiled curiosity. But she regarded the blue mark on my wrist without avidity.

“I fell out of my litter, Domina.” I pulled down my sleeve. How much did she know about Domitian, this patrician lady in yellow who wore her Flavian charm all around her like perfume from India? How much had her half-sister Julia told her?

Have you inherited your uncle’s tastes along with his eyes, my lady?

“Ask Ganymede to make you his special salve.” Flavia gestured, and I fell into step beside her as she moved down the street with the blind confidence of one for whom crowds always clear a path. “He makes a lovely-smelling paste that’s very good for cuts and bruises. He was constantly mixing the stuff up for my half-sister Julia. She was always falling out of litters.”

I looked at Lady Flavia Domitilla, and her black eyes regarded me shrewd and unblinking from her cheerful Flavian face.

I curtsied again. “Thank you, Domina.”

“Oh, good heavens, just make it Lady Flavia.” Patting my arm. “Well, I’m afraid I must dash—far too much to do this morning. Do remember to drop in.”

Another flash of yellow, and she was gone, her Praetorians trailing behind her like a comet’s tail.

By evening the Emperor was back. “I’ll be coming and going all summer. Get used to it.”

“Yes, Lord and God.”

“I thought we had agreed on ‘Caesar.’ ”

“Yes, Caesar.”

“Because you Jews only believe in one god, don’t you? So when you call me ‘Lord and God,’ well, you’re either lying or you think I really am your one God.”

“Would you like some wine?”

“No, I would not. Which is it, Athena? Am I a god, or are you lying to me?”

“No matter what I say, you’ll tell me I’m lying.”

“Perhaps.” He lay back. “So what is this one true god of yours like?”

“He’s harsh. But just, too.”

“Does he take mortal wives, like Jove?”

“No. He is male and female both.”

“No wonder the Jews are such a crushed people. Tell me, do you fear this womanish god of yours?”

“Yes. I do.”

“But not me.” He took my hair in his hand and brought me down against the edge of the sleeping couch. I turned my face in time, so my cheek hit the sharp corner instead of my eye.

“Why?”

I had nothing to give him.

LONG days. Sun burning. Mostly alone, as Domitian flitted back and forth to the city on Imperial business. I took endless shopping trips, endless baths. Worried about Vix, doubtlessly causing trouble for Penelope. Read my horoscope, drawn up by Nessus. The stars gave the same bad news as my palm. Nessus looked apologetic, and Ganymede stroked his hand and crooned wordlessly. Could they be lovers? Anybody’d love Ganymede, mute or not.

Domitian, in between working on new legislation, was writing a manual on hair care. Had thin hair himself, God help you if you mentioned it. I recommended an elderflower rinse to improve shine, but was told to be quiet. An Emperor penning hair advice? Well, we all need hobbies. Emperor Tiberius played with slave girls, Emperor Claudius studied the Etruscans, Domitian wrote about hair. His other hobby was lining the slaves up below the terrace and shooting arrows between their outstretched fingers. He was very good; never missed unless he wanted to. In a bad mood, he liked to be accurate. In a good mood, he liked to miss.