“I’m sure you did.”

Abruptly Domitian seized my head between his hands from behind.

“No—no that hurts, that hurts—”

“You said you were a goddess, Athena.”

“I am—I am—”

“No, you’re lying.” He squeezed my head like a walnut in a vise. “You slipped out of some Jewess in a desert, screaming and covered in blood like any other mortal, and you aren’t a goddess at all. I’m the god here, not you. Only one god in Rome. Got rid of Arius the Barbarian, got rid of you—”

“But you haven’t gotten rid of me. Not yet. So stop babbling and do it.”

“Oh yes, oh yes, but not until I hear it.”

“Hear what?”

“You know what. Say it.”

“That I’m afraid? You’re afraid, Caesar, afraid of me, and I’m only a Jewess born wailing and screaming in a desert—”

“Stop laughing. Stop it!”

“I am Athena.” Laughing with a crazy suicidal glee, despite the crushing pain in my skull. “Before that I was Thea, singer and slave and lover of gladiators. Before that I was Leah, daughter of Benjamin and Rachael of Masada. I am as mortal as you, you common little man.” I raised my voice to a joyous shout for the slaves outside the chamber, for the Emperor’s hangers-on, for the whole world. “And I fear no one!”

He stared down at me a moment. Then he laughed.

It was eight days before I could leave my bed.

I didn’t think I’d see you so soon.” Justina’s eyes touched warmly on

Paulinus. “But here you are, and in all your finery, too.”

“I go to the Domus Flavia in an hour.” Paulinus tucked his scarlet-crested helmet under his arm. “The Emperor is holding a formal banquet in honor of his niece and her sons.”

They fell into step, perfectly synchronized as they walked along the pale marble corridor. Other priestesses hurried by in fluttering white veils, and Roman matrons come to whisper prayers in preparation for Saturnalia, the year-end festival where the household was turned upside-down and made ready for the new year. No one gave a second glance to the Vestal and the Prefect. The sight of their heads bent in consultation was a common one in the public rooms. In any case, those who might have been happy to speculate about a Vestal Virgin would not dare utter a word against the Emperor’s best friend.

“I did something today.” Paulinus clasped his hands at the small of his back, a gesture copied from Domitian. “Lepida—she sent me a note at the Praetorian barracks, the way she does sometimes. ‘Tonight,’ that’s what it said. I always tell my centurions to take over for the evening. But today—”

“What?”

“I started to call them in. And then—I don’t know. I just turned the note over and wrote ‘I’m busy’ on the other side, and sent it straight back.” His eyes flicked up to Justina’s. “I’ve never done that before.”

“So why now?”

“I thought of what you’d say if you could see me. What you’d think.”