“You’ll go?”

“I’ll go, and you owe me for it. I hate the games.”

“What would I do without you, Calpurnia?”

She smoothed a tendril of hair behind her ear. “Dinner will be ready in a quarter of an hour. Pheasant and onions, in sweet pepper sauce.”

“Have you been browbeating the cook again?”

“She’s terrible. I’m going to buy you a new cook.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one to buy you a wedding present?”

“I’m not married yet, Marcus Norbanus.”

THEA

IT’S his birthday today.” I propped my chin on my hand. “The ides of June. He’s thirteen.”

“I was going to give him a sword.” Arius’s voice muffled briefly as he pulled his tunic over his head.

“Encouraging the dreams of gladiatorial glory, Barbarian?” I teased.

Arius’s head emerged. “Thea, our son wants to be a gladiator. He’s an idiot.”

“Yes,” I agreed, scratching the ears of the dog curled on my knee. “He is an idiot. Must come from his father’s side of the family.”

Arius grabbed me around the waist, pulling me onto his lap. As I pummeled his chest, the dog slid to the floor, yapping shrilly. Arius dragged my head down to his, kissing me firmly, and my bones dissolved.

“There,” he murmured against my mouth.

I smiled, my lashes brushing his cheek. On days like this, blue and gold mornings when our bare little attic room warmed in the sun and Arius’s gaze made my whole body sing, the world brightened. It was possible to believe, not just hope, that everything might turn out all right.

“Your hair’s getting long.” I ran my hand slowly up the nape of his neck, feeling the flesh shiver under my touch. “Shall I give you a haircut?”

“Better leave it long. I look less like the Barbarian.”

“You don’t look anything like the Barbarian in that ridiculous disguise.” Whenever we set foot outside he insisted on donning a heavy cloak, a hat, and an eye patch.

“If I go out undisguised, someone will recognize me. I’m supposed to be dead.”

“Darling.” I touched a finger to his chin, drawing his eyes to mine. “No one has recognized you. No one’s even taken a second glance at you, except to think, ‘Who’s that bizarre man in a hat, an eye patch, and a heavy cloak in the middle of summer?’ ”

“I had the most famous face in Rome for eight years.” A little huffily.

“But it’s been five years since you died. The mob only remembers you as a dim legend. It’s Thurius the Murmillo they all rave about now.” I held out my hand. “Your knife, please. You prickle in bed.”

He lowered his face into my neck and I sawed contentedly, watching the dark-dyed locks fall on the splintery floor.

“Thurius the Murmillo?” he said eventually.

“Or there’s a Thracian who’s popular. I saw the graffiti on the wall of the bathhouse on Pomegranate Street—‘Brebix the Thracian makes all the women sigh.’ ”

“Brebix,” Arius muttered. “My name was on that bathhouse for years.”