“Young man,” he said, “I like your style.”

“So do I,” giggled Sabina. When the litter reached the Norbanus house, she all but skipped up the steps.

“Leave the blood the rest of the day,” Trajan advised. “Use her to scare a few visitors while she looks like a demon.”

Calpurnia looked after Sabina. “Do you think she’ll ever have another seizure?”

“Of course she will,” said Marcus. “Gladiator blood isn’t medicine; it’s rank superstition. She’ll have another seizure next week.”

But she didn’t.

I wonder who will be Emperor next?” Thea asked the question idly as they tidied away their stools and wine goblets. “When Domitian is gone.”

“Some proper senatorial graybeard,” Paulinus shrugged. “Senator Nerva, maybe—good lineage, distinguished record of service, no vices. One or two others might put themselves forward—”

“Hardly a matter to discuss before slaves,” the Empress broke in, casting a glance at Arius and Thea.

“That’s right,” Arius agreed. “Those of us who hope Rome and everyone in it falls into hell.”

“As long as we get Vix . . .” Thea rubbed her forehead, and Arius caressed the back of her neck with a comforting hand. She turned her cheek against his palm, and Paulinus looked away, fumbling a handful of black grapes from a silver bowl on the table. The trusting angle of her head reminded him of Julia.

The conspirators broke apart through the doors, leaving Marcus to extinguish the lamps. The Empress reached for her palla, Arius and Thea slipped out arm in arm like wraiths, and Paulinus set about helping his father clear away the evidence that anyone had been here but themselves. The day was almost upon them, come nightmare-slow but still too fast: the day when they would try to kill an Emperor. The matter had loomed so huge and hideous Paulinus had not even stopped to think what came after.

“Who will be Emperor next?” he wondered aloud, putting away the wine decanter. “Whoever gets the most legions, I suppose. Although . . . Father, didn’t you write a treatise about how an Emperor should be childless so he can adopt a talented successor rather than rely on blood?”

“I’ve written a great many treatises,” Marcus said vaguely, but a fast look flashed between him and the Empress. Paulinus looked at them both, quizzical, but the Empress broke in smoothly.

“I’m sure an appropriate candidate will present himself.” She drew her palla up over her hair. “No doubt by killing all his rivals. Good night, Paulinus, Marcus.” She gave her curved smile and passed into the darkness.

Paulinus shrugged as the door clicked shut, still musing. His Praetorians would be a factor in the succession, too, as much as any of the legions. As commander of the Imperium’s own personal army, Paulinus’s support would be invaluable to whoever claimed the throne. Frightening thought . . .

“Sabina, is that you?” Marcus straightened toward the door with a smile of welcome, but Paulinus saw how speedily his father whisked the extra wine cups out of sight. “What are you doing awake?”