“I heard voices downstairs.” Small and neat in her white night robe, Sabina traced the curve of a mosaic serpent with one bare toe.

“ ’Linus was arguing with me about Cicero’s Commentaries,” Marcus said calmly. “He should know better, but he is a soldier and he does learn slowly.”

“I heard voices besides yours.” Still tracing the serpent. “And saw a hired litter out the window. You have some very interesting guests, Father.”

Paulinus opened his mouth, but Sabina put out a hand in a remarkably adult gesture. “Don’t tell me,” she said, and she turned with a hint of a smile back toward her bedchamber. “I don’t want to know.”

Thirty-three

SEPTEMBER 18, A. D. 96

YOU’RE cheating again.” The Imperial voice was a snarl. “Just lucky, Caesar.” Vix shook his empty sleeves; no loaded dice.

“Not luck. Cheat.”

“I will remove the boy if he displeases you, Caesar,” Paulinus said quickly.

“All Jews are cheats.” The Emperor flung the dice across the room. He had paneled the walls in moonstone in preparation for this day, so he could see anyone who might be lurking behind him. “Like Athena. Not even her real name. Should have killed her. Should have killed you all.” The Emperor’s eyes had a wild uneasy flicker, and he scratched distractedly at his forehead. “Are you the one who will try to kill me today, Vercingetorix? At the fifth hour?”

Vix looked weary.

“According to Nessus, today brings my death. Are you the one to bring it?”

Paulinus cleared his throat. “He’s only a boy, Caesar—”

“Boys can kill,” Domitian snapped. His eyes prowled the dull silver reflections of the room, wary, and he still scratched at his forehead. Paulinus saw he had drawn blood, and despite everything could not help a leap of pity.

“Caesar,” he said gently.

Domitian dropped his hand, seeing the blood under his nails. “Gods,” he muttered, “I hope this is all the blood required today.”

“I’m hoping for more, myself,” Vix muttered.

“Oh, get him out,” Domitian snarled.

Vix darted out before Paulinus could take hold of his arm. The boy’s shoulder had half-healed after his last bout in the Colosseum, and he rubbed it absently as he looked out into the green wetness of the gardens. Paulinus spoke briefly to a pair of guards and then joined him. They were the only loiterers. The Emperor, on the day of his supposed death, had ordered the Domus Augustana cleared of everyone but Praetorians, slaves, and a few selected Imperial pets. Where normally the marble halls thronged with togas and buzzed with whispers, today there was only the slap of sandals as slaves hurried about their tasks, the nervous exchange of passwords as the guards changed, and the lonely plash of the massive fountain. “Quiet today,” Vix observed.

“It’d be quieter if you quit baiting the Emperor,” said Paulinus. “The mood he’s in, he might lop your head off.”

“He’s always in a mood.” Vix pried up a pebble from an urn of flowers and lobbed it into the massive oval fountain with a splash. “Doubt he’ll kill me, though. He’s looking forward to my next bout too much.”