Vix swaggered, grinning. “She loves me.”

“She’s twelve years old,” Paulinus growled, shoving Vix ahead of him. “Keep your grubby hands off!”

Thirty-four

THE wolves are gathering.” “Caesar?”

“They think they go unnoticed.” Domitian prowled from one corner of the bedchamber to the other. His shape followed him in the dim reflections of the moonstone-paneled wall. “But a god hears all.”

Paulinus shifted from foot to foot. He opened his mouth; closed it again.

“The Moon will be bloodied as she enters Aquarius.” Domitian’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “And a deed will be done that will be the talk of the entire world.”

Paulinus’s heart thudded sickly in his chest. Now—now—now—the time was now, and suddenly he could not speak. He heard the dull whine of a fly, and at the same moment Domitian’s hand flashed. The whine muffled as tiny wings buzzed against the Imperial palm, and Domitian gave a wintry smile. “Flies don’t interest me anymore,” he told Paulinus. “People give so many more varied and interesting reactions.”

“Caesar?” Paulinus ventured.

“Yes?” Crushing the fly idly.

“There’s someone I think you should see.” The words came out steady.

“Not before the fifth hour. You know my orders.”

“She says—she says . . . I think you should see her.”

“Who?”

“Athena, Caesar.”

The silence spread out in ripples around the name.

“Athena.” A tremor in the voice? The Emperor still stood with his face toward the corner, rich purple robe falling in grand lines from his shoulders, lamplight shining through the thin spot in his hair. “Did you have her stripped, checked for weapons?”

“I did, sir.”

“Did she hide her face in shame?” Domitian raised a hand before Paulinus could answer. “No, she wouldn’t. She stared straight ahead, didn’t she, as the guards groped her. As if she didn’t care. Like Julia when she stopped eating. May the gods rot her.”

“Rot . . . who, Caesar?”

Domitian turned. “Show her in.”

He took a seat on his sleeping couch, one hand sliding under the pillow to the dagger Paulinus knew he kept there. “Careful,” Paulinus breathed to Thea as he marched her in, barely a breath of a warning, but she never blinked. She just stood, framed by the door, hair mantling her shoulders, her face blank—but her eyes watchful.

“Athena.” The Emperor sounded jovial. “You look well. Hardy, even. A fit mother for a gladiator’s brats. Come to beg for your son?”

“Yes, Caesar.”

“Why today? You thought you’d ask for my mercy now, just in case I die in an hour as my astrologer predicts?”

“Yes.”

“A practical people, you Jews.”

“So we are.”

Domitian’s clenched fist struck his own knee, and Paulinus flinched. The Emperor had been relaxed and joking when he faced mutinous legions and blue-painted Chatti savages, but today he faced only fate . . . and Thea.

“You never say anything,” Domitian said, staring at her. “Not really. I’d have the head ripped off your body, just so I could tear it open and see what was inside at last.” Beckoning her closer. “But I know what I’d find.”