I read neatly through that bit of flattery. What better way to keep a suspected rival down than to humiliate him—and what would humiliate a proud and austere senator like being saddled with a giddy child for a wife? Many middle-aged men might take brides of fi fteen, regardless of Rome’s snickering, but not a man like Senator Norbanus. No one snickered at Senator Norbanus, but thanks to an Emperor’s spite, they would now.

Lepida, of course, missed the subtext. “So the Emperor chose me for you?” I could hear her nursing this bit of Imperial favor to her bosom. “Well, if he wants it—”

“No.” Marcus’s voice turned serious. “If you’d prefer another—and I’d understand if you did—then I’ll refuse the match.”

“You’d defy the Emperor?” Her eyes were very blue against the white palla she’d wrapped around herself in the fall chill. “For me?”

I took my eye away from the greenery. Poor Marcus Norbanus. Even a grandson of the shrewd Emperor Augustus could fall prey to a pair of sincere blue eyes. I busied myself quickly with the fountain tiles. Quintus Pollio was holding another banquet for the gladiators in a week’s time, and there was already plenty to do.

LEPIDA

YOU know, I’ve made up my mind about Marcus,” I told Thea in the bathhouse, stretching myself out on the marble massage slab. “I think I’ll marry him after all.”

“My lady?” Thea’s fingers kneaded my back. She might be gawky, ugly, sly, and rude, but she did have magic hands.

“Marcus. He may be old, but that just makes him easier to manage. I’ll have him eating out of my hand in no time.”

“Hmm.” Thea sounded polite as usual, but I was never certain she wasn’t making faces behind my back.

“Even if he’s old and ugly and hunchbacked, he’s still a senator,” I continued. “And royal. Well, sort of royal. And I don’t have to stay married to him forever—he’ll just be my stepping-stone. Once I’m Lepida Pollia the beautiful senator’s wife, moving about in all the patrician circles with governors and generals to choose from, well, I can take my pick, can’t I?” Propping my chin in my hand. “Oh, I’m just full of plans. I can see everything unrolling out in front of me, exactly the way I want—more on the left shoulder.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Be gentle. I’m still feeling bruised.” What bruises, though! Two nights ago Father had hosted another banquet for the gladiators, and the Barbarian had once again been the guest of honor . . . I had the slaves mix Father’s wine twice as strong as usual, and he never noticed when I slipped off the couch into the dark garden, where the Barbarian stood swaying on his feet and looking up at the cold distant moon.

“A lovely moon,” I’d whispered, and I kissed him . . .

“I finally got him,” I said to Thea with satisfaction, and turned on my side on the massage slab so she could reach under my arm.