Paulinus rubbed his jaw self-consciously. “Do you know everything, Father?”

“I keep my ears open, boy.” Marcus’s voice was amused.

“She is a very great artist,” Paulinus said firmly.

“I have no doubt of her artistry, whoever she is.” They turned out into the vine-veiled garden, Paulinus shortening his stride to meet his father’s patient limp. Ferns glowed green in the sunlight, the blue-tiled fountain trickled placidly, and slaves moved past with jugs and baskets of laundry. They all had a smile for their master. “Isn’t it time you married?” Marcus continued. “I should like a daughter-in-law.”

“Bring a woman into the Praetorian barracks? The household gods would shatter.”

“She could live here while you were on duty. The house is big enough for two.”

“Is it?” Paulinus said doubtfully.

Marcus laughed. “Lepida’s not the jealous sort. She’d be glad of the company.”

“But she has friends of her own, doesn’t she?”

“Yes.” Briefly. “Not always the kind of friends I’d wish for her. A girl her own age, in the same house . . . it would do her good. And it would do you good, boy.”

“A bachelor like you, singing the praises of marriage?” Paulinus smiled.

“I am now.”

Paulinus looked at his father: the image of his austere Imperial grandfather in simple rough tunic and sandals, radiating contentment. Marcus smiled. “Care for some grapes? We’ve a fine harvest this year. So the steward says, anyway.” He paused by the trellised vine climbing around the garden’s pillars. “I’m trying to learn more about grapes. Thinking of writing a treatise, comparing the decay of the Republic to the decay of the vineyards in the fall. But I don’t even know if vineyards do decay in the fall. All I know is that ripe grapes appear on my dinner table regardless of season. Here, try these.”

Paulinus tried a grape. Sour and seedy. “I read your last treatise, on the declining birth rate and its solutions. Bit over my head, of course.” He perched on the marble rim of the fountain. “What did the Emperor think of it?”

“The Emperor?” Marcus found another withered cluster of grapes. “I’d be surprised if he’s heard of it at all.”

“Emperor Vespasian always read your treatises.” Paulinus quietly slipped half his grapes into the fountain behind his back.

“Domitian is no great reader. And if he does get around to reading it, I doubt he’ll look on me with any favor. He dislikes political speculation.”

“It’s just proposed solutions for the birth rate. What’s political about that?”

“He may see it as a criticism that he has failed to produce an heir.”

“Oh.” Paulinus digested that. “The Empress—well, ten years married and nothing to show but a few miscarriages. He’d be within his rights to divorce her—but you pushed to have her reinstated, so you must have thought her a wiser choice than . . .”

“Than?” A dry look. “It’s not the Empress you’re asking me about, is it, boy?”

“Well—it’s none of my business, I’m not denying that—but even down here we get rumors . . .”