“You mean the rumors that Domitian has turned his gaze toward his niece Julia.”

“I didn’t think anything of it. People talk. But—well, he did execute her husband for treason . . . and Emperors have married their nieces before. Emperor Claudius’s fourth wife—”

“Who poisoned his mushrooms. Not a very good precedent to follow.”

“Well, Julia wouldn’t poison anybody’s mushrooms. I remember that much about her from when she was a child.”

“Yes. The Emperor is quite fond of her.”

“. . . How fond?”

“It doesn’t do to believe too many rumors.” Marcus stirred the grape leaves with a gentle finger. “The Emperor executed Julia’s husband, and since then has endeavored to make it up to her through his own rather abrupt brand of kindness.”

Paulinus remembered the little princess who had been his childhood playmate: a solemn straw-haired girl, always the willing standard-bearer in his games. “I didn’t really think those rumors could be . . .”

“Then why did you ask?” The dry tone returned.

“Well—my friend Verus, he’s served palace duty. He didn’t believe any of the rumors, either, but he said—” Paulinus stopped. “He said—you could see Lady Julia shrink. Every time the Emperor came into the room. Like she was afraid of him.”

“Oh, she is,” said Marcus. “But she’s terrified of everything. She still sleeps with a lamp in her room, because she can’t bear the dark. And even when Domitian is being kind, he sometimes frightens. These rumors, perhaps they only gained credence because Lady Julia herself believes in them.”

“Believes in—?”

“You haven’t seen Julia since you were ten years old. She’s . . . not the same since her father died. She was always fanciful, but now she talks of eyes in the dark and sings to voices that aren’t there.” A pause. “The slaves say she starves herself. The Emperor had to have her forcibly fed, and she collapsed into hysterics and tried to tear her own hair out.” Marcus’s stern senator’s gaze flicked up to his son. “This is for your ears only, Paulinus.”

Paulinus nodded, swallowing. “What are you saying? You mean Lady Julia is—”

“Mad,” said Marcus. “Though I like to hope she’s only floundering out of her depth in a world too sophisticated for her. I could say the same for Lepida.”

Lepida? Paulinus seized gratefully on the change of subject. “Why did you bring her all the way down here, Father? I heard she was the toast of Rome.”

Marcus grimaced. “These grapes are terrible.” He tossed the cluster into the fountain. “Your stepmother may look lovely and worldly, Paulinus, but she’s still very young. Her freedom went to her head, and she fell in with—well, a fast crowd. I should have stopped it, but I didn’t want to deny her her youth just because I’m old and tired and want to spend my evenings in a library. And she looked so happy, skipping off to her parties. It’s hard to deny her anything.”