book—”
“Jealous?” she teased.
“No!”
Maybe a little. Sabina didn’t seem to care a fig about any of her suitors except two: that shy patrician boy named Titus, who made her wrinkle her nose affectionately, and Tribune Hadrian. The skinny prat with the violets didn’t worry me—he was only sixteen, and he hardly had the courage on his visits to thrust some flowers at her and stammer a few shy compliments. Hadrian, now… he came to call at least twice a week, and he and Sabina would walk the gardens, his big head bent down toward hers. Talking, always talking, and Sabina’s little chin had the same attentive angle it did when she cocked it at me over the pillow at night.
“I don’t see what there is to be jealous of,” Sabina pointed out, bumping her nose gently against mine. “You think Hadrian’s pouring pretty compliments into my ears? Last time we talked about architecture, and the time before that it was Greek philosophers, and before that it was the Eleusinian Mysteries.”
“Exactly.” All things I didn’t know anything about.
“Mostly he goes on about Greece,” Sabina continued, unruffled. “He keeps telling me Athens is the center of civilization, not Rome. He can go on quite a while about that. Behind his back, they call him
the Greekling
.”
“I call him
that boil-brained lout
, and I’ll do it to his face.”
She laughed softly in the dark. “I would like to see Athens. And Brundisium. A hundred other places.”
“Rome’s big enough to keep you occupied.”
“And why did you come back to Rome, Vix?” She cocked her headup against my shoulder, her blue eyes just dark pools in the night. “Your parents hated it.”
“I didn’t.”
“Rome made you a slave. Rome put you in an arena to fight for your life. Rome nearly killed you.”
“That was all a madman’s fault. The madman’s gone now, so there’s no reason for me not to come back. My father didn’t want me to, but—”
“Ah.”
I scowled. “What,
ah
?”
“Your father hated Rome, so you like it.”
I shrugged. “A mountaintop in Brigantia might get a little small for us both. He’s a big man.”
“I remember. I saw him just once, up close—he was all tied up and bleeding and cold-eyed. He looked like a big wounded dog, all bound and determined that if he was going to die, his enemies were going down with him. You look like him, you know.”
“I know, I know.” My little brother had my mother’s dark hair and eyes, but I was my father’s spitting image and tired of being told about it. We had the same russet-colored hair and gray eyes, I was a finger’s breadth away from his height and growing into his heavy shoulders, I was left-handed like him and had his knack with weapons, and so what? “I’m not my father.”
“No, you’re not,” said Sabina. “You’ll be a bigger man than he is someday.”
“You mean taller? I’d like to be—”
“No, not taller.
Bigger.
Too big for Britannia, much less a mountaintop. Rome might not even be able to hold you.”
“Thanks. I think?” I snugged her in against my shoulder, yawning, and soon drifted off to sleep.
“Dream, Vix,” she whispered, or I thought she whispered. “Dream about those stars of yours, the ones that are going to lead you to glory. For all your crashing and shouting, I think you’re a bigger dreamer than me.”
Senator Norbanus and his family dined at the Domus Augustana once a week with the Emperor and Empress, but I never took duty those nights. There might still be slaves or guards who remembered me from the old days at Emperor Domitian’s side. But as Saturnalia approached I realized I’d get my chance to see Emperor Trajan up close after all: when he and his entourage honored the Norbanus house by coming to dinner.
“I don’t see what all this fuss is,” Senator Norbanus said mildly, looking up from his scrolls at his madly rushing wife. “He’s a soldier; he’s easy to entertain. Put a slab of meat on
“Jealous?” she teased.
“No!”
Maybe a little. Sabina didn’t seem to care a fig about any of her suitors except two: that shy patrician boy named Titus, who made her wrinkle her nose affectionately, and Tribune Hadrian. The skinny prat with the violets didn’t worry me—he was only sixteen, and he hardly had the courage on his visits to thrust some flowers at her and stammer a few shy compliments. Hadrian, now… he came to call at least twice a week, and he and Sabina would walk the gardens, his big head bent down toward hers. Talking, always talking, and Sabina’s little chin had the same attentive angle it did when she cocked it at me over the pillow at night.
“I don’t see what there is to be jealous of,” Sabina pointed out, bumping her nose gently against mine. “You think Hadrian’s pouring pretty compliments into my ears? Last time we talked about architecture, and the time before that it was Greek philosophers, and before that it was the Eleusinian Mysteries.”
“Exactly.” All things I didn’t know anything about.
“Mostly he goes on about Greece,” Sabina continued, unruffled. “He keeps telling me Athens is the center of civilization, not Rome. He can go on quite a while about that. Behind his back, they call him
the Greekling
.”
“I call him
that boil-brained lout
, and I’ll do it to his face.”
She laughed softly in the dark. “I would like to see Athens. And Brundisium. A hundred other places.”
“Rome’s big enough to keep you occupied.”
“And why did you come back to Rome, Vix?” She cocked her headup against my shoulder, her blue eyes just dark pools in the night. “Your parents hated it.”
“I didn’t.”
“Rome made you a slave. Rome put you in an arena to fight for your life. Rome nearly killed you.”
“That was all a madman’s fault. The madman’s gone now, so there’s no reason for me not to come back. My father didn’t want me to, but—”
“Ah.”
I scowled. “What,
ah
?”
“Your father hated Rome, so you like it.”
I shrugged. “A mountaintop in Brigantia might get a little small for us both. He’s a big man.”
“I remember. I saw him just once, up close—he was all tied up and bleeding and cold-eyed. He looked like a big wounded dog, all bound and determined that if he was going to die, his enemies were going down with him. You look like him, you know.”
“I know, I know.” My little brother had my mother’s dark hair and eyes, but I was my father’s spitting image and tired of being told about it. We had the same russet-colored hair and gray eyes, I was a finger’s breadth away from his height and growing into his heavy shoulders, I was left-handed like him and had his knack with weapons, and so what? “I’m not my father.”
“No, you’re not,” said Sabina. “You’ll be a bigger man than he is someday.”
“You mean taller? I’d like to be—”
“No, not taller.
Bigger.
Too big for Britannia, much less a mountaintop. Rome might not even be able to hold you.”
“Thanks. I think?” I snugged her in against my shoulder, yawning, and soon drifted off to sleep.
“Dream, Vix,” she whispered, or I thought she whispered. “Dream about those stars of yours, the ones that are going to lead you to glory. For all your crashing and shouting, I think you’re a bigger dreamer than me.”
Senator Norbanus and his family dined at the Domus Augustana once a week with the Emperor and Empress, but I never took duty those nights. There might still be slaves or guards who remembered me from the old days at Emperor Domitian’s side. But as Saturnalia approached I realized I’d get my chance to see Emperor Trajan up close after all: when he and his entourage honored the Norbanus house by coming to dinner.
“I don’t see what all this fuss is,” Senator Norbanus said mildly, looking up from his scrolls at his madly rushing wife. “He’s a soldier; he’s easy to entertain. Put a slab of meat on
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