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Authors: Kate Quinn
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she’d be about the sin of it.”
“And you’re not?” Antinous whistled softly at the dog.
“Come here,
boy—”
“You’re sixteen! It’s your time to play. Not your fault if all the girls
and
the boys fall at your feet.”
Antinous had to admit there were advantages to having a face like his, even if it caused trouble. Around the age of fifteen, he’d started noticing that it was easy to get women’s attention—they sort of fell on him if he smiled. Men, too. The clerk’s wife had been soft and buxom in his arms; the clerk had been rough and demanding, and Antinous had enjoyed both. He gave another low whistle and the dog sniffed at his hand. “There,” Antinous crooned, feeding him a crust left over from the rolls he’d bought his sisters.
“You should have a dog,” his father decided.
“Mirah says she’s not running a menagerie so I can’t keep bringing home strays to patch up.” Wistfully Antinous managed to stroke the stray dog’s nose before it went dancing out of reach. “And you know how the girls are about fleas—”
“Bugger that! A boy needs a dog. After we get to Britannia, maybe. Bad enough having two little girls vomiting their way through the crossing without adding a vomiting dog.” Vix tousled his hair. “Let’s get ourselves to the gymnasium, and we’ll spar a few rounds, Narcissus.”
“Don’t call me that,” Antinous groused, but he liked the nickname, and his father knew it. Because Vix, unlike most people, valued what Antinous could
do
rather than what he looked like. He’d insisted from the first that Antinous learn to fight, learn to ride, learn the sword—had stood back, called corrections, picked Antinous up by the scruff of the neck when he fell down, praised him when he succeeded.
Made me useful
, Antinous thought.
Not just pretty.
Vix could call him Narcissus, but nobody else. Vix—unlike the drunks and their whores, the clerk and his wife—saw past his face.
“I want the spear this time,” Antinous said. “The spear has longer reach.”
“And a
gladius
has edge
and
point to kill your enemy. Practice with that.”
“Race you for it?” Antinous said, seeing the bathhouse with its attached gymnasium loom up ahead. “First to the door wins!” And he took off, feinting through the crowd like a shadow, knowing his father in all his armor and fur would never catch up.
“Bloody
cheat
!” he heard Vix howl behind him, laughing.
I love you, Father
, Antinous thought. But didn’t say it.
C HAPTER 3
SABINA
Londinium
Sabina made huge sad eyes. “Please, Titus?”
“No,” her brother-in-law said. “You are my friend and my Empress, but this is too much to ask. Sit beside Servianus at dinner?”
At Titus’s side, Faustina shuddered.
“Surely you can’t object to our Emperor’s illustrious brother-in-law as a dinner companion,” Sabina said, straight-faced. “He’s the most virtuous man in Rome, after all.”
“He’s a crashing bore,” said Faustina. “He spent the last dinner party telling me about the declining standard of virtue among Roman wives.”
“While looking down your
stola
?” Sabina asked.
“No. He really is the most virtuous man in Rome.”
“And a man of no taste,” Titus decreed. “Virtue or not, no man of true discernment would fail to look down my wife’s
stola
.”
“If I put him beside Hadrian,” Sabina persisted, “he’ll drone all evening about Hadrian’s need to appoint an heir, and that puts Hadrian in a black humor for days. And since the Emperor and I will be taking the road for Vindolanda soon, and you two will be going back to Rome, I’ll have to bear all that black humor myself. So indulge me?”
Titus sighed. “Very well, I shall fall on the sword. Show me to Servianus’s couch.”
“And I’ll tackle the Emperor,” Faustina conceded. “Let’s see if I can’t coax him into a better mood, shall I?”
Sabina watched her sister’s smile turn from something steel-edged to
“And you’re not?” Antinous whistled softly at the dog.
“Come here,
boy—”
“You’re sixteen! It’s your time to play. Not your fault if all the girls
and
the boys fall at your feet.”
Antinous had to admit there were advantages to having a face like his, even if it caused trouble. Around the age of fifteen, he’d started noticing that it was easy to get women’s attention—they sort of fell on him if he smiled. Men, too. The clerk’s wife had been soft and buxom in his arms; the clerk had been rough and demanding, and Antinous had enjoyed both. He gave another low whistle and the dog sniffed at his hand. “There,” Antinous crooned, feeding him a crust left over from the rolls he’d bought his sisters.
“You should have a dog,” his father decided.
“Mirah says she’s not running a menagerie so I can’t keep bringing home strays to patch up.” Wistfully Antinous managed to stroke the stray dog’s nose before it went dancing out of reach. “And you know how the girls are about fleas—”
“Bugger that! A boy needs a dog. After we get to Britannia, maybe. Bad enough having two little girls vomiting their way through the crossing without adding a vomiting dog.” Vix tousled his hair. “Let’s get ourselves to the gymnasium, and we’ll spar a few rounds, Narcissus.”
“Don’t call me that,” Antinous groused, but he liked the nickname, and his father knew it. Because Vix, unlike most people, valued what Antinous could
do
rather than what he looked like. He’d insisted from the first that Antinous learn to fight, learn to ride, learn the sword—had stood back, called corrections, picked Antinous up by the scruff of the neck when he fell down, praised him when he succeeded.
Made me useful
, Antinous thought.
Not just pretty.
Vix could call him Narcissus, but nobody else. Vix—unlike the drunks and their whores, the clerk and his wife—saw past his face.
“I want the spear this time,” Antinous said. “The spear has longer reach.”
“And a
gladius
has edge
and
point to kill your enemy. Practice with that.”
“Race you for it?” Antinous said, seeing the bathhouse with its attached gymnasium loom up ahead. “First to the door wins!” And he took off, feinting through the crowd like a shadow, knowing his father in all his armor and fur would never catch up.
“Bloody
cheat
!” he heard Vix howl behind him, laughing.
I love you, Father
, Antinous thought. But didn’t say it.
C HAPTER 3
SABINA
Londinium
Sabina made huge sad eyes. “Please, Titus?”
“No,” her brother-in-law said. “You are my friend and my Empress, but this is too much to ask. Sit beside Servianus at dinner?”
At Titus’s side, Faustina shuddered.
“Surely you can’t object to our Emperor’s illustrious brother-in-law as a dinner companion,” Sabina said, straight-faced. “He’s the most virtuous man in Rome, after all.”
“He’s a crashing bore,” said Faustina. “He spent the last dinner party telling me about the declining standard of virtue among Roman wives.”
“While looking down your
stola
?” Sabina asked.
“No. He really is the most virtuous man in Rome.”
“And a man of no taste,” Titus decreed. “Virtue or not, no man of true discernment would fail to look down my wife’s
stola
.”
“If I put him beside Hadrian,” Sabina persisted, “he’ll drone all evening about Hadrian’s need to appoint an heir, and that puts Hadrian in a black humor for days. And since the Emperor and I will be taking the road for Vindolanda soon, and you two will be going back to Rome, I’ll have to bear all that black humor myself. So indulge me?”
Titus sighed. “Very well, I shall fall on the sword. Show me to Servianus’s couch.”
“And I’ll tackle the Emperor,” Faustina conceded. “Let’s see if I can’t coax him into a better mood, shall I?”
Sabina watched her sister’s smile turn from something steel-edged to
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