Maia, equally settled apparently, had then been widowed. This situation is often to be welcomed, though even the deadbeats and wastrels my sisters married were rarely eaten by arena lions in Tripolitania after a trial for blasphemy. Few families on the Aventine could boast of so much excitement, and we were trying to keep the dishonor quiet, for the sake of Maia's children. Lying about it no doubt added to her sense of isolation. She had made other mistakes too. Bad ones. She had made a fool of herself with Anacrites the Chief Spy, for one thing. That was a situation we could not talk about at all.

"I thought they just needed time." Helena sighed.

"Oh, they may yet be prodded into close proximity-but you'll need to use a long stick." Petronius Longus was a big lad, and my sister could be volatile.

"Better not to interfere, Marcus."

"Right."

If the bad thing about staying in an official residence was constant small talk, the good was that on the occasions Helena and I did sneak off alone, we were entirely alone. Nux, my dog, was scrabbling outside the door now, but we could pretend to ignore her. Our two little daughters, along with Maia's children, were safe in the custody of Aelia Camilla's nursery staff. Even our hopeless nursemaid had been absorbed and put to some use; I dreamed that she would stay there when we left.

"This is fine," I said, stretching lazily. "What we need is a house with so many rooms that nobody can find us, and cohorts of obedient staff, trained to walk about in their silence, sponging away all trace of children's mashed-up food with tolerant smiles."