Free Lady of the Eternal City by Kate Quinn

your generosity in passing out donatives. And there was something about a wall, wasn’t there, when Caesar toured the northern border in Germania?”
    “Yes.” Hadrian smiled, tossing an oyster shell to the mosaics. “You will see more walls soon enough—one of my many plans, for both Germania and Britannia.”
    Titus smiled from his couch, and Hadrian’s eyes fixed on him with a sudden sharpening of attention.
    “Do you laugh, Titus Aurelius?”
    Sabina saw a sudden flash of worry cross her sister’s face. But Titus was entirely placid, returning the Emperor’s heavy-lidded gaze with a cheerful smile, as though he had never spent months in one of Hadrian’s cells under threat of death. “Why, yes, Caesar. I laugh at myself—if I were ever so unfortunate as to find myself at the northern edge of Germania, I would never stay long enough to build a wall. But I’m a dull, plodding sort of fellow with no imagination or ambition.”
    “Are you.” Hadrian’s voice did not make it a question. “Sometimes I wonder.”
    “Oh, look,” Sabina said brightly. “More oysters. And that dish with sow’s udders that you’re so fond of, Caesar. I ordered it especially to please you.”
    Hadrian’s thoughtful gaze rested a moment longer on Titus, but at last his eyes shifted. “Thank you, Vibia Sabina. Most thoughtful.”
    “In my day,” a deep voice rumbled from Titus’s far side, and Sabina knew without looking that it was Lucius Julius Ursus Servianus because Servianus prefaced most of his statements with
In my day
. “In my day, one did not eat so richly, even at an Imperial table.” Servianus shook his head: reputedly the most virtuous man in Rome, Imperial brother-in-law thanks to a long marriage with Hadrian’s colorless and little-liked elder sister, and such a vision of silvered wisdom in his old-fashioned synthesis that Sabina could not imagine he had ever been young. “It is such indulgence that ruins our Empire,” Servianus concluded, and gave a sniff at the dish of pheasant, sow’s udders, and ham in a pastry crust that had just been laid before the Emperor.
    “Ham in a pastry crust is ruining the Empire?” Sabina couldn’t help saying. “Goodness.”
    “No, it is indulgence that will be our ruin! Bread and vinegar, that would do us better. And serious discussion, not gossip and poetry.” Servianus cast a disapproving glance at Faustina, who was feeding tidbits to Hadrian’s hounds and listening admiringly to the verses the Emperor had composed when his favorite horse died. Better mourning verses, Sabina thought, than the ones he’d composed for the old Empress’s funeral. “The succession has not yet been settled; is that not more important than building walls? I have spoken with the Emperor many times about young Pedanius Fuscus, such a promising boy, yet the Emperor has not yet confirmed him as heir—”
    “And why should I do so?” Hadrian interrupted, sounding much cooler than when he had addressed Faustina. “Because he is your grandson?”
    “Because he is your great-nephew, Caesar.” Servianus sounded reproachful. “He carries the blood imperial!”
    Hadrian snorted. “The blood imperial is no guarantor of genius.” The red-haired page boy whispering behind them with the lute player had let out a sudden titter at some murmured joke, and Hadrian sent a sharp glance. “Cease that, boy!” The page subsided.
    Servianus gave a great
harrumph
. Everyone in Rome knew that he prided himself on speaking his mind, even to their feared and mercurial emperor. Many admired him for that, even if they found him tiresome. Sabina just found him a fool.
You don’t speak your mind to the Emperor because you lack fear
, she thought, looking on as her white-bearded guest prepared to pontificate.
You speak your mind because you think being the Imperial brother-in-law is all the shield you need. And someday, Hadrian will teach you differently.
    “Emperor Augustus,” Servianus said