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‘I look forward to hearing about these visionary ideas of yours,’ said Claudia, wishing him death with her eyes.

‘You forget that I’m a soldier. I live for competition. I shall be glad of the opportunity to prove myself, just like you, cousin.’

‘Then so be it. You can stay here in my father’s quarters, since you’ve already moved yourself in,’ said Claudia.

‘That’s very kind of you.’

‘Truth be told, I would not have wished to sleep in this room after what I witnessed here.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Marcellus.

‘You might find the bed to have an unpleasant odour,’ she said, wrinkling her nose. ‘It has been cleaned, of course, but Emperor Tiberius did have a habit of shitting himself when drunk.’

Marcellus’s face curdled as Gia tried not to laugh.

‘I shall leave you to it,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow, cousin.’

Claudia swept out, as Gia followed.

‘What now?’ she asked, when they were out of earshot.

‘Now, we’re going to throw a party,’ said Claudia.

3. A LAST PRAYER

Claudia sat on a golden throne, wearing her finest toga and red sash. The noise of joyous revelry echoed through the palace, creating a symphony of cheers and applause, but it wasn’t coming from the room she was in. No, it was coming from the banquet hall on the other side of the building where her cousin Marcellus was being celebrated by his hundreds of devotees.

The setting of her own party was equally grand, In a room of gilded pillars and sumptuous murals in every shade. She had provided a buffet full of the finest food in Rome and a small orchestra who had been instructed to perform at the last minute by fear of the gods, but the atmosphere was distinctly dispiriting.

The attendees nursed chalices of wine in sombre huddles, talking in sullen whispers as the musicians played off-key.

Three hundred invites had been issued yet less than seventy people were present, including the staff. Damocles was eager to impress the man he believed would be emperor, setting up Marcellus’s affair while Claudia would’ve been left to organize her own competing soiree single-handedly, if not for the help of her friends.

Gia was there, along with Cassius and Dominic, although they didn’t seem too enthusiastic either. Rectina was also present, notably without Pliny, who was unwell, but she’d invited along several senator’s wives and women of society, along with a group of Rome’s most expensive courtesans. The survivors of Pompeii were here too, though they were strangers in this city, without connections or influence.

Claudia gave a short speech, thanking each and every person for attending, but in the quiet part of her mind, she knew it wasn’t enough – not if she was to rule. There were only so many people who had a vote, and no more than three of them were in the room.

While Claudia had accepted their gifts and listened to their thoughts on democracy, promising to fix whatever issues most concerned them, none of the senators seemed as excited by the prospect of her reign as she hoped they might. Their support came hesitantly, reluctantly, with many strings attached.

‘I’ll consider voting for you tomorrow, if you can assure me the campaign in Britannia will be done before the end of next year,’ said the man who carried a bag of tablets and scrolls. ‘We have lost far too many men already, and what have we gained? An island full of old rocks.’

‘I will take your concerns on board,’ she said.

‘You will have my allegiance if you can promise me that the aqueduct your father began will finally finish construction,’ said the gentleman who talked endlessly of infrastructure. ‘How long must the suburbs wait for running water?’

‘I will do everything I can to find a solution,’ she said.

‘I might be persuaded, if you can promise you’ll change the laws on second and third marriages,’ said another man. ‘Such prudishness is keeping Rome stuck in the past. We need to be as liberated as the gods.’

‘I… will give it some thought,’ she said. ‘Possibly.’

Claudia regretted arranging the party at all, wishing she’d chosen a quiet night instead. She could’ve been giving Gia that palace tour she’d promised. Instead, she was holding on to her dignity by a hair.

Her competing event now had an air of desperation, the guests appraising her with pity as she pretended not to be bothered by the sounds of her cousin’s superior campaign. No one wanted to back a loser and, right now, that’s what she was.

‘I am certain they are playing poorly on purpose,’ Claudia muttered to Gia, as the musicians launched into a deathly dirge, their instruments twanging and screeching in a din that made her teeth itch.

‘It’s… fine,’ said Gia. ‘Everyone is having a good time… aren’t you? Aren’t you?’