“Grandfather?”

It was as if he had forgotten she was there. “Whether he meant it or not, he is gone. And you, little Regina, are the most important person in the family.”

“I am?”

“Yes. Because you are the future. Here — you must take these.” Now he opened his hand, and, to Regina’s shock and surprise, he showed her the matres, the three little goddesses from the lararium, the family shrine. They were figures of women in heavy hooded cloaks, crudely carved, little bigger than Aetius’s thumb. Aetius shook his head. “I remember when my own father brought these back — they are just trinkets, really, produced in their thousands by the artisans along the Rhine — but they became precious to us. The family is the center of everything for all good Romans, you know. And now you must take care of our gods, our family. Give me your hand now.”

As she opened her palm to take the goddesses, Regina couldn’t keep from flinching. She thought the matres might burn her flesh, or freeze it, or crumble her bones. But they were just like lumps of rock, like pebbles, warm from Aetius’s grasp. She closed her fingers over them. “I’ll keep them safe for my mother.”

“Yes,” Aetius said. He stood up. “Now you must go with Carta and pack up your things. Your clothes — everything you want to take. We’re going on a journey, you and I.”

“Is Mother coming?”

“It will be exciting,” he said. “Fun.” He forced a smile, but his face was hard.

“Should I take my toys?”

He rested his hand on her head. “Some. Yes. Of course.”

“Grandfather—”

“Yes?”

“Why did you make those men put my father facedown in the coffin?”

But he wouldn’t reply, saying only, “Be ready first thing tomorrow — both of you.”

Excited, clutching the goddesses, Regina tugged at Carta’s hand, and they began to make their way back to the villa.

It was only much later that Regina learned that laying a corpse facedown in a coffin was a way of ensuring that the dead would not return to the world of the living.

The next day, not long after dawn, Aetius sacrificed a small chicken. Seeking omens for the journey, he inspected its entrails briskly, muttered a prayer, then buried the carcass in the ground. He cleaned his hands of blood by rubbing them in the dirt.

A sturdy-looking cart drew up in the villa’s courtyard.

Of course Regina was only half packed, even with Carta’s help. When Aetius saw the number of boxes and trunks that lay open around her room, he growled and began to pull out clothes and toys. “Only take what you need, child! You are so spoiled — you would never make a soldier.”

She ran around picking up precious garments and games and bits of cheap jewelry. “I don’t want to be a soldier! And I need this and this—”

Aetius sighed and rolled his eyes. But he argued until he had reduced her to just four big wooden trunks, and, in the final heated stages, allowed her a few more luxuries. A beefy male slave called Macco hauled the boxes out to the cart.

Carta helped her dress in her best outdoor outfit. It was a smart woolen tunic, woven in one piece with long sleeves and a slit for her neck. She wore it over a fine wool undertunic, with a belt tied around her waist.

Aetius stood before her stiffly, clenching and unclenching a fist. Then he knelt to adjust her belt. “Beautiful, beautiful,” he said gruffly. “You look like a princess.”

“Look at the colors,” Regina said, pointing. “The yellow is nettle dye, the orange is onion skins, and the red is madder. It’s all fixed with salt so it will never fade.”

“Not ever? Not in a thousand years?”

“Never.”

He grunted. He straightened and glanced up. “Cartumandua! Are you ready?”

Carta was wearing a tunic of her own, of plain bleached wool, and she carried a small valise.

Regina asked, “Is Carta coming, too?”

“Yes, Carta is coming.”

“And Mother — shall I go and find her?”

But Aetius grabbed her arm. “Your mother isn’t coming with us today.”

“She’ll come later.”

“Yes, she’ll come later.” He clapped his hands. “And the sun is already halfway across the sky and I hoped to be a speck on the horizon by now. Hurry, now, before the day fades altogether …”

Regina ran outside and clambered onto the carriage. It was a simple open frame, but it had big wooden wheels with iron rims and complicated hubs. She was going to ride in front, with Aetius, so she could see everywhere she went. Cartumandua would be in the back, with Macco, the burly slave, and the lashed-down boxes.

Regina noticed Macco strapping a knife to his waist, under his tunic. She snapped, “Put that down, Macco, right now. Nobody is allowed to carry weapons except the soldiers. The Emperor says so.”

Macco had a heavy shaven head, and broad shoulders his loose tunic couldn’t conceal. He was a silent, gloomy man — Julia had always called him “dull” and ignored him — and now he glanced up at Aetius.

“What’s this? Wearing weapons? Quite right, Regina. But I am a commander in the army, and if I say it’s all right for Macco to have a knife, the Emperor isn’t going to mind.”

Regina pulled a face. “But he’s a slave.”

“He’s a slave who would lay down his life for yours, which is why I’ve chosen him to come with us. Now hush your prattling.”

She flinched, but subsided.

So it was in a stiff silence that the little party finally set off. Aetius sat beside Regina, a mighty pillar of muscle, his face as rigid as an actor’s mask. Regina looked back once, hoping to see her mother, but nobody came to wave them off.

That minor disappointment soon faded, as did her sulk over being ticked off in front of Macco, because the ride, at the beginning at least, was fun. It was another fine day. The sky was cloudless, a pale blue dome, and the horses trotted comfortably along, snorting and ducking their heads, the musky stink of their sweat wafting back to Regina.

Soon they reached the broad main road, heading east. The road cut as straight as an arrow across the green countryside. It was built by and for walking soldiers, and was uneven, and the ride was bumpy. But Regina didn’t care; she was too excited. She bounced in her seat, until Aetius, horse switch in hand, told her to stop.

Aetius tried to explain that they would travel east, all the way to Londinium, and then cut north.

“When will we see Londinium?”

“Not for a few days. It’s a long way.”

Her eyes widened. “Will we ride through the night? Will we sleep in the cart?”

“Don’t be silly. There are places to stay on the way.”

“But where—”

“Never mind your prattle.”

They encountered little traffic. There were a very few carriages, pulled by horses, donkeys, or bullocks, a few horse riders — but most of the traffic was people on foot. Many pedestrians carried heavy loads, bundled in boxes or cloth, on their heads or shoulders. Aetius pointed to one rider in a bright green uniform whose horse trotted at a bright clip, quickly overtaking the carriage. Aetius said he was from the Imperial Post, the cursus publicus. Along the roadside there were many small stations with stables and water troughs, places where a post rider could change his horse.

Sometimes the people walking along the road would peer at the carriage with an intensity that frightened Regina. At such times Macco was always alert, gazing back with his blank, hard face, the hilt of a weapon showing at his waist. Regina would stare into the faces of the people, hoping to glimpse her mother.

They passed one girl who couldn’t have been much older than Regina herself. Walking with a group of adults, she was bowed down under a great bundle strapped to her back. She had heavy-looking black leather boots on her feet; they dwarfed her thin, dirty legs.