"It belongs to Senator Publius now." And he slammed the gate in her face.

     Ulrika stood in shock. Aunt Paulina's villa had been confiscated? Where were Paulina and her household staff? Ulrika looked up the lane at her own dark and deserted house.

     Where was her mother?

     She ran to their villa and received a second shock: a sign on the gate warned that the property had been seized by the imperial government and that trespass was a criminal offense. Ulrika broke the seals and slipped inside.

     The garden had a neglected look, weedy and dusty, with dry fountains and marble benches littered with dried leaves. Ulrika went through a deserted atrium and reception room, down empty corridors and into silent bedrooms. In the rear, kitchens, laundry, and slaves' quarters were all deserted and dark.

     Making her way back to the atrium, Ulrika surveyed the dark house in rising dismay. Had her mother been taken away by imperial guards? Was she now in prison, or worse: had she already been executed?

     Ulrika went in search of a lamp. Finding one, still full of oil, and a flint, she lit the lamp and brought it back to the atrium, where she tried to think. Should she stay here, in the hope that her mother would come back, or would soldiers return? She had broken the seal on the gate, which in itself was a crime. Now she was trespassing against imperial orders—

     When she heard a scraping sound, she shot to her feet, and was startled to see Erasmus, the old major domo, passing along a colonnaded corridor with his travel packs. "Erasmus!" she called.

     He jumped. "Huh? Is it a ghost? Ah, mistress!" he said when his eyes focused. "Praise the gods you are alive. But you can't stay here. I was ordered to get the house in order for new owners, and now I too must leave."

     "Where is my mother?"

     "Gone," he said sadly in a raspy voice. "She and everyone left Rome days ago. They went in a hurry. They knew the city was no longer safe for them."

     "But where did they go?" Ulrika cried.

     Bony shoulders lifted in a shrug. "The Lady left a letter for me to give you in case you came back." He dug into one of the many secret pockets of his colorful robe and withdrew a scroll tied with a red ribbon. As he started to hurry away, he paused and, thrusting his hand back inside his robe, pulled out a second scroll and said, "Here is another. Good-bye. Be careful, mistress, for these are dangerous times for the friends of Claudius, may he find peace in the afterlife."

     Ulrika looked at the two scrolled letters, recognizing the wax seal on her mother's but puzzling over the second. Who else had left her a letter? Turning the scroll, searching for a seal, she saw a dried water stain on the paper. It looked as if someone had cried and a tear had dropped, leaving a star-shaped stain—

     She froze. It was her own letter, written months ago! "Wait," she said, hurrying after the old man. "Why did you give me my letter back?" But he was gone. The lane was deserted.

     Ulrika looked at her letter again and, seeing that it had never been opened, realized that the old man had removed it from the very same pocket he had slipped it into the day she left Rome.

     My mother never received my letter.

     Ulrika sat down and read by lamplight the letter from her mother.

     "My dearest daughter, I write in haste because we are forced to flee. I do not know where I am going. All the family is with me. I do not know if my political enemies will turn on you. Rome is no longer safe for you. Perhaps by the grace of the Goddess, you and I will find each other one day. I pray also, dearest daughter who came to me in love and in my hour of need, that you find what you are looking for. I am sorry you felt you had to leave Rome without saying good-bye to me, without leaving word. But I understand. Please do not forget your Roman half, and do not despise your Roman blood, for I am part of you, as is your father, Wulf."

     A night breeze gusted and moonlight illuminated dried leaves rustling over paving stones, and Ulrika thought: I went in search of my father and, by doing that, lost my mother.

     And then she recalled the last time she had seen her mother, the row they had had, and how Ulrika had turned on her heel and left while her mother was still speaking. That is my mother's last memory of me! For Selene never read the words of apology and love.

     A sob escaped Ulrika's throat and her eyes filled with tears that dropped onto her mother's letter, wetting black ink, smearing words that said, "Do not despise your Roman half."

     As she watched dried leaves skim the paving stones of the atrium, brushed along by a cool night breeze, she tried to figure out what she shoulddo next. Go in search of her mother? Try to seek her old friends? She thought of Sebastianus, wondered briefly if she could go to him for help, but then realized that, with her connections to Paulina and this house that had been seized by the government, she would be placing him in jeopardy.

     One thing was certain: she could not stay here.

     As she rose from the bench, she heard the sound of footfall. She spun about and saw a man silhouetted in the moonlight.

     Sebastianus.

     He came into the atrium. "I was not comfortable leaving you. I needed to make sure you were all right. When the slave at Paulina's gate said a strange woman had tried to enter the home of Senator Publius, I knew something was wrong."

     "They're gone, Sebastianus," she whispered. "My mother, my family. All gone. I am alone."

     He took her into his arms and held her tight, caressing her hair, feeling her warm breath on his neck.

     "You are not alone, Ulrika," he said, drawing back. "You are coming home with me."

     "WE'LL ALL BE MURDERED IN OUR BEDS!"

     Primo seized the hysterical laundress by her arm and growled, "Hold your tongue, woman, or you'll make matters worse." He gave her a painful squeeze with his coarse ham-fist and sent her on her way.

     Holy blood of Mithras, Primo cursed silently as he spat on the floor. Women could never be counted on to keep a level head in times of emergency.

     And tonight's was the worst of all possible emergencies, with word coming down the street that soldiers of the new emperor were systematically assassinating anyone who had anything to do with Claudius Caesar, including a caravan trader named Sebastianus Gallus who had met Claudius only once fleetingly, but whose name was recorded on the roster of those to be admitted to the Imperial Palace.

     Primo resumed his inspection of the house, lumbering through the rooms of the Gallus villa like a war machine, his head turning this way and that as he oversaw the industry that always marked his master's return.

     Primo was a large, ugly man whose nose had been broken so many times it barely resembled a nose anymore, and he would have been condemned to a life of begging in the streets had it not been for Sebastianus Gallus, whose house he now ran with the discipline and precision of the dedicated soldier he had once been. Without his steadying presence, Primo knew, this house on the edge of the city would have fallen apart days ago. Even now, there was barely enough staff to keep the kitchen, gardens, laundry, and animal care going, so many slaves had run off in the night. A tense atmosphere hung over rooms glowing with lamplight as slaves prepared the house for their master's return—all under the watchful eye of big, ugly Primo, veteran of so many foreign campaigns and survivor of so much combat that little fazed him anymore.