In the voice of Marcus's mother through nervousness, it was felt by all present and satisfied with himself Lucius Servianus, whose meaty face melted into a smile, deciding to amplify the effect.

“As for the princeps,” he called Hadrian one of his many titles, “I don't think there will be any difficulty with his approval. I was at his reception recently, and he deigned to inform me that he had almost settled on the heir nomination. You know, his health leaves much to be desired lately. But now Caesar has gone back to Syria. The war in Judea continues, and he wants to personally check how things are going. Unfortunately, we have lost many warriors from the Spanish and Deiotariana legions. Now one of your relatives Sextus Julius Sever commands there.”

Servianus took a glass of wine, took a sip, looking contentedly at the interlocutors. He was pleased that he amazed everyone with his knowledge; he was pleased that the rest were freezing, waiting for him to continue.

Regin sat with an impenetrable face, staring at his opponent with faded eyes. Faustina, looking eagerly at Servianus, did not notice how from the corner of her mouth flowed red drops of wine, similar to blood. It looked like she bit her lip with annoyance. One of the serving Greek slaves, who accompanied her from the house, hurriedly leaned over and wiped the mistress's chin.

“Don't get in the way, Galeria!” Faustina irritably pushed her hand away. “So, what did our emperor, the honorable Lucius say?”

“Augustus chose my grandson Pedanius Fuсk as his successor and this question was solved,” Servianus said with notes of celebration in his voice, gazing victoriously at Regin's frozen face. “My Fuсus will be the next Caesar!”

“Congratulations!” Domitia was the first to recover. “Congratulations, Senator!”

When Servianus left the villa of Annius, the prefect Regin warmly parted with him. The question of bringing the influential senator Antoninus to his side had now fallen away by itself. What was the point of confronting the future relative of Caesar? Only a madman could afford that.

“Be healthy, my dear Faustina! It was good to see you!” Domitia said goodbye to Marcus’s aunt. “I'll be here for lunch soon, hopefully before festival of the Saturnalia.”34

“Oh, Saturnalia! Gods, how fast time flies!”

“Oh yes! ‘Time takes everything away,’”—Domitia Lucilla quoted Virgil, showing her education.

This, however, irritated Faustina, who scornfully raised the corners of her mouth, imitating a smile, and thought, “Gods, how unnatural and arrogant, this Domitia.” She, Faustina, of course, would tell her husband everything, laugh at the pomposity of these old people, and discuss that goose Domitia Lucilla. Only depicting a noble matron! Girlfriends told Faustina that Domitia had often visited the disgraced Empress Sabina, and she, everyone knew, secretly amused herself with black Nubian slaves.

However, it was time. And Antoninus's wife stepped to the luxurious palanquin, standing at the gates of the villa surrounded by slave-guards, with mixed feelings.

Meanwhile, Regin, who had lost all interest in Faustina, was thinking about his position on the sidelines. It, of course, was complicated. Although the game was not finished, as it seemed to him. It was not over yet.

Everyone knew that the emperor was an unpredictable man and his decisions were often strange and unexpected. Why was Hadrian for this Pedanius Fusсus? Nothing outstanding, narcissistic, absurd, as reported to him, Regin. What were the emperor's political calculations? What was he hoping for? What did he want?