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The consul was once an elected official, powerful during the Republic, now reduced to a symbolic role often handed to family or friends of the emperor. The role had a high rate of exchange, with men coming and going over periods of months. Being the beleaguered go-between of the emperor and the Senate was a great deal of work for a very limited amount of money, power or acclaim, which posed the question: What sort of man would be drawn to such a role?

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Damocles,’ said Claudia. ‘I shall arrange a meeting for us to become even better acquainted.’

‘And you already know me, of course, Princess,’ said the small elder man in an orange robe, with fluffy white hair like a dandelion.

Hieronymus. Once her father’s advisor. He’d returned to Rome upon the emperor’s death.

The other men glanced back and forth, exchanging furtive looks. One held a tablet, the other a lyre. An emperor’s personal staff included not just political advisors and guards but also scribes and librarians, artists and musicians, courtiers and astrologers, physicians and tutors, not to mention a legion of domestic servants.

Between her father dying while away in Pompeii, Decimus coming to power and Vesuvius erupting, Claudia had lost most of her staff to death or defection. These men had been hastily put in place, though she wasn’t sure by whom; the Senate, perhaps? They were strangers whose allegiances couldn’t be estimated.

She had to assert herself, to earn their respect.

‘Hieronymus, yes. It’s good to see you again… though I would prefer that you refer to me by my proper name, Empress Claudia.’

One of the men smirked. Another snickered, whispering under his breath. Claudia couldn’t hear what he said but she was certain that it was unflattering.

‘About that,’ said Damocles, raising one ringed finger.

‘About what?’

‘About you being empress. We wouldn’t want you getting ahead of yourself,’ he said.

‘Meaning?’

‘It’s your cousin, Marcellus Suetonius,’ said Damocles.

‘What about him?’

‘Well, he is here,’ said Hieronymus.

‘Already?’

‘He arrived yesterday,’ said Damocles.

‘I hope you’re about to tell me he’s here to congratulate me on my ascension to power,’ said Claudia.

‘Afraid not, Princess,’ said Hieronymus. ‘He is making a claim, as the emperor’s nephew. He insists he had a conversation with your father before his death, along these lines.’

This time, Claudia didn’t correct his ‘Princess’. She’d barely interacted with Hieronymus until now, for he’d never paid her any attention. She could tell that he wasn’t impressed with her in the slightest, and that winning his respect would be a long, hard-won affair.

‘Then he is a liar. He had no such conversation.’

‘He is, in many people’s eyes… the real princeps.’

The princeps was the heir. First in line. Her father’s brother’s child would stand ahead of her? No, she would not allow it.

‘Many people are wrong,’ she asserted.

‘Try convincing them of that,’ said Damocles. ‘You know how stubborn the public can be when they form an opinion.’

Claudia’s hands formed fists at her sides.

‘I am the emperor’s only daughter, his only living child,’ she said. ‘Marcellus has never shown any interest in government. He hasn’t visited Rome in years. He is entirely unprepared for the job of ruling.’

‘Ah, well… That’s the issue, you see.’

‘What?’ she asked, sharply.