Page 11 of The Tribune Temptation (Roman Heirs #1)

B y the next afternoon, Ajax had succeeded in bringing home Cassandra’s lover, Taurus. Aelius did not relish purchasing another slave, but in this situation, it was the right thing to do.

Crispina and his mother joined him in the atrium to greet the new member of their household. Taurus, a freckle-faced young man clothed in a plain linen tunic, fell to his knees before Aelius and grasped his hand to kiss it in a formal gesture of supplication and gratitude. “Thank you, sir, for your generosity and kindness.”

Aelius helped him to his feet. “You are very welcome here.”

Taurus bowed to Crispina and Gaia in turn, then retreated to clasp Cassandra’s hand, casting her a look of naked adoration. She smiled up at him.

“I wondered if you might tell us any more about the circumstances that led to your departure from your former master,” Aelius said. “Cassandra wasn’t able to give us the full story.”

Taurus shifted from foot to foot. “I’m very sorry, sir, but I can’t say. But I will swear on the life of my unborn child I did no wrong.”

That was rather mysterious, but Aelius assumed the young man had a good reason for holding his tongue, so he let it be. “Very well. Cassandra can show you around, and you can settle in.”

Cassandra and Taurus bowed to them once more, then left the atrium.

Gaia looked at Crispina with an approving gaze. “You did very well, dear.”

A flush brightened Crispina’s pale cheeks. “Thank you.”

His mother went to go work on some weaving, and Crispina accompanied her to help. Aelius stared after his wife for a moment. She had impressed him last night. Ladies of her station were raised to barely consider slaves as human, yet she’d gone out of her way to help Cassandra. Especially with a pregnancy involved: Aelius could easily imagine that another woman with Crispina’s challenges would have turned spiteful and jealous. Perhaps there was more to his new wife than her chilly exterior suggested. Perhaps they were better suited than he could ever have expected.

Later that day, Aelius ran his gaze down the list of names he and Catullus had compiled. The poet sat across from him in Aelius’s study, stretching his legs to rest his feet on the corner of Aelius’s desk.

Aelius shot him a disapproving glance, but said nothing. He could tolerate Catullus’s informal habits as his connections had been invaluable in uncovering the names of men who would likely stand for the tribune election.

Aelius chewed his lip as he returned his attention to the names, scribed in black ink on papyrus. “I know of many of these men. They have influence and supporters. I can’t hope to beat them.” Aelius grabbed a pen and placed a dot next to each opponent who was all but certain to win a seat. His anxiety grew as he counted them. Nine men with nearly definite victories. There were ten tribune seats up for election, so that left only one spot.

Three names remained on the list which were unfamiliar to him. “Cornelius Zeno?”

Catullus shrugged. “Haven’t heard of him, so that means he’s unremarkable. Therefore you have a shot at beating him.”

Aelius underlined the name and glanced at the next one. “Servius Domitius Cotta?”

“Gambling debts. Lots of them.”

Aelius considered. “I could threaten to expose his financial irresponsibility.” He underlined Cotta’s name.

Catullus nodded. “Indeed. Who is next?”

“Publius Veturius Rufus. Do you know him?”

Catullus straightened up. “That one is interesting.”

“I doubt that bodes well for me,” Aelius muttered.

“The Veturius family is newly wealthy, and obscenely so. His father was a baker who won the contract to supply bread to the army.”

Aelius’s stomach dropped. “So Rufus can buy as many votes as he need. I can’t compete with that.” He put a dot next to the name, his stomach sinking. That made ten candidates nearly certain of victory, which accounted for all of the seats.

Catullus leaned forward, planting his forearms on the desk. “You forget. If there’s one thing patricians hate more than an upstart freedman, it’s new money. It upsets the social order and threatens the dignity of their ancient families. Rufus can try to buy votes, but if you also make an appeal to the patricians who control those votes, coupled with your new father-in-law’s influence, I would bet my toga they’ll choose you over him.”

Aelius twirled the pen between his fingers. “You think so?”

Catullus grabbed the list and skimmed it. “Defeating Rufus is your best chance to win a seat. Focus on winning support away from him, and you might do it.”

It made sense, and Aelius nodded slowly. He opened his mouth to ask how exactly he was meant to go about that, but a knock came at the door. “Yes?” he called.

Ajax entered, bearing a folded letter. “This came for you, sir.”

Aelius took the letter. “Thank you.” He broke the wax seal. He knew few people, so he rarely received letters, and he read the missive with interest. “Crispina and I are invited to dinner tomorrow at the house of someone I don’t know.” He handed the note to Catullus.

It must have been one of Crispina’s acquaintances. He had never received a dinner invitation before. Already, his marriage was paying off.

Catullus read the invitation. “The Larcius family. This is good. The wife is a terrible gossip, so she invites a wide variety of people to her dinners to try to gather as much gossip as possible. There will be senators there as well as wealthy plebeian merchants, no doubt. I imagine she wants a look at Crispina’s new freedman husband.”

Though the prospect of being a spectacle was not appealing, the dinner would still be an excellent opportunity to start building connections and making friends. He grabbed a blank wax tablet and jotted a reply to accept the invitation on behalf of himself and his wife.

Crispina tucked herself close to Aelius’s side as they entered the overdecorated dining room of the Larcius family. Usually social situations inspired nothing but apathy in her, but it was her first outing with Aelius since their wedding, and nerves tumbled in her stomach.

The two of them made quite the pair, after all: a patrician divorcée and a freedman turned aspiring politician. Though Crispina had only become an object of interest in the months since her divorce, Aelius likely had years of practice dealing with stares and muttered comments.

The guests hadn’t been seated yet and milled around the room chatting with each other. But the conversation paused and everyone turned to stare once Crispina and Aelius crossed the threshold.

The hostess, Ulpia, sailed forward out of the crowd. Red carnelian glimmered at her ears and around her neck, clashing horribly with her orange gown. “Crispina, my dear, how I’ve missed you!”

Crispina did not smile, but allowed Ulpia to kiss her on both cheeks. Ulpia had been instrumental in spreading rumors about Crispina’s infertility and failing marriage across the city, and Crispina hated her for it. “Thank you for inviting us. Please meet my husband, Aelius Herminius.”

Ulpia turned to Aelius. Her smile faltered. She extended a hand in greeting, then snatched it back as if she didn’t want him to touch her.

Crispina bristled. She opened her mouth, ready to chastise the horrible woman for her rudeness, but the gentle pressure of Aelius’s hand on her arm held her back.

Aelius, charming as ever, smiled at Ulpia. “Thank you very much for the invitation to your beautiful home. I particularly admired the roses in your atrium. Such large blooms. My mother would love to know the name of your gardener. She’s been struggling to get ours to bloom.”

“Oh.” Ulpia’s brow wrinkled, disarmed by Aelius’s compliments. “Yes, I suppose I could send my horticulturist to her with some advice.”

Aelius inclined his head. “That would be most generous.”

Some other guests entered, and Ulpia excused herself to greet them. Crispina glared at her orange-swathed back. “I hope she chokes on her wine.”

“Then my mother shall never get her gardening advice.” His tone was casual, his bearing relaxed. Nothing about him indicated any notice of the woman’s rudeness.

“Your mother doesn’t need gardening advice,” Crispina said. “Her flowers are lovely.”

“Yes, but people like it when you ask them for help. It makes them feel useful and important.”

Crispina let out a tight breath. Aelius was used to this treatment, and he’d evidently figured out how to navigate it.

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and Crispina turned to see a slim man smartly dressed in a green toga with an embroidered border. He spoke in clipped tones, addressing her husband. “Our hostess tells me you are Aelius Herminius.” Rings bedecked his slender fingers, the gold matching the color of his hair.

Aelius nodded. “I am, sir. And you are?”

“Publius Veturius Rufus.” He jerked his head in a stiff nod. He stood closer to Crispina’s height than Aelius’s, and the tense posture of his neck and shoulders made it seem like he resented every degree he had to raise his chin to meet Aelius’s eyes.

The name meant nothing to Crispina, but Aelius’s eyebrows lifted and he stepped closer. “How interesting to make your acquaintance. I imagine we shall be seeing much of each other over the coming months.”

Crispina edged forward. “And why is that?” It was rude to interfere in her husband’s conversation, especially when she hadn’t been formally introduced to Rufus, but she hated standing by and listening to something she only half-understood.

Rufus cast her a disinterested glance, tinged with irritation at her interruption. She sensed his disposition was closer to Memmius’s than her current husband’s. Memmius would have ignored her for a week if she’d behaved like this in his presence.

“We are both to stand for the tribune election,” Aelius said. “Rufus, please meet my wife, Crispina.”

Rufus’s head twitched in the barest nod before he returned his attention to Aelius. “You stood for the last election, correct?”

Aelius’s expression grew taut. “I was not successful, but I hope the experience will serve me well.”

A thin smile appeared on Rufus’s face. “I expect it will. If you should find yourself in a similar position this year, I hope you will not take it too hard. May I introduce my friend, Trebonianus?” He waved to a man around Aelius’s age a few feet away, who came over to greet them.

A strange quiver rippled up Aelius’s spine. The man Rufus was introducing, Trebonianus, stopped short and stared at Aelius, his mouth falling open for an instant before he clamped it shut.

Crispina’s gaze flicked between the three men. She was missing something, and she didn’t like to miss things.

“Forgive me, have you met?” Rufus said as the other two men stared at each other. A sly smirk played around his thin lips.

Aelius snapped himself out of whatever had overtaken him and smiled. Crispina knew him well enough by now to detect the hardness that lingered behind his eyes, the tension in his bearing. “We have. How nice to see you again, Trebonianus. It’s been a while.”

He nodded to Trebonianus, who only stammered. Aelius took Crispina’s hand. “Excuse us, I’ve just seen some oysters circulating over there, and my wife is uncommonly fond of them.” He steered Crispina away.

“Who was that?” she murmured once they were out of earshot.

Aelius headed for an empty corner of the room, where they slipped behind a large potted plant. “Trebonianus is the son of my former master.”

Crispina drew in a sharp breath. “Rufus…he…”

“He must have known I’d be in attendance, that we’re running in the same election, and discovered my history with the Trebonianus family.”

The pieces clicked into place in Crispina’s mind. “He invited Trebonianus here to humiliate you.”

“I imagine so, yes.”

Anger unfurled in Crispina’s chest like a sail catching wind. “That detestable man. How dare he? He must answer for this insult.” She took a step out of their shelter behind the plant. She wanted to find the biggest pitcher of wine she could and dump it all over Rufus’s head. It would cause a scene, and thanks to their hostess’s gift for gossip, the anecdote would be all over the city by tomorrow. Everyone would know what Rufus had done, how disgustingly he had behaved. Her own reputation would suffer, but it was in tatters anyway.

Aelius’s hand closed around her wrist. “Don’t,” he murmured.

“You can’t let him get away with this!”

“Causing a scene is exactly what he wants,” Aelius said.

Crispina ground her teeth. “Are you sure I can’t throw a jug of wine in his face?”

A hint of a smile twitched at his lips. “You do have a predilection for dousing men who displease you, don’t you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Then let’s leave. I can feign a headache.”

Aelius shook his head. “We’ll stay and behave as if nothing is amiss. Come, people are sitting for dinner.”

With a tight sigh, Crispina allowed Aelius to lead her over to one of the low couches bordering the dining table. The rage still boiling in her chest surprised her. But Aelius was her husband now, and an insult to him was an insult to her.

Luckily, Rufus and Trebonianus sat across the room from them. With effort, Crispina kept her gaze focused on Aelius and their closer dinner companions. Aelius wasn’t hard to watch. His face was so expressive, whether in attentive, quiet contemplation of what someone else was saying, or moving and changing as he spoke. He was charming and affable without being too familiar. Even if someone displayed initial hesitation to speak to him, Aelius easily won them over in a matter of words. Crispina only wondered how he would transform friends into votes.

When the dinner was over, they returned home. Crispina collapsed gratefully into the chair at her dressing table. Her head was still ringing from the constant noise and music.

Aelius began disentangling himself from his toga. “I’m going to invite Rufus to debate together in the Forum. I must show him that whatever tactics he thinks he can use to discredit me won’t work.”

Crispina’s anger had cooled but not faded, and it flared again at the reminder. “What if he brings Trebonianus again?”

“He won’t. I could tell Trebonianus didn’t know I’d be there. He’ll be irked with Rufus for surprising him like that, no doubt.”

“I’m sorry you had to sit there across from a man who used to own you.”

“His father owned me,” Aelius corrected. “Trebonianus and I were nearly the same age.” A crooked smile crossed his face. “I was jealous of the education he was receiving, so I used to empty his tutor’s inkwells into the garden plants. Took a surprisingly long time to be caught, and I still think the punishment was worth it. They were starting to think the house was possessed of a spirit that hated ink.” He chuckled ruefully.

The stark reminder of the difference in their upbringings made Crispina’s cheeks heat with a peculiar mix of embarrassment and anger. As a child and young woman, she had felt stifled, trapped, but it was nothing compared to what Aelius had endured. He’d lived a life that hadn’t truly been his own. She started to understand why he was so determined to win respect from the society that disdained him for the offense of having been enslaved.

“Promise me you will beat Rufus,” Crispina said.

“That is the idea, yes.”

Crispina plucked the pins from her hair. “You must prepare for this debate. How do you plan to convince people to vote for you? What do you offer them?”

Aelius watched her as he always did when she was taking down her hair. She wasn’t sure what he found so fascinating about her hair, but it seemed a harmless enough fixation, so she allowed him to look. “The usual. Increasing the grain dole, land for veterans. The same things every politician runs on.”

She worked a comb through the knots that had arisen in her hair. “The state can’t afford to increase the grain dole, and land is already given to veterans.”

He shrugged. “More land, then. I’ll promise whatever it takes to win.”

She set down the comb and turned to face him. His indifference irked her. “Is winning all you care about? What about after the election?”

“I told you, I want to be consul. The tribune position is only a stepping stone.”

Her fingers curled around the ivory comb, the tines digging into her palm. “But as tribune, you have a year to pass bills and enact policies that could truly help the people. The tribune’s powers are unique. You can veto a consul! And yet you don’t care about anything but winning?”

“I care.”

“You care about yourself. About winning. About gaining power and influence for yourself.” Maybe he was more like other men than she’d realized: selfish, small-minded, hungry for power at the expense of all else.

His eyes flashed. “The things I care about won’t get me elected.”

“Such as?”

He occupied himself with folding his toga for several long moments. “It hardly matters, as it will never come to pass. But if I win the tribuneship, I would put forth a bill banning the sale of pregnant slaves, so fathers can’t be separated from their children. And another to waive the inheritance tax on men who free their slaves in their will.”

Crispina stared at him. Of course, it made perfect sense that he would care about the rights and treatment of slaves. And he was right that no one would vote for him if they thought he was going to espouse such radical policies. The uprising of Spartacus was barely a decade past, still too fresh in everyone’s minds.

“I admire that,” she said quietly.

“You do?”

She nodded. “But I would urge you to reconsider your second point. If a man frees fifty slaves when he dies, then his son will just buy fifty more. It would only increase the demand for slaves.”

He sat on the bed. “That never occurred to me.”

“Instead, I would propose some sort of tax break or incentive for rural landowners to employ laborers on their farms. The majority of slaves in the Republic are located on Italian farms, I believe, because they are cheaper than paying free laborers. But if there was a benefit to employing men other than slaves—say, a tax reduction that increased with the proportion of free men employed—the demand for slaves would decline. And people would vote for it if they thought it would save them money.”

Aelius’s mouth dropped open. “By the gods, you should be running for office.”

His compliment made her blush, and she fixed her attention on brushing her hair once more. Their discussion made her wonder if she should tell him about her lessons with the children. Maybe he wouldn’t be as horrified as she had imagined.

No, she decided. It was one thing to discuss legislation and improvements in the abstract. It was quite another for a politician’s wife to run a secret school, directly consorting with the poor. If there was even a slight chance Aelius would react badly to it, she couldn’t risk telling him. In the interest of her students, her lessons would have to remain a secret if she wanted them to continue.