Page 24 of The Tribune Temptation (Roman Heirs #1)

A elius strode through the streets on the way to the Forum, his speech running through his head as he walked. A crowd had already gathered, clustered around the plinth where speakers stood. A rush of gratitude sped through him. Catullus’s efforts to get the word out about Aelius’s speech had evidently paid off.

But as he drew closer, he realized they weren’t waiting for him. They were already listening to someone.

Sunlight glanced off blond hair, and Aelius jerked to a halt. Rufus, clad in the same bright white toga candida that Aelius wore, paced the plinth, speaking and gesturing expansively.

Aelius bit his lip, fuming. Again, Rufus had bested him, simply through timing. Another coincidence? A dark suspicion grew in his mind. Could Rufus have a way of knowing Aelius’s plans?

His thoughts went to Catullus once more. Maybe Catullus had spoken to the wrong people. Maybe word of his plans had gotten back to Rufus somehow. He would have to ask Catullus to be more circumspect.

The only other person who knew so much was Crispina. But she was the last person who would speak thoughtlessly, and since her rift with Horatia, her time had been spent focusing on Max rather than socializing, apart from the engagements they attended together.

He watched Rufus for a few more moments, observing how he engaged and played to the crowd. Rufus was a talented speaker, though his mannerisms were a little too extravagant for Aelius’s tastes.

Aelius debated cutting his losses, leaving before anyone noticed him…but he had come to speak and be heard, and he wouldn’t give up so easily. He shouldered his way through the crowd, pushing to the front with murmurs of apology to the people he displaced. Once people recognized him, they moved aside easily. No doubt they hoped for the excitement of another fistfight.

Rufus broke off in his speech when Aelius reached the front of the crowd. He gazed down at Aelius, a slight smile playing around his thin lips. He did not look surprised to see Aelius.

“Ah, what a coincidence to see my esteemed opponent here.” Rufus’s voice dripped with saccharine congeniality. “Would you care to join me? Perhaps the voters would appreciate another debate.”

A few shouts of approval rang from the crowd. Aelius fumed internally, but found a smile, pretending as if he’d planned this all along. “Indeed.” He climbed up onto the plinth.

“I was just discussing my plan to increase the land allotment given to veterans who have served more than twenty years in the army,” Rufus said. “Surely, as a veteran yourself, you would support such a thing?”

Aelius took a deep breath to center himself. Now was his chance to show himself as an eloquent, thoughtful leader who would put the interests of the people first. “I support the current land grants for veterans. Every man who has risked his life for Rome and endured the hardships of military life deserves to retire and raise a family in peace on his own land.” The crowd nodded and murmured. “But in terms of increasing the land grants, I believe there are better ways to allocate state funds. For example—”

“So you want to take land away from veterans,” Rufus said, his voice ringing out over the Forum.

“No, hardly—” He wanted to put forth Crispina’s idea about tax breaks for landowners who employed free laborers, but Rufus didn’t relinquish the advantage. He kept talking, leaving Aelius on the back foot. Aelius attempted to jump in and steer the conversation, but Rufus had been in control since the beginning. Aelius managed to make a couple of good points, and earned himself some approving nods from the crowd, but most of the focus was on Rufus.

After, when the crowd had dispersed, Rufus turned to Aelius with a satisfied smirk. Aelius muttered a goodbye. These were not the sort of setbacks he wanted to be dealing with so close to the election. Votes were already slipping through his fingers like sand, and if Rufus kept getting the better of him like this, Aelius feared for the outcome of the election.

“Give my regards to your wife,” Rufus said. His voice sounded oilier than usual. Something about the remark struck Aelius as odd, as Rufus had never mentioned Crispina in their prior meetings, except to insult her. But it was a normal, polite thing to say, so Aelius nodded in acknowledgement, then stepped off the plinth and headed home.

In darkness, Crispina rose from bed, her stomach in knots. Careful not to wake Aelius, she tiptoed to her dressing table to retrieve the shawl lying over the back of the chair. She wrapped it around her shoulders, then stole from the room.

She crept past the slaves slumbering in the corridors and slipped into Aelius’s study. She hated that she had to sneak around like this in her own home, hated that she was going behind Aelius’s back. But the election was now only three weeks away, and Rufus had demanded another note from her. Crispina had already sent him everything she knew about Aelius’s plans through election day, hoping that would put him off, but he wanted more. Aelius had returned from the Forum yesterday tight-lipped and irritated, and he had refused to speak of anything to do with the election since. So she had to resort to subterfuge and theft.

She fumbled in the dark to light the oil lamp that rested on Aelius’s desk. It sparked, casting a flickering glow over the papers and tablets. She rifled through them, trying to find something that would keep Rufus at bay.

Most of them were notes on speeches. She read them over with a pang. His ideas were good, and he was an eloquent speaker. He deserved to win. And he probably would be about to, if not for her interference.

Crispina kept shuffling through the papers, then finally found one with a list of names, some crossed off, some encircled. Others had notes next to them: shipping venture, tenth legion, estate mortgaged . These must be the men Aelius planned to meet with along with notes on how he would gain their favor.

She clutched the piece of papyrus and searched for a blank piece where she could transcribe the notes.

The sound of quiet footsteps made her freeze. She held her breath. It was likely just one of the slaves. Even so, she blew out the lamp in case they saw light from behind the door and decided to investigate.

The footsteps drew closer. Crispina’s mind raced to conjure a plausible excuse for why she was rifling through her husband’s papers in the middle of the night. She straightened her spine and threw back her shoulders, hoping to evoke the image of a haughty materfamilias.

The door creaked open. Her stomach plummeted. The tall, shadowed figure standing in the doorway wasn’t a slave, but her husband.