Page 28 of The Tribune Temptation (Roman Heirs #1)

Aelius Herminius to Publius Veturius Rufus:

No doubt you will be saddened to hear that Crispina and I separated last week, with plans for a divorce as soon as the election is concluded. I trust you will find no further use for your threats and blackmail, and that neither she nor I will have reason to hear from you again. I congratulate you on your imminent victory and wish you every success. I trust you will use your newfound power well.

A elius blew gently over the letter, waiting for the ink to dry. Then, he folded it and sealed it with a glob of wax. Writing the letter galled him. He hated to admit defeat even though it was unavoidable. But at least now Rufus would know Crispina could no longer be his pawn, his spy.

He gave the letter to Malchio to deliver, then went to find Max. He discovered the boy in the kitchen, avidly watching Hector, the cook, disembowel a brace of pigeons.

“Can’t I try?” Max asked with a plaintive pout as Hector’s heavy cleaver sliced through a breastbone with a grating crunch.

“You’ll botch it,” Hector said gruffly. He glanced up at Aelius. “Sir? Looking for something?”

“Someone.” Aelius gestured to Max. “I wanted to speak with you about something, Max.”

“But I want to see the guts!” Max protested.

Hector nudged him with the handle of his cleaver. “I’ll save them for you, and you can have a look later. Now run along.”

Max trudged from the kitchen, following Aelius back to his study. Aelius seated himself behind the desk and gestured for Max to sit in front of it.

Max lowered himself into the chair gingerly, as if worried it would collapse under his slight weight. “Am I in trouble? I didn’t do it, I swear by Juno’s—”

Aelius held up a hand. He didn’t want to know what “it” was. “You’re not in trouble. I wanted to speak to you on a matter of importance.” The idea had been percolating in his mind since Crispina had first mentioned it to him what seemed like a lifetime ago. Now, with his wife gone and his dreams of a political career dashed, it seemed the only thing he could do to bring some certainty to his life.

“I would like to adopt you,” Aelius said. “Do you know what adoption means?”

Max shook his head.

“It’s when someone becomes part of a family they weren’t born into. I know it’s a bit unusual, as your parents are still living, but given they’ve abandoned you, I believe I can make a case a magistrate will approve. You would be my son, legally and in the eyes of the gods. My heir. Would you like that?”

Max blinked slowly. “Would I have to change my name?”

“You would add my family name, Herminius, onto your own,” Aelius said. “Maximus Herminius—it has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? But we’d still call you Max.”

Max shrugged. “All right.”

Aelius leaned forward. “I want you to understand the weight of this decision. If you become a part of our family, you will undertake a responsibility to represent our name and uphold its legacy. You’ll need an education. You’ll have to work to build a strong reputation for yourself. You’ll have to choose a good wife to marry and have children with, so our name continues generation after generation.”

Max wrinkled his nose. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

Aelius grinned. “Luckily that’s many years off. So what do you say?”

Max chewed his lip. “All right. I’d like to be your son.” A shadow crossed his face. “I would’ve liked to be her son, too.”

Aelius didn’t need to ask who he was talking about. “She would have liked that.” A bittersweet pain blossomed in his chest. He had lost a wife, but gained an heir. At least he would have no further need to marry now that he had Max. He could spend the rest of his days as a bachelor, living in comfortable anonymity with his mother and Max. No need for another politically motivated marriage to an unsmiling, icy, brilliant woman who would capture his heart like an eagle captured an unsuspecting squirrel. “Well, if we’re in agreement, I’ll write to a magistrate and set the process in motion. You can go back to your disemboweled birds now.”

Released, Max climbed off his chair and raced from the room. Aelius cast a rueful smile after him, then found a blank piece of papyrus and began to write.

Crispina stared at her reflection in the polished silver mirror. A pale, hazy ghost stared back at her, all pinched cheeks and empty eyes. A week had passed since she’d left Aelius. She refused to show her parents how deeply she was suffering, so she pretended everything was all right. She assisted her mother in planning the day’s menus, helped with weaving, and gave her opinion on trivial matters like what type of fabric would be best to reupholster the dining couches. But every moment she was awake, she missed Aelius, Max, and Gaia with a fierce ache that felt like it was going to tear her apart.

How was it possible that a simple arrangement between herself and Aelius had bound her so tightly to three people? Even if Aelius would never look at her again, she would still give anything to see Gaia smile or hear Max crow with delight as he instigated some sort of mischief. Day by day, moment by moment, they had become her family. Without them, she was unanchored, a boat drifting from the harbor, soon to be swamped by a passing wave.

The days were bad enough, but the nights were even worse. She spent them staring at the ceiling, alternately racked with guilt and tormented by longing. She missed Aelius’s warm body beside her, the way she would wake in the night to find that he’d pulled her closer. She missed the little touches and kisses that set her body aflame. Most of all, she missed having someone there in the darkness, someone who smiled when she was the first thing he saw upon waking.

Her guilt was compounded by the fact that once again, she had been forced to abandon her students on the Aventine. They’d been making such progress, too, and now it would all be lost.

A light knock came at her door. “Visitor for you, mistress.”

She straightened. “Who?”

But the sound of footsteps told her the slave had already retreated. Who could have come to see her? Her mind immediately jumped to Aelius, but their parting had been final. Still, hope blossomed. Could Gaia have brought Max to see her?

Crispina jumped up from her dressing table, hastily adjusted her hair, and hurried from her bedroom. When she saw who waited for her in the atrium, her surprise was so great that it quashed the disappointment. It wasn’t Max or Gaia, but…

“Horatia?”

Her erstwhile friend turned, hands clasped in front of her. “Crispina.” She took a hesitant step forward. “I will leave if you don’t wish to speak to me, but I ran into Gaius Valerius Catullus and he told me you had separated from Aelius. I knew I had to see you. I went to your home, and Aelius told me it was true and I’d find you here.” Her eyes grew wide. “Gods, Crispina, what happened? The way you spoke about Aelius, I thought…”

“So did I.” Crispina surveyed her friend. Horatia’s disparaging words at their last meeting still stung, but that was months ago, and much had changed since then. She no longer had a husband or child who needed her to defend them. “You spoke to Aelius?”

Horatia nodded, then smiled regretfully. “He’s as handsome as you said, not to mention charming, though I can tell he’s devastated by all this. I should have welcomed him sooner. I’m sorry I’ve only realized it now.”

When it’s too late.

“Please, will you forgive me for my mistakes?” Horatia asked. “I wrote you a letter, but you never replied.”

“I know.” At the time, Crispina had been tempted toward forgiveness by her friend’s apology, but had been too wrapped up in her newfound bliss with Aelius to fully contemplate pardoning Horatia.

“I want to be friends again,” Horatia continued. “I want my children to know you. Paullus misses you, and little Nonus is getting so big already.”

“I would like to see them,” Crispina said quietly.

“And the boy you took in…will he stay with Aelius?”

Crispina nodded. “You no longer have to worry about Max corrupting your sons.”

Horatia blanched. “I didn’t mean…I was going to say I would be happy to invite him to play with Paullus, if the situation permitted. I regret the things I said about him. I’m ashamed that I could have been so cruel to a child who only wanted a friend.” She hesitated. “You must miss Max greatly.”

“Yes.” Crispina couldn’t let herself dwell on Max and Aelius and Gaia, the life she had lost. Horatia was offering kindness and friendship, the memory of a time before Crispina had met Aelius, when she’d thought losing a disinterested husband was the worst tragedy that could befall her. Horatia was her oldest friend, the only person until recently who knew about her secret lessons and supported her mission. Crispina might never be able to forgive herself for what she had done, but maybe she could forgive Horatia instead.

Crispina reached out to clasp Horatia’s hand. “Your friendship saw me through my first divorce. I hope it can do so again.”

Horatia flung her arms around Crispina in a quick, tight hug. “Yes, if there is anything I can do for you, consider it done.”

Crispina returned the embrace. No one had touched her since she left Aelius’s house. She’d missed the playful shoves and nudges from Max, Gaia’s gentle touch, the casual kisses on the cheek or furtive squeezes from Aelius.

“Would you tell me what happened?” Horatia asked. “Only if you wish to speak of it, of course.”

Crispina hadn’t spoken about any of this since leaving Aelius, but maybe talking about her troubles would help. She led Horatia into the peristyle, the private garden at the back of the house, where they could speak in relative seclusion. They sat on a bench amid two flowering trees. In quiet tones, Crispina told Horatia everything that had happened.

Horatia gasped when she relayed the incident with Rufus, and let out an anguished sigh when she described Aelius’s discovery of her betrayal. When the awful story was finished, Horatia grasped her hand. “I’m so very sorry. I’m sure if someone had been threatening Paullus or Nonus, I would have done exactly as you did.”

“Even if it meant you would have lost Decius?”

Horatia bit her lip, her love for her husband shining in her eyes. “Yes, even then.”

Crispina exhaled. She hadn’t realized how good it would feel to talk to someone who understood. “So now you see why it’s all over.”

Horatia leaned her head against Crispina’s shoulder. “You poor thing. You must be in need of a distraction. It’s not healthy to sit inside all day by yourself. Would you like to accompany me and Decius to a dinner party tomorrow evening? I’m sure your parents will allow it.”

Crispina hesitated. Socializing and feigning happiness sounded as unappetizing to her as cold porridge, and it would be rather odd for her to appear in public without her husband, especially since no one was supposed to know of their separation yet. But it was just one small dinner party, and she’d be with Horatia and Decius. The alternative was spending another night alone, cursing the choices that had brought her here. A distraction might do her good. “All right. That would be nice.”

“Wonderful! We’ll pick you up in the litter. Now, let me tell you about the funniest thing Nonus did the other day…” Horatia launched into an anecdote about her little son. Crispina smiled and tried to forget the fact that she would never again have a family whose anecdotes she could share.

Crispina secured permission from her parents to attend the dinner party with Horatia, though she had to promise to be home by midnight. That was no great sacrifice, as Crispina had no desire to stay out until dawn anyway, but having to answer for her whereabouts rankled. Yet another thing she’d left behind with Aelius.

At the party, Crispina stuck close to Horatia and Decius, trying to avoid having to make conversation with anyone else. The music and laughter cheered her, and the food was good, the wine plentiful. She noticed Catullus seated on a couch across the room, making lively conversation with their hostess. He acknowledged Crispina with a nod, which she returned before quickly looking away. She wondered what he must think of her. Catullus was a great supporter of Aelius’s political ambitions, and she was the author of their ruin.

Halfway through the first course, a couple arrived late. Crispina looked up from her wine to see Memmius, her ex-husband, with a young woman on his arm. Memmius made eloquent apologies to the host and hostess for their tardiness, but Crispina’s attention remained fixed on the woman, who had to be his new wife. The young woman’s hand brushed her abdomen as she spoke to their hostess, causing the green dress to cling to the slight roundness. When their hostess offered congratulations to the couple, Crispina knew.

Beside her, Horatia sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know he would be here.”

Crispina tore her gaze from the young woman. “Did you know…his wife…?”

“I heard he’d married several months ago. I didn’t know…” Horatia shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

Crispina took a long swallow of wine. She had once wondered if her lack of conception was due to Memmius, not her, but the months she’d spent lying with Aelius without pregnancy had disproven that. The fault, whatever it was, laid with her alone. So the sight of his newly pregnant bride shouldn’t disquiet her.

But it brought to mind everything she’d failed at. She had never truly wanted a child, but if she had only been able to conceive, none of this would have happened. Memmius never would have left her. She never would have met Aelius, or if she did, it would have been as a passing acquaintance at a party like this one, someone she’d admire across a room.

She would have spent her life in a conventional, passionless marriage. She never would have known what it was like to belong so deeply to someone, and to feel so broken when the bond was severed.

She might have had a child of her own, but it wouldn’t have been Max. And the thought of never having witnessed his antics or his horrid language or atrocious table manners was nearly unbearable. The realization hit her in a startling jolt as she stared at Memmius and his wife: I wouldn’t give a single sestertius to still be married to that man, child or no.

Crispina took a long, shuddering breath. The weight of missing Aelius, Max, and Gaia overwhelmed her in a sudden rush.

“Are you all right?” Horatia asked.

“Excuse me a moment.” She rose from the couch and left the dining room, fanning her face as if she needed air. She had left another dinner party like this long ago. Aelius had followed her, and they’d had their first ill-fated conversation. She remembered his cocky smile, and the impulse that had led her to douse him with water from the atrium pool.

She passed through the empty atrium and went into the peristyle. It was inappropriate, verging on rude, for a dinner guest to venture into the family’s private garden, but if she was discovered she could claim she’d gotten lost on the way back to the dining room.

She found a bench in the shadow of a column and sat, bracing her elbows on her knees to bury her face in her hands. Would these feelings ever leave her? It wasn’t just that she’d lost Aelius. The guilt of what she’d done to him crushed her like a boulder on her chest. He had a dream, and she had ruined it.

Soft footsteps sounded and she jumped to her feet, ready to make an excuse about why she was lingering here. But she recognized the lanky figure that approached.

“Good evening, Crispina,” Catullus said. “May I join you?”

She sat back on the bench. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

He sat next to her nonetheless. “It must be difficult to see your ex-husband with a newly pregnant wife.”

She shot him a sharp look. Sometimes he was too perceptive. “My first ex-husband, you mean. I have two now.”

“You’re not divorced yet.”

“You’ve known Aelius for longer than I have. Do you truly think he will ever so much as look at me again?”

Catullus shrugged. “It’s only been a week. Things may change.”

She pivoted to stare directly at him, his profile shadowy in the dark garden. “Your optimism is na?ve.”

“Love is not so easy to set aside, Crispina,” he said. “I believe Aelius wishes he could hate you, but he will never be able to. His love for you has become a torment.”

“Wonderful,” she murmured.

“I only meant that if you were to take the first step, you may find reconciliation comes easier than you’d expect.”

Crispina shook her head. “I hurt him greatly. I’d never ask him to forgive me. I don’t deserve that.” Still, the thought of returning to Aelius tempted her, rising like a desert mirage in her mind. “Do you think there’s any chance he could pull through? He must be doing everything he can in these last few days.”

“I believe he is concentrating his efforts on acquiring an estate in the countryside.”

Crispina blinked. “He means to leave Rome?”

Catullus’s mouth pulled down into a mournful expression. “Much to my chagrin. But he’s done with politics.”

“You mean…he’s not even going to try to win this election? He’s given up?” She knew his prospects were bleak, thanks to her, but she had assumed he would keep fighting, scrape together every last vote he possibly could.

Catullus nodded.

Shock jolted Crispina to her feet. “He can’t give up!”

“With respect, I don’t think you’re best-suited to criticize his actions here, Crispina.”

She shot him a glare. “There must be something he could do. Someone he could talk to. He can’t just…leave.” Aelius had been fighting this uphill battle since the day she’d met him, facing every obstacle, every insult with unflagging tenacity. The idea of his capitulation was devastating.

“There must be something that can be done,” she insisted.

“Even if there is, I’m not sure Aelius has the appetite for it at the moment.”

She folded her arms over her chest, summoning the stubborn resolve that had seen her through her taxing first marriage and humiliating divorce. “If he won’t act, then I will.” She would never ask for his forgiveness, but what if there was some way to right the wrong she’d done him?

Catullus looked at her as if she’d grown two more heads. “How, exactly?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “But I will think of something. And you’ll help me.” If there was one thing she’d always been able to rely on, it was her intellect. Catullus could be a worthy ally; he wasn’t stupid, even if he did botch Sappho occasionally, and he knew more than she did about the intricacies of the election.

This venture was likely impossible, she knew. But the alternative was to live the rest of her life under the crushing weight of guilt that plagued her. It had only been a week, and she could barely live with herself. She didn’t want to think about the years that stretched before her, empty and alone.

Catullus raised an eyebrow. “The election is in a week, you realize?”

“Come visit me tomorrow.” Crispina didn’t bother to hide the tone of command from her voice. “We can talk. And don’t mention this to Aelius.”