Page 32 of The Tribune Temptation (Roman Heirs #1)

T he morning of the election dawned sunny and warm. Aelius rose from his bed with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. He’d barely gotten any sleep, tormented alternately by his newfound hopes for the election as well as anxiety over what his future with Crispina held.

He remembered being consumed with nerves on this day last year. He’d spent the day pacing, unable to eat, waving away his mother’s attempts at conversation. But his nervousness had been mostly anticipation. He hadn’t actually thought he would lose. He’d been arrogant, na?ve, and had been crushed by the defeat. Now, he knew what it felt like to fail. He tried to use that to temper his hope, but the fear of yet another failure only added an undercurrent of dread to his nerves.

By now, voters would be assembling at the Campus Martius outside Rome, ready to cast their ballots. He imagined them standing in line, holding small wax tablets inscribed with the initials of the candidates they were voting for. Would his name be on enough of them?

Voting commenced at first light and would take two or three hours. Last year, it had taken ten further hours to count the votes, so there would be no news until nightfall. The day would be an agony of waiting, wondering. He tried to be rational. Voting was divided between tribes, based on the regions of the city and surrounding areas, and depending on how the tribes voted and in what order, it was possible for a candidate to win with only a quarter of the popular vote. But right now, imagining even a quarter of voters would write down his initials seemed insurmountable.

He spent the day quizzing Max on his reading and writing skills, hoping the boy would distract him with his antics.

“This is boring,” Max groaned as Aelius corrected his malformed letters.

“You must receive a good education,” Aelius said. At least Max was getting several years more than Aelius had, as his education had only begun after being freed at the age of fourteen. “It was important to Crispina, and it’s crucial that you become educated if you are to honor our family name. Besides, reading will become more interesting once you master the basics. You could read about anything that interests you. Horses, boats, battles, and the like.”

Max’s face brightened. “People write about battles?”

Aelius nodded. “In great detail.”

Max grinned and snatched the wax tablet back, poring over it with renewed enthusiasm.

As noon passed and the sky slowly turned golden later in the day, the tension in Aelius’s body ratcheted up. Every sound, every murmur of someone speaking, every echo of footsteps anywhere in the house was a messenger arriving with news.

But no one came. Dusk set in. Aelius left Max in Gaia’s care and retreated to his study, needing to be alone. A heavy ball of dread settled in his stomach. He’d been a fool to get his hopes up. If he had never heard the news about Epidius Verus, he would have spent the day continuing his preparations to leave the city. Now, he had to contend with failure once more.

He sank his face into his hands, elbows braced on the surface of his desk. If he couldn’t win an election after another candidate’s last minute withdrawal, maybe he would have lost even without Crispina’s betrayal. He was an idiot to ever believe he could have won.

Quiet footsteps sounded, and Aelius lifted his head. His mother poked her head around the door. “Dinner is ready. Will you join us?” Her voice was soft with pity.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten all day.”

“I said, I’m not hungry,” he snapped, but immediately regretted his harsh tone. “I’m sorry, Mama—”

She held up a hand to silence him, her head turning toward the front of the house. “Someone is at the door.”

Aelius froze. He could just hear the sound of the door opening and words exchanged between Ajax and whoever had come. A moment later, the door closed, and footsteps approached.

Through the doorway, Aelius glimpsed Ajax. “Letter came, mistress,” Ajax said.

Gaia reached out to take the small scroll from him. “Thank you.”

He departed, and Gaia came back into his study to hand him the scroll. Aelius took it, staring down at the red wax that sealed it. It was the seal of the magistrate’s office that supervised the elections.

Aelius swallowed hard, panic suddenly rising in his chest.

His mother smiled encouragingly. “Go on, open it.”

“I-I can’t.” His fingers were stiff, he couldn’t bring himself to break the seal. “You do it.” He handed the letter back.

She broke the seal and unfurled the scroll.

“Well?” Aelius asked, his heart thumping.

She smiled again. “You’ve forgotten I can’t read, dear.”

He lurched to his feet and took the scroll. His eyes skimmed over the words. Congratulations…tribune…victory…

He read it twice, three times. He’d done it. He’d really done it.

Aelius dropped back into the chair. Shock thrummed through him. After so much uncertainty, he could hardly believe this was really happening.

He read the letter a fourth time, just in case.

“I presume it’s good news?” his mother asked, her smile growing.

He managed a nod. She crossed behind his desk and wrapped him in her arms, bending to kiss his forehead. “I am so proud of you, my love.”

He returned the embrace, hugging her tighter than he had since he was a child. All he had ever wanted was to make her proud, to erase some of the pain and shame of their beginnings. Emotion choked him for a moment, and he pressed his face into her shoulder until he could master himself.

She drew back and kissed him on the forehead once more. “I will go tell the kitchen to serve our finest wine at dinner tonight.”

“Make it our second finest.” His voice was raspy. “Save the finest for tomorrow.”

She nodded, then left. Aelius’s gaze returned to the letter. It contained a list of the ten newly elected tribunes in order of votes received. His name was the last. Rufus’s name was only one spot higher, which gave him a certain grim satisfaction.

They’d be colleagues now. Perhaps they could find a way to work together, as they would both face a difficult road forward. As Catullus had once said, Romans hated new money almost as much as they disliked upstart freedmen. It was a miracle either of them had managed to win enough votes to be elected.

Thinking of Rufus made his mind turn to Crispina. He would see her tomorrow at his victory dinner, assuming she showed up. What would he say to her? His heart ached to forgive her, but his mind balked. A chance victory didn’t erase the fact that she had lied to him. He only had to decide if he would insist on a divorce, or settle for a distant marriage to preserve the advantage of her family’s connections.

Crispina spent the day of the election consumed with powerless anxiety. She kept reading and rereading the curt note Aelius had sent a few days ago, mentioning Verus’s withdrawal and his renewed hope of victory. Would it be enough?

In the morning, Mother insisted she help with the weaving, as Father needed a new tunic. She tried to expend some of her nervous energy in the push and pull of the loom, but made so many mistakes Mother started muttering under her breath about what a trial it was to have such a careless and ungrateful daughter.

In the afternoon, Crispina feigned a headache and retreated to her room to read, but even Sappho couldn’t distract her. Her mind wandered from the inked words to the Campus Martius where the election was taking place.

She wondered if Aelius was nervous, or if Verus’s withdrawal had instilled him with confidence. She wished she could be there to reassure him. At least he had Max to distract him. No doubt the boy’s capers would be a blessing today.

In the evening, she dared to ask Father over dinner: “Have you heard anything of the election results?”

He frowned at her. “Election?”

“For tribune of the plebs.”

“That was today?”

She tried to keep her face neutral as she nodded. “I was just wondering…”

“Politics are of no concern to a lady. Especially not a plebeian election,” Mother said.

“They are of concern when my husband is a candidate,” Crispina snapped.

“The ex -husband who threw you out.” Mother shot her a glance dripping with disapproval.

“He didn’t throw me out.” Not literally, at least. “We decided to separate.”

“Do you think he may take you back if he wins?” Mother asked. “I suppose he’ll need a wife to host dinners for his political connections and such. Frankly, I think remaining unmarried for the rest of your days would be better than marriage to a freedman .” She spat the word. “I never understood why your father even considered his proposal.”

Father reached for another helping of oysters. “He made the point that it could be beneficial to have a connection among the plebeians. They grow more influential each year, after all.” He glanced at Crispina. “Hopefully he will see the benefit of a connection with our family and agree to take you back. It’s not as if you can expect a better match.”

Crispina focused on cutting her food into tiny pieces. She wouldn’t allow herself to hope that Aelius might want her back. But if he did, what if he thought like her parents and merely wanted a hostess with a prestigious name?

That was our arrangement from the start, she reminded herself. She had no right to hope for more.