Page 7 of The Tribune Temptation (Roman Heirs #1)

C rispina paid a visit to Horatia the next day to relay the recent developments with Aelius. She told Horatia about Aelius’s kind mother, the small but cozy house, and the heated conversation with Aelius in which they had both laid out their conditions.

“Did he really say that?” Horatia’s eyes were alight with interest. “ When I seduce you? How deliciously pompous.” She did not look as outraged as Crispina felt.

That moment had been replaying in Crispina’s mind too often. Especially last night. She couldn’t stop remembering the tenor of his voice, the look in his eyes as he spoke those words. “I should have slapped him. In any case, he’s made certain he’ll not so much as hold my hand in future.”

Horatia rolled her eyes. “If he’s as handsome as you say—”

“I said no such thing!”

“I can hear it in your voice. Can it hurt to allow a bit of pleasure at night? Especially with your, er…you know.” She waved a hand in the direction of Crispina’s womb. “Children are a blessing, of course, but they are dreadfully inconvenient.” She gestured to her own swollen abdomen. “It would be nice to lie with one’s husband without fear that you were risking nine months of this . But, then again, I suppose I can’t blame you, under the circumstances.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s a freedman, of course. It would be like lying with a slave.” Her mouth twisted.

“He’s not a slave.” The words came out sharper than she expected. “His stepfather adopted him, so he’s a full citizen, and he’s going to be consul one day, so you may want to reconsider your disdain.”

“Consul.” Horatia laughed. “Romans will never elect a former slave to rule over them. He may find success in the tribune election, because plebeians are rather less picky about who represents them, but I’d stake a bet now he’ll never go further than that.”

Crispina bit her tongue against the surge of defensiveness that came over her. Horatia was right. Aelius’s dreams of a consulship were far-fetched, though his ambition was admirable. “In any case, he’s promised me a property after we divorce. So it makes no difference to me whether he becomes consul in ten years or not.”

Horatia leaned forward as far as her belly would allow, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Does he even know who his father is, I wonder?”

Crispina wished Horatia would drop the discussion of Aelius’s background, but she remained polite. “It has not come up.” In truth, she had wondered, especially after meeting Gaia. There was a clear resemblance between mother and son, but also several differences. Aelius’s skin was lighter, his build taller, and his eyes hazel rather than amber-brown.

“What if it was his former master? Then he would be half-Roman, which isn’t too bad, I suppose. Do you know who he belonged to? Is it someone we know? Wouldn’t that be awkward?”

“His master is dead. It feels improper to discuss such things.” Crispina tried to imbue her voice with finality. She wasn’t na?ve, and knew it was likely that Gaia had been obliged to lie with her master during her servitude, and it therefore followed that a child might have resulted. A child that could be Aelius. Her stomach twisted at the thought of Gaia, so sweet and kind, being degraded in such a way.

In truth, Crispina had been trying not to think about Aelius’s past. It forced her to consider too closely the dozens of slaves that attended to her needs and wants every day. They did her hair, mended her clothes, cooked her meals, and cleaned her home.

How strange to think that if any of them were freed, they might turn into a charming, ambitious politician within a matter of years. Slaves were often released from servitude, yes, but freedmen were supposed to be content with occupying the murky middle ground between slaves and freeborn citizens. They were not supposed to develop ambitions of political success that could turn Rome on its head.

Aelius and his aspirations threatened everything she thought she knew about the social structures which dictated her life, which both discomforted and intrigued her.

Horatia finally took the hint and changed the subject. “Is there a date for the wedding? I doubt I’ll be able to attend, but I’ll make sure to send a gift.”

Crispina shook her head. “Aelius still must gain my father’s consent.” And for that, he would need every ounce of his charm and persuasiveness.

Aelius paced in the atrium of Crispina’s home, mere steps from the spot where they had first spoken. He remembered his ruse with her palla to get her to speak to him, their disastrous first conversation, the soaking that had followed. Now that he knew her better, he could look back on her displeasure with rueful incredulity at his stupidity.

He’d only met her a handful of times, but already things felt so different from that first encounter. She was still prickly and uptight, and no doubt their marriage would be fraught at times, but they were more similar than he had initially expected. They each had their struggles, things beyond their control but which society scorned them for: her infertility, his freedman status. That shared adversity created a certain kinship between them, a kinship which, hopefully, would form the foundation of a respectful marriage.

His potential wife was nowhere to be seen today. Likely she was in her room pretending not to know he was here. It was safest for them to conceal their level of acquaintance and the degree to which they’d schemed this together. Aelius would be just another man asking to marry a woman he barely knew.

A few other men had filtered in and out of the atrium on their way to visit Crispinus. These men were the reason Aelius needed Crispina; they were Crispinus’s network of clients, plebeian men who promised their votes to their patron’s candidate of choice in exchange for favors and influence. If Aelius could get a handful of patricians like Crispinus on his side, the tribune election would be his.

Finally, a slave emerged to conduct him into Crispinus’s study. Crispinus was seated behind his desk, rifling through a pile of papers.

“Good morning, sir.” Aelius sat in the chair opposite the desk without waiting to be invited to do so. Rather presumptuous, but he was no supplicant come to ask for a loan or legal aid in the courts. He would be the man’s son-in-law if all went well.

Crispinus squinted at him. “Aelius Herminius, is it? Do we know each other?”

“I was at one of your recent dinner parties, sir. With Gaius Valerius Catullus.”

“Ah, yes, the poet.” His brow wrinkled, and Aelius wondered if he’d made a misstep by mentioning the poet. While Catullus’s works were generally admired, plenty of people found them prurient and frivolous.

Aelius changed the subject and got to the point. An eminent man like Crispinus would have a morning full of appointments, and he’d appreciate brevity and efficiency. “I come to you on a matter of importance, sir. I would like your consent to marry your daughter.”

Crispinus’s gray eyebrows rose. “Crispina?”

Does he have another daughter? Aelius nodded. “Yes, sir. Crispina.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “You must know she’s barren.”

“I’m aware, sir.” Aelius had made a list of all possible objections or concerns that Crispinus could raise, and had practiced a rebuttal or counter-point to each. Now was the time to put his preparation to the test. “I met her at your dinner party and was quite taken with her.”

Crispinus’s frown deepened. “I know my daughter, and I know she goes to no effort to endear herself to anyone. I find it doubtful she has so enraptured you. I suppose I should ask if you’ve violated her, though it hardly matters.”

“No!” Aelius said hastily. He didn’t like the casual way Crispinus spoke of his daughter’s possible dishonor. No wonder she was desperate to get out of this house. “I assure you, I hold Crispina in the highest regard.” He leaned forward. Now was the time to lay it all out. “I intend to mount a campaign for tribune of the plebs in the next election. The support of your family name would be instrumental to my victory. And once I am victorious, it can only benefit you to have an ally in the plebeian assembly.” Aelius had no intent of compromising his victory by becoming a puppet of the patricians, but that was a problem for after he won the election.

“So you are a plebeian, then.” The distasteful expression returned to Crispinus’s face.

“Yes, and a freedman, sir.” He spoke the words as dispassionately as possible, as if he were telling Crispinus his address rather than revealing the shame of his birth.

Crispinus made a noise of disgust. “How low we have sunk, that because of one disgraced daughter we must entertain proposals from freedmen,” he muttered.

Aelius pretended not to have heard the remark. “I am sure you will be happy to have Crispina installed in her own household.”

“Yes, she has been a nuisance moping around the house. She drives her mother to distraction.”

Aelius strove to keep his expression neutral. He could barely get through one conversation with Crispina’s father without wanting to snap. With each word, he understood even more why Crispina wanted to escape so badly she’d agree to marry a man she barely knew. “Indeed. And because we will have no children to provide for, it’s only natural for the dowry to be reduced. Perhaps half of what you outlaid for her first marriage.” He had no idea how much Crispina’s dowry to Memmius had been, but judging by her family’s status, he bet it was a small fortune. The money didn’t matter to him. Dowries were returned in the event of a divorce, so it wouldn’t be his to keep anyway.

Interest lit in the man’s eyes at the prospect of saving money. “A quarter, and you’ll have the votes from all my plebeian clients.”

“Agreed.”

Crispinus gave a swift nod. “My scribe shall draw up the paperwork. You may consult with the augurs to determine an auspicious day for the wedding.”

Triumph lit a warm fire in Aelius’s chest. He’d done it. He’d secured the hand of a senator’s daughter. Crispina is going to be my wife. The unsmiling woman who splashed him when he offended her, who hid her face against his shoulder at a gladiator’s death—she was really going to be his wife.

Not forever, he reminded himself.

He still had a lot of work to do, but now he had a real shot at winning the election. “Thank you, sir. When will you inform Crispina?”

“Now is as good a time as any.” He rapped an inkwell on his desk. The door to his study opened, and a slave poked his head through. Crispinus issued a brusque order to fetch Crispina.

A minute later, Crispina appeared. Her head was bare, as she was in the privacy of her own home, and her dark hair tumbled in loose waves over her shoulders. She looked lovelier than ever, unadorned with jewelry, garbed in a simple gown of light green that clung to her slender figure.

Her face remained blank as she glanced from her father to Aelius. “You asked to see me, Father?”

“I have decided that you will marry this man,” Crispinus announced, gesturing at Aelius, “on a date of his choosing. You are very lucky I have made this match for you, considering your…difficulties.”

Crispina bowed her head, the picture of a demure daughter. “Yes, Father. Thank you.”

Aelius imagined that in any other circumstance, Crispina would have spat fire at being informed she’d been promised without her consent, but luckily this situation was of their own making. He had never imagined she could look so biddable. He vastly preferred the Crispina who doused him with water and spoke her mind.

Crispina turned to Aelius. “I shall need at least a week to prepare my bridal garments and pack my things. Please inform me of the date you choose at your earliest convenience.” Her voice rang with formality.

“Of course.”

Her father scoffed. “Already making demands of your bridegroom, I see.” He glanced at Aelius. “I recommend a firm hand. Of course, I said the same thing to Memmius, and look how that turned out.”

Crispina’s eyes flashed, but she didn’t lose her composure. Aelius admired her for it; his fists itched to clench tighter with every word her father spoke.

“Excuse me, Father, I must begin the preparations.” Crispina nodded to them and slipped from the room.

Aelius made a hasty goodbye and left also. He hoped to catch Crispina in the atrium and steal a word or two, but she had already vanished.

The evening before the wedding, Aelius attended a small dinner party Catullus had put together to celebrate the success of their scheme. And Aelius’s last night of freedom, according to Catullus as he led a toast to kick off the party. Aelius found the remark to be rather ironic, given his history, but he merely rolled his eyes at his friend. Three weeks had passed since Crispina’s father gave his consent, and now only a matter of hours remained until Aelius would be wed.

The party was comprised of a handful of Catullus’s friends, with whom Aelius had a passing acquaintance, as well as several fashionably dressed women whom he bet were courtesans. Aelius participated in a drinking game, in which he somehow escaped getting overly soused, but demurred joining the next round when it finished. He glanced around the room to find Catullus, who hadn’t joined the game. It was getting late, and Aelius didn’t want to spend his wedding day exhausted and hungover.

Catullus was seated on a couch flanked by one of the courtesans, a pretty woman with hair the color of wheat, and an even prettier young man. The poet kept glancing between them, as if he couldn’t decide which he preferred.

Aelius bent down to speak to him. “I think I’d better be going.”

“Going?” Catullus shot to his feet, dislodging the slender arm of his female companion. He grabbed onto Aelius’s shoulder for support. “But you haven’t enjoyed all the festivities yet.”

“I’ve eaten, drank, conversed, and gamed,” Aelius said. “It’s been a wonderful evening, and I thank you for it. But I need to be rested and alert for tomorrow.”

“I meant festivities .” Catullus cast a significant glance down at the man and woman on his couch, then gestured to a woman across the room. “See that lady over there? I invited her especially for you. Thought she looked like your bride.”

The woman had fair skin and dark hair, but that was where the resemblance ceased. She had none of Crispina’s straight-backed poise, but was relaxing on a couch, laughing with abandon at something one of the other guests had said.

Aelius shook his head. “Thank you, but I’m not interested.” It felt wrong to consort with another woman the night before his wedding.

Catullus’s eyebrows lifted. “Have you forgotten you’re about to enter a marriage with a wife who won’t let you touch her?”

“I haven’t.”

“And let me ask you for the thousandth time why you agreed to that.”

“I don’t know,” Aelius admitted. “It seemed…fair.” He recalled the conversation in which he and Crispina had negotiated the conditions of their marriage. His mind had become a rushing whirlpool as soon as they’d started talking about sex, even in veiled terms. The fact that they were in his bedroom, steps from his bed, hadn’t helped matters. And then he’d made that ridiculous, thoughtless remark about seducing her…He couldn’t believe he’d escaped without a slap.

Worse, the remark made him realize how much he wanted to seduce her. Not to claim her or possess her, but to show her enough pleasure to melt her icy facade. What would she look like, flushed and mindless with lust?

“Well,” Catullus said. “At least she’s no great beauty.”

Aelius blinked. “No great beauty?” He had found Crispina stunning from the first moment he saw her.

Catullus shrugged. “I mean, I wouldn’t turn her down—that would be rude—but she seems so cold and stiff. I imagine it would be like bedding a corpse.”

“A corpse? Are you insane? Crispina is…is…” He struggled for words. “Quite beautiful.”

“I prefer women who smile.”

The revelation that not every man found Crispina beautiful was shocking. Though Catullus had a point: Aelius had never yet seen Crispina smile or laugh. “I appreciate her dignity. She carries herself like a goddess.”

“One of the meaner ones, perhaps.”

Aelius rolled his eyes. He glanced back at the couch Catullus had left. The woman and young man were in each other’s arms, kissing. “I think your friends are getting started without you.”

Catullus followed his gaze and swore. “All right, off with you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He clasped Aelius’s hand, then returned to his couch, pushing his way between the two. They made room easily.

Aelius left the party with no regrets about the pleasures he was leaving behind. Yes, he was turning his back on such pursuits by marrying Crispina. But he stood to gain much, much more from their temporary marriage: victory in the next election, the tribuneship, a shot at the consulship one day. Respect, influence, and the power to enact change. A chaste marriage, even to someone as alluring as Crispina, would be an easy sacrifice.