Chapter 1
There was a woman in his lap, and Aelius had no idea how she’d gotten there.
It must have happened when he’d closed his eyes to take another gulp of strong wine. Her weight had settled against him, making the stool beneath him creak, and he opened his eyes to meet a flirtatious smile. A pair of kohl-shadowed eyes gazed at him.
The crowded tavern resounded with the noise of men engaged in drinking games, gambling, or general carousing. A few women, colleagues or competitors of the one in his lap, filtered through the throng in search of business.
“Excuse me,” he said, attempting not to slur. “I’m not interested in your services.”
His friend Catullus, on the other side of the rickety tavern table, leaned forward with a grin. “Come on, let her distract you from your troubles. You’ll feel better after, no doubt.”
“I will guarantee it.” The woman cast an appraising glance at Catullus. “I do offer a favorable rate for two at a time.”
Catullus’s eyes lit with interest, and he raised an eyebrow at Aelius hopefully. “That’s a good deal. I’m game if you are.”
“I am not,” Aelius said. Catullus was quite flexible with his amorous exploits and while Aelius was no prude, he drew the line at consorting with his own friend. In any case, he did not engage with prostitutes as a rule. Most of them were slaves, and whatever enthusiasm a skilled practitioner might affect, he refused to lie with a woman who couldn’t say no. He remembered too well the oppressive feeling of living a life that wasn’t truly his own.
He gently pushed at the woman’s shoulder, but she didn’t budge. His irritation sharpened. He could have removed her more forcefully, but he would not shove a woman, even one who had deposited herself in his lap without invitation.
With a sigh, he thrust a hand into the leather purse securely belted at his waist and drew out a bronze coin. “For your trouble.”
She rolled her eyes and snatched it up, finally climbing off him. “Well, I’m here most nights, if you’re ever in a better mood.”
“Thank you,” Aelius muttered, and she swayed over to greet some men at a nearby table.
Cheers exploded from the other side of the tavern as someone won a drinking game. Aelius glowered at the knot of revelers. Such happiness felt miles away after the day he’d had.
His cup was empty, so he reached for the wine jug, but Catullus got there first and moved it out of reach. “I think you’ve had enough. Drowning your sorrows is all well and good, but really, it’s just a minor setback.”
“Minor setback? I lost an election.” The loss still pierced him, as fresh and humiliating as it had been when the magistrates announced the results a few hours ago.
Catullus took a casual swig of wine. “There will be other elections. Besides, no one expected you to win. Frankly, I was shockedanyonevoted for you.”
“You really know how to make me feel better.”
“I meant it’s a testament to your charm, and your future potential. For someone like you, to win as many votes as you did? It’s encouraging.” Catullus’s eyes flicked to the mark on the inside of Aelius’s left wrist.
Reflexively, Aelius moved his arm so the brand was no longer visible. He usually wore a thick silver bracelet to hide it, but he’d taken it off before embarking on this drinking excursion to lessen the chances of being mugged. “I don’t know what else I can do. I practiced every speech, I—”
“Listen, you didn’t lose because your speeches weren’t practiced enough. You lost because the people who matter either don’t know who you are or don’t care. Elections aren’t won in the Forum or at the ballot-box. They’re won in dining rooms on the Palatine Hill.”
A hopeless weight pressed down on Aelius’s chest. Perhaps he’d underestimated how competitive the election for tribune of the plebs would be. It was the only political office reserved for men of plebeian rank, meant to curtail the dominion of the patrician class.
More importantly, it was a crucial stepping-stone on the path to Aelius’s true goal: to be Rome’s first freedman consul. Winning the most powerful position in Rome would ensure no one could afford to look down on him or his mother ever again. It would also allow him to enact policies that would benefit the lives of slaves and freedmen like him. He just needed to keep that part of his plans a secret for now, or else be branded a radical without hope of winning a single vote.
But the powers of a consulship were of no consequence if he couldn’t even win a low-level tribune election. “I’m afraid no well-to-do families are inviting me to their dinner parties.”
“But they are inviting me.” Catullus gave him a significant look that Aelius couldn’t decipher. “I have some thoughts that may be of use for your second attempt, but let’s discuss further when you’re sober. I need to get you home before midnight, or else your mother will skin me alive. Though to be fair…” He rose to his feet and tugged Aelius up from his stool. “There’s not much I wouldn’t let your mother do to me.”
Aelius groaned, both from Catullus’s infatuation with his mother and from the way his head spun at the sudden change in position.
Catullus hooked a lanky arm around Aelius’s shoulders and maneuvered him through the tavern to the door. “Are you sure she entertains no callers? A beautiful widow like that shouldn’t be spending her nights alone. I’d expect you to be like Telemachus, fending off his mother’s suitors.”
“Am I supposed to get that reference?” Aelius’s education had been condensed, and the finer points of literature often eluded him. He’d only received four years of tutelage between the ages of fourteen, after being freed from slavery, and eighteen, when he’d joined the army to complete the ten years of military service required to stand for political positions.
Catullus sighed. “TheOdyssey,you barbarian.”
They left the tavern and emerged into the cool night air. Catullus kept a steadying arm around Aelius’s shoulders as they traipsed—or stumbled, in Aelius’s case—through the streets.
