“Understood.”
“Speaking of that, you should go before my parents notice you’ve been here the whole time.” People were starting to make their way out of the stands around them.
“Very well. I’ll have my mother invite you straightaway.” Aelius slipped from the box and joined the crowds flooding out of the arena. Hope buoyed him as he walked home. He was one step closer to winning her hand in marriage. He only hoped that would be enough to win him the election in turn.
Chapter 6
Crispina stepped out of the litter onto the street in front of Aelius’s house. It was in a different part of town from her family’s house. She doubted any patricians lived here, but the street seemed clean and quiet, filled with respectable homes. Humbler than what she was used to, but the distance was refreshing. Maybe she would have a chance to live her own life here.
A slave escorted her into the house. She wondered if it was awkward for a freedman to own his own slaves. She still hadn’t quite wrapped her head around the fact that Aelius was a freedman. The brand on his wrist stood out vivid in her mind. She’d thought marrying a plebeian was the worst she could do, but she’d managed to find an even lower level.
But despite his ignoble origins, Aelius was well-spoken, ambitious, and sure of himself. He’d shown a trace of hesitation when telling her about his past, but hadn’t apologized for it or exhibited any great diffidence. His confidence was compelling, and despite herself, she was looking forward to seeing him again. She’d enjoyed his stories about army life at the games. She’d just been reading a history of the Punic Wars; maybe she could lend it to him.
She glanced around the atrium. It was plainly furnished with flagstone floors—not a mosaic in sight—and whitewashed walls. She walked toward a group of three marble portrait heads mounted on waist-high plinths in the corner. Every family of lineage displayed images of their ancestors in the atrium, both to honor them and brag about their far-reaching roots.
These portraits shared a large nose and heavy jaw, bearing little resemblance to Aelius. But of course: they must be his stepfather’s family, of no relation to him. She found herself grateful that Aelius himself must have inherited more balanced features from his mother and whoever his father was. Had he known his father?
Footsteps sounded from the other side of the atrium, and Crispina straightened up, skimming a hand over her palla to make sure everything was in place.
It wasn’t Aelius who came to greet her, but a woman who must be his mother, Gaia. Crispina drew in a breath. Despite being at least fifty, Gaia was one of the most beautiful women Crispina had ever seen. Her skin shone a warm gold, a shade darker than Aelius’s, and her features were delicate and refined. She had a slim, lithe build her son had inherited.No wonder Aelius is so handsome, with a mother like this.
The thought made her blush, and she struggled to gather herself as Gaia approached.
“Crispina, my dear, how lovely to meet you.” Gaia’s smile was full of such warmth that Crispina felt as if a thick blanket had been draped around her after a day in the cold. Gaia held out an arm to beckon Crispina closer. A white-scarred brand showed on her inner wrist, a twin of the one Aelius bore.
Crispina bowed her head formally. “Thank you for inviting me to your home.”
“It may be your home soon, I gather. May I show you around? Aelius is out, but he said he would join us later.”
“That would be nice.” She felt an unwarranted pang of disappointment that Aelius wasn’t here to greet her, but reminded herself the whole point of this visit was to get to know his mother.
She followed Gaia on a tour of the house. It was certainly small, and the décor a bit old-fashioned, but it was furnished comfortably. “How long have you lived here?” Crispina asked as Gaia showed her the dining room.
“Eighteen years, if you can believe it. I first lived here with my husband when Aelius was about fourteen.”
“That must have been after…er…” Crispina broke off. She’d been about to sayafter you’d been freed, but realized too late that would be tactless to bring up.
Gaia led her out of the dining room and around the other side of the atrium. “After we were freed, yes.”
Crispina’s face heated. As she always did when she was uncomfortable, she reverted to sharpness. She needed to test Aelius’s assertion that his mother was the kindest woman in Rome. “The décor in the dining room is terribly outdated. I should like to update it. It would be improved with a fresco.”
She expected Gaia to become irritated—what woman wanted to be told her taste in decorating was outdated?—but the woman merely smiled. “I would like that as well. I’ve never had an eye for such things.”
Crispina tried again. “And the floors in the atrium. Mosaics would be more fashionable.” Painting a wall was one thing, but ripping out a floor to replace with a mosaic would certainly ruffle feathers.
“A mosaic sounds very lovely,” Gaia said. “You must do just as you wish with the whole house. It must feel like your home, after all. Now, come this way, dear. There is one room in particular I wanted to show you.”
Crispina followed Gaia, slightly astonished by her grace and goodwill. Crispina’s last mother-in-law had been so critical that Crispina couldn’t even rearrange a display of vases without incurring a lecture.
Gaia led Crispina to a small room that faced the atrium, furnished as a spare bedroom. “Aelius mentioned you enjoy literature, so I thought you could turn this room into a library. Aelius already has his study, so it would be all your own.”
Crispina stared at the room. A library of her very own. She let out a long, shaky breath. Her father and Memmius had both been of the opinion that education was only relevant for a woman so far as it made her an entertaining dinner companion. She learned Greek, of course, and she’d even managed to secure an Aramaic tutor for a few years during her marriage, but the detailed military histories and risqué love poetry she most enjoyed incurred nothing but disapproval.
For years, her reading had been confined to whatever scrolls she could pilfer from her father or husband’s library and hide under her bed or among her clothes. To have a room of books, all her own…
“Aelius would not mind?” Though Memmius hadn’t expressly forbidden her from reading, he sniped at her whenever he found her with her nose in a book, feeling she should spend her time weaving and sewing like other wives. To avoid his displeasure, she’d taken to hiding the habit.
“Of course not,” Gaia said. “He will want you to be happy. He’s quite taken with you, you know.”
