“And if I win, we should remain married for at least a few months after. It would draw too much attention to divorce right after winning. I propose that the maximum duration of our marriage be six months into my term as tribune.”
That seemed fair to her, so she nodded. There seemed to be only one thing left. “You may speak to my father at your convenience. He’s usually at home in the mornings on days when the Senate is not in session.”
His face remained neutral, but she detected a light of triumph in his eyes. “I’ll call on him at the earliest opportunity. Now, some refreshment?” He stood back from the door and held it open for her. She swept past him and left the bedroom.
She knew she should have been nervous upon entering into an agreement like this, but instead, a sense of calm certainty filled her. Finally, she had a future to look forward to that didn’t spell endless days sitting at home, trapped in her parents’ house. She could return to what truly mattered: her lessons on the Aventine. And when her marriage to Aelius inevitably ended, she’d walk away with a property all her own. Freedom was finally within her reach.
Chapter 7
Crispina 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. “WhenI 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 ofthis. 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 naïve, 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.
