“Just cut it off,” Crispina grumbled. “I’m tired.”
“That’s bad luck.” With effort, Aelius shut out his awareness of her body and focused only on the knot. He managed to loosen it in the right places, and with a few strategic pulls, it came undone.
“Thank you.” Freed, Crispina walked over to a trunk of her belongings which had been delivered earlier. She rifled through it, pulling out a light linen tunic.
Aelius went to the basin and splashed water on his face, hoping to extinguish his lustful imaginings, then got into bed. He usually slept naked, but he didn’t think Crispina would appreciate that tonight, so he left his tunic on.
He eyed her as she unfolded the tunic from her trunk. He wanted to remain respectful, but he alsodefinitelywanted a glimpse of her bare body as she changed.
Crispina must have sensed the dishonorable direction of his thoughts, for she issued a sharp “Close your eyes,” as she shook out the tunic.
He shot her a brief glower, but obeyed. The rustling of fabric followed. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. His wife was naked, in the same room, and he wasn’t even allowed to look at her.
“You can open them.” Crispina, now clothed in the plain tunic, sat at the dressing table and began to unbraid her hair. Aelius couldn’t look away, and luckily she didn’t command him to this time. It had seemed a crime for her lush, glossy hair to be confined in the six tight braids that all brides wore. Her fingers moved quickly, slipping between the segments to unweave the braids. Her hair had caught his attention from his first brief glimpse of it at the dinner party beneath her modest palla. Now, he watched as the braids unraveled into an abundance of dark curls falling halfway down her back, a mesmerizing sight. He could have watched her all day.
Finally, she left the dressing table and climbed into bed next to him. She pulled the covers up to her chin and rolled over, facing away from him. “Blow out the lamp.”
He reached for the lamp on the bedside table and extinguished it. Darkness engulfed the room. He stretched out in bed, and waited for sleep to come. The sound of her breathing, light and rhythmic, filled his ears.
Somehow, he was married. To a senator’s daughter, no less. That was the part he was supposed to care about, the part that should win him the election. But at this moment, lying in bed with her after their wedding, it wasn’t the senator’s daughter who occupied his thoughts. Instead, it was the erudite, prickly, beautiful woman with glossy hair and an elusive, possibly mythical, smile. Somehow, that woman had just become his wife.
Chapter 9
In the days after the wedding, Crispina spent most of her time with Gaia. Aelius was rarely at home, so they only saw each other in the evenings. Crispina set up a little library in one of the spare bedrooms. She commissioned a carpenter to install shelves and purchased more scrolls to fill them with, everything from a treatise on new architecture styles to a history of Alexander’s foray into India. She’d even managed to find some writings from Judaea, though her Aramaic was rusty. Gaia made no complaint when Crispina spent the whole day sequestered in her library reading.
Crispina aimed to resume her visits to her students on the Aventine as quickly as possible, but didn’t want to push her luck too soon. She waited a week, then tried to feel out how accommodating Gaia would be of any ventures outside the house. “I plan to visit my friend Horatia tomorrow,” she said one day at lunch.
Gaia glanced up from her food. “How nice. Was she at the wedding?”
Crispina shook her head. “Her husband was, but she was close to giving birth. Her husband sent a message yesterday to say the child had come.” That much, at least, was true, and Crispina did plan to pay a visit to Horatia. She and Decius had been blessed with another healthy son.
“Well, I’m sure she’ll appreciate your visit.”
“She lives quite close, so I plan to walk there.” Crispina watched Gaia’s face, curious if she would insist she take an escort.
Gaia shrugged. “Exercise is most beneficial, as long as the weather is nice.”
Crispina’s heart leaped.Freedom, at last.
She spent the rest of the day preparing the items she would need to take to her pupils: a basket of wax tablets and styluses for writing, a few basic scrolls for the children to practice reading, some food for the children and their families, and her disguise, the garb of a priestess. Or at least garb that looked enough like a priestess no one would bother her. There were so many tiny cults in the city, each with its own ministry, that it was easy enough to impersonate a nondescript priestess without raising anyone’s suspicions.
The next morning, she gathered up her basket and left the house. No one stopped her or insisted she take an escort. A broad smile spread across her face as she emerged into the sunlit street. She took a deep breath, savoring her freedom—only to regret it as the stench of horse droppings hit her nose.
Crispina headed down the street and ducked into an alley a few houses over. There, she retrieved a long, shapeless gown of undyed linen from her basket and pulled it over her head. It fell to her ankles, covering her dress beneath. She twisted off her wedding ring and hung it on a cord around her neck, tucked out of sight beneath the gown. Then, she removed her green palla and replaced it with a long veil of the same undyed linen fabric as the tunic. She pinned and tucked it in a way that covered all of her hair, and pulled it around her face and shoulders like a cloak. Priestesses were notoriously modest, so the more fabric covering her, the better.
Once disguised, she resumed walking, head bowed in an affectation of religious humility. Aelius lived in a different neighborhood than her parents or Memmius, so she had less distance to travel to the block on the Aventine where she conducted her lessons. Would the children even remember her? Would they blame her for her months-long absence?
The buildings changed as she crossed into the neighborhood where her students lived, becoming darker, dirtier, some with smoke-damaged walls and terraces precariously supported on decaying beams. She passed the blackened hull of a burned-out apartment building. Fire was all too common in these crowded areas. The smell of dung and rotting fish wafted over her. The Aventine bordered the river, where all sorts of refuse was dumped, and the stench was always stifling.
She ducked into the courtyard of the apartment building where she usually taught. Her gaze flicked around. It was just as she remembered: dingy and in disrepair. A lone slave swept leaves from one corner of the courtyard with listless strokes of a broom.
A movement beneath a rickety-looking table caught her attention. She squinted into the shadows, and then smiled as a boy of eight with dirt-smudged cheeks crawled out. “Hello, Silus.”
He chewed on his fingernail, surveying her with an appraising gaze. “Did you bring anything to eat?”
She proffered her basket, piled high with figs, sweet cakes, and rounds of cheese, the best Gaia’s kitchen could spare. “I always do, don’t I?”
His eyes lit up. “She’s back!” he shouted.
