Later that day, Aelius ran his gaze down the list of names he and Catullus had compiled. The poet sat across from him in Aelius’s study, stretching his legs to rest his feet on the corner of Aelius’s desk.
Aelius shot him a disapproving glance, but said nothing. He could tolerate Catullus’s informal habits as his connections had been invaluable in uncovering the names of men who would likely stand for the tribune election.
Aelius chewed his lip as he returned his attention to the names, scribed in black ink on papyrus. “I know of many of these men. They have influence and supporters. I can’t hope to beat them.” Aelius grabbed a pen and placed a dot next to each opponent who was all but certain to win a seat. His anxiety grew as he counted them. Nine men with nearly definite victories. There were ten tribune seats up for election, so that left only one spot.
Three names remained on the list which were unfamiliar to him. “Cornelius Zeno?”
Catullus shrugged. “Haven’t heard of him, so that means he’s unremarkable. Therefore you have a shot at beating him.”
Aelius underlined the name and glanced at the next one. “Servius Domitius Cotta?”
“Gambling debts. Lots of them.”
Aelius considered. “I could threaten to expose his financial irresponsibility.” He underlined Cotta’s name.
Catullus nodded. “Indeed. Who is next?”
“Publius Veturius Rufus. Do you know him?”
Catullus straightened up. “That one is interesting.”
“I doubt that bodes well for me,” Aelius muttered.
“The Veturius family is newly wealthy, and obscenely so. His father was a baker who won the contract to supply bread to the army.”
Aelius’s stomach dropped. “So Rufus can buy as many votes as he need. I can’t compete with that.” He put a dot next to the name, his stomach sinking. That made ten candidates nearly certain of victory, which accounted for all of the seats.
Catullus leaned forward, planting his forearms on the desk. “You forget. If there’s one thing patricians hate more than an upstart freedman, it’s new money. It upsets the social order and threatens the dignity of their ancient families. Rufus can try to buy votes, but if you also make an appeal to the patricians who control those votes, coupled with your new father-in-law’s influence, I would bet my toga they’ll choose you over him.”
Aelius twirled the pen between his fingers. “You think so?”
Catullus grabbed the list and skimmed it. “Defeating Rufus is your best chance to win a seat. Focus on winning support away from him, and you might do it.”
It made sense, and Aelius nodded slowly. He opened his mouth to ask how exactly he was meant to go about that, but a knock came at the door. “Yes?” he called.
Ajax entered, bearing a folded letter. “This came for you, sir.”
Aelius took the letter. “Thank you.” He broke the wax seal. He knew few people, so he rarely received letters, and he read the missive with interest. “Crispina and I are invited to dinner tomorrow at the house of someone I don’t know.” He handed the note to Catullus.
It must have been one of Crispina’s acquaintances. He had never received a dinner invitation before. Already, his marriage was paying off.
Catullus read the invitation. “The Larcius family. This is good. The wife is a terrible gossip, so she invites a wide variety of people to her dinners to try to gather as much gossip as possible. There will be senators there as well as wealthy plebeian merchants, no doubt. I imagine she wants a look at Crispina’s new freedman husband.”
Though the prospect of being a spectacle was not appealing, the dinner would still be an excellent opportunity to start building connections and making friends. He grabbed a blank wax tablet and jotted a reply to accept the invitation on behalf of himself and his wife.
Crispina tucked herself close to Aelius’s side as they entered the overdecorated dining room of the Larcius family. Usually social situations inspired nothing but apathy in her, but it was her first outing with Aelius since their wedding, and nerves tumbled in her stomach.
The two of them made quite the pair, after all: a patrician divorcée and a freedman turned aspiring politician. Though Crispina had only become an object of interest in the months since her divorce, Aelius likely had years of practice dealing with stares and muttered comments.
The guests hadn’t been seated yet and milled around the room chatting with each other. But the conversation paused and everyone turned to stare once Crispina and Aelius crossed the threshold.
The hostess, Ulpia, sailed forward out of the crowd. Red carnelian glimmered at her ears and around her neck, clashing horribly with her orange gown. “Crispina, my dear, how I’ve missed you!”
Crispina did not smile, but allowed Ulpia to kiss her on both cheeks. Ulpia had been instrumental in spreading rumors about Crispina’s infertility and failing marriage across the city, and Crispina hated her for it. “Thank you for inviting us. Please meet my husband, Aelius Herminius.”
Ulpia turned to Aelius. Her smile faltered. She extended a hand in greeting, then snatched it back as if she didn’t want him to touch her.
Crispina bristled. She opened her mouth, ready to chastise the horrible woman for her rudeness, but the gentle pressure of Aelius’s hand on her arm held her back.
