Crispina stared at him. Of course, it made perfect sense that he would care about the rights and treatment of slaves. And he was right that no one would vote for him if they thought he was going to espouse such radical policies. The uprising of Spartacus was barely a decade past, still too fresh in everyone’s minds.
“I admire that,” she said quietly.
“You do?”
She nodded. “But I would urge you to reconsider your second point. If a man frees fifty slaves when he dies, then his son will just buy fifty more. It would only increase the demand for slaves.”
He sat on the bed. “That never occurred to me.”
“Instead, I would propose some sort of tax break or incentive for rural landowners to employ laborers on their farms. The majority of slaves in the Republic are located on Italian farms, I believe, because they are cheaper than paying free laborers. But if there was a benefit to employing men other than slaves—say, a tax reduction that increased with the proportion of free men employed—the demand for slaves would decline. And people would vote for it if they thought it would save them money.”
Aelius’s mouth dropped open. “By the gods, you should be running for office.”
His compliment made her blush, and she fixed her attention on brushing her hair once more. Their discussion made her wonder if she should tell him about her lessons with the children. Maybe he wouldn’t be as horrified as she had imagined.
No, she decided. It was one thing to discuss legislation and improvements in the abstract. It was quite another for a politician’s wife to run a secret school, directly consorting with the poor. If there was even a slight chance Aelius would react badly to it, she couldn’t risk telling him. In the interest of her students, her lessons would have to remain a secret if she wanted them to continue.
Chapter 12
Next week, Crispina walked through the streets on her way home from a lesson with the children. She smiled, their antics still fresh in her mind. Junia’s handwriting was improving, and Sextus had gotten every letter right when she quizzed him.
A voice caught her attention as she crossed the edge of the Forum. She stopped short and looked around. A crowd had gathered in the middle of the Forum. Two men stood atop a raised platform, both dressed in the chalk-whitened toga of political candidates. One was Rufus, and the other was her husband.
She’d known today was the day of their debate, but she hadn’t realized the time would coincide with her return from her lesson. She eased into the shadows of a nearby building and watched.
Aelius cut a fine figure up there; the bright white toga set off his golden skin, whereas it made Rufus’s fairer skin look sallow. Aelius’s voice carried across the crowd with ease. He seemed to have mastered the art of speaking loudly and clearly without shouting, as some orators resorted to.
A flare of something like pride warmed her chest, a similar feeling as when Sextus had gotten all of his letters right. How strange, to be proud of one’s husband.
Rufus was speaking now. “The tribuneship is meant to advance the interests of the people, is it not?” The crowd murmured and nodded in agreement. “Yet, for all my opponent’s humble origins—which we all know of, and which I hardly need mention—he’s gone and married a daughter of one of the oldest families in Rome.”
Crispina rolled her eyes at the exaggeration. Her family was well-respected, but they were hardly the Julii.
Rufus continued. “Clearly, my opponent is trying to set himself up as some sort of aristocrat. A bold strategy for someone born even lower than myself, the son of a baker!” He gave a self-deprecating laugh.
Crispina ground her teeth. Rufus was not going to let anyone forget Aelius’s origins, even as he simultaneously accused him of being a social climber.
Aelius stepped forward. “It’s true, my father-in-law is a senator.” Smoothly, he ignored the jab at his birth, as if he hadn’t even heard it. “But fostering influence with the senatorial class is hardly a bad thing. We all know how much power they wield. If we truly want to protect the people of Rome from abuses of power by those born into privilege, we must work together with those who hold that power.” His tone was measured, reasonable, but forcefulness hummed behind every word.
Some shouts of agreement sounded from the crowd, but Rufus didn’t give up. “So you admit that your marriage is founded on political gain.”
“I did not—” Aelius started, but Rufus kept talking.
“You married your wife for her father’s sake. Why not just marry him instead?” A crude joke, but the crowd laughed.
Aelius’s face tightened, but he issued an easy reply. “Alas, the gentleman is already wed.”
A few more sniggers sounded from the crowd.
Rufus let the laughter die down. “Yes, and I suppose he wouldn’t have been nearly as fun on your wedding night.”
Another burst of laughter erupted from the audience. Crispina chewed her lip, hoping Aelius would turn the subject back to something safer. Rufus’s glib words didn’t bother her, but she didn’t want prurient jokes to overtake the purpose of the debate.
Aelius’s hand was clenched into a fist, but he somehow managed to maintain his relaxed tone. “Have a care, that is my wife you’re talking about.”
Don’t let him get to you, Crispina willed.Laugh it off and move on to something else.
Rufus ignored the warning, playing to the crowd. “Yes, your wife. The infamous Crispina. How much did her father pay to get her off his hands? We all know how she was cast off by her previous husband for—” His words broke off in a strangled cry. In a blur of movement, Aelius seized the smaller man by the front of his tunic and snarled something into his ear.
