“I know,” he murmured.
She released her wrist. “Besides, you know how much I want grandchildren.”
He could see the life his mother wanted: happy children running through the gardens of a quiet country estate, peaceful days spent enjoying the fresh air. It tempted him, but he shook his head. “There is no point in having an heir without a legacy for him to inherit. I will build a legacy first, and then I promise I will give you as many grandchildren as you like.” He was only thirty-two. Plenty of time for all that.
Politics, on the other hand, couldn’t wait. Men had to be at least forty-two to run for consul, and there was a huge prestige in attaining the rank at the minimum age. He needed to win more influential positions nearly every year in order to be eligible to run for consul when he turned forty-two. Losing this election meant he was already behind.
She smiled. “I will hold you to that, my love. Now, rest. Things will look brighter in the morning.” She kissed him on the forehead, then rose from the bed and left the room.
Aelius adjusted the pillow behind his head, considering his mother’s words. What if he just gave up? It was tempting to leave the city behind and start a quiet life in the country where no one knew them.
But something in him balked. He had spent too long ignored and overlooked, slighted and disdained. Freedmen were citizens, yes, but they were never allowed to forget the stigma of their pasts. Most freedmen weren’t even allowed to run for office. Aelius had been lucky to be officially adopted by Herminius, which allowed him to pursue politics. He’d been given a great gift, and now he needed to prove himself worthy of it. Achieving political success was the only thing that would prove he was more than his past.
He would be Rome’s first freedman consul, no matter what he had to sacrifice. After that, maybe he would be happy.
Aelius woke to a pounding headache and a mouth that felt as if he’d eaten sand. He lay in bed, cursing every drop of wine that had passed his lips last night, then gathered the energy to heave himself into a sitting position. His room had a curtained window out onto the atrium, and the amount of sunlight blazing through the sheer fabric told him it was already late morning.
He rose with a groan and stumbled to the pitcher and basin which rested on a table against the wall. He splashed his face with water. The cold shock made him feel slightly more alive. Then, he changed into a fresh tunic and ran a hand across his chin, feeling the prickles of fresh stubble. Malchio, one of their household slaves, could help him shave later, but for now, breakfast was his first priority.
He left his room. Immediately, the sound of laughter and conversation reached his ears, echoing from the other side of the atrium. He followed it to see his mother seated across from Catullus at a small table next to the central pool. Catullus was tucking into a bowl of porridge topped with sliced dates. He glanced up as Aelius approached. “Good morning. You look, er…well.”
Aelius was sure he did not look any such thing, but he returned the greeting. Gaia jumped up from her chair and offered it to Aelius. “Sit and eat, dear.” Without waiting for him to agree, she grabbed his shoulders, sat him down, and filled a dish with porridge from the serving bowl, then piled a small plate high with cheese and fruit. She pushed the food in front of him. “I will leave you two to eat together. I must attend to some household matters.” She bustled off.
Catullus craned his neck to watch her walk away. Aelius tossed a date at him. “Watch yourself.”
Catullus caught the date and ate it. “Get some food in you. Your mood will improve, no doubt.”
Aelius grumbled but obeyed. He did feel better after a few spoonfuls of hearty, warm porridge, washed down with a swig of well-watered wine. “Last night, you seemed to think you knew a way for me to win the next election.”
“I might have some ideas. You’re probably not going to like them.”
“I draw the line at poisoning my political opponents, and I’m not going to waste my inheritance on bribery.”
Catullus chuckled. “Good to know your limits. No, my idea was less expensive than bribery, but perhaps as permanent as poisoning. And possibly as disagreeable.” He leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. “Marriage.”
Aelius’s eyebrows shot up. “Have you been talking to my mother?”
Catullus ignored the remark. “You need connections. The strongest way to make connections is through marriage. You need a wife whose family is well-positioned among the patricians you need to impress.”
“But tribunes are elected by the plebeian assembly. Patricians don’t even vote in those elections.”
“Yes, but their influence is still great. Plebeians vote as their patron tells them to, don’t they? Get a few patricians on your side and you’ll get the votes. And the easiest way to get patricians on your side is to marry one of them.”
Aelius frowned. “You think any patrician father would let his daughter within an arm’s length of me?”
“That is the trickiest part of my plan, of course,” Catullus said. “But, for all your faults, you have no lack of charm. Find a man with daughters to spare, charm one of them, and make your case. The patricians could benefit from having a man on the inside with the plebs to make sure they don’t get up to anything too radical.”
Aelius’s lips tightened. The office of tribune was intended to protect the plebeian citizens from the abuses of the patricians—not extend their influence. And Aelius’s ideas were more radical than most. He wanted to introduce a bill banning the sale of pregnant slaves, so fathers couldn’t be separated from their children, and another to waive the inheritance tax on men who freed their slaves in their will.
But if he couldn’t win this election, his ideas were meaningless, so for now, he would listen to Catullus. “And where am I supposed to meet these patrician daughters?”
“That’s where I come in.” Catullus smiled smugly. “By virtue of my poetry, I’ve become one of the most sought-after dinner guests in the city. I can get you in anywhere. In fact, there’s a party two nights from now at the home of a senator. You’ll come with me. Perhaps your future wife won’t be in attendance, but you can start building a reputation for yourself as the sort of charming man all the girls will want to meet. Make yourself…palatable.” His gaze ran over Aelius, lingering on his left wrist.
Aelius drew his hand into his lap, furtively flicking the edge of a napkin over his wrist. He’d forgotten to put his wristband back on after taking it off last night, and his brand was clearly visible in the daylight.
The idea of a freedman marrying a daughter of the elite was laughable, truly. Besides, he had no desire to marry, even for political gain, but right now Catullus’s plan seemed his best chance at setting himself up for a future victory.
“All right,” Aelius said. “I’ll accompany you to the party.”
