The man glanced from his wife to Crispina. “Didn’t realize you had company.”
Licinia waved a hand at him. “Verus, come here and set this woman straight. She’s spouting all sorts of nonsense about you.”
Verus approached with a slow stride. “Have we met?”
Crispina inclined her head. “My name is Crispina, wife to Aelius Herminius.”
His mouth twisted. “The freedman.” Contempt laced his voice.
“Better a freedman than a thief,” Crispina shot back.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Please tell me what gives you the nerve to come into my house and insult me.”
Crispina drew in a breath and straightened her shoulders. “You embezzled state funds during your term as an aedile by using sub-par marble in the temples you built. And insulted the gods, as well.”
“Ridiculous,” Licinia muttered, but Crispina kept her focus on Verus.
Anger, but not surprise, blossomed across his face. He fixed her with a scorching glare. “Is your husband so incompetent that he sends his wife to make his threats?”
Licinia interjected. “Verus, just tell her she’s wrong and send her on her way. We don’t have to listen to this.”
“He can’t send me on my way,” Crispina said. “Because he knows it’s true. And it’s easily proven. All it takes is a cursory examination of the temples you were in charge of. Maybe you were smart enough to use good marble on the parts people can see close-up, but I’m sure the rest of the structure is cobbled together with wax and plaster.” She turned to Licinia. “My sympathies. It’s clear you didn’t know you were married to an embezzler. And now all of this”—she gestured around at the house—“hangs in the balance. The penalty for theft is repayment twice over, and then of course there’s the issue of blasphemy. A lawyer could easily argue that your husband was stealing from the gods themselves. Exile would be a mercy.”
Licinia had gone paler and paler as Crispina spoke, until her skin took on a gray cast. “Verus…” the woman said uncertainly. “It’s not true, is it?”
“I didn’t see you complaining when I showered you in jewels and silk,” Verus snapped.
“But I thought…I never imagined…” Licinia braced herself against a column. “By Juno, what have you done?”
Verus ignored his wife and focused on Crispina. “I assume there’s something you want from me, or the magistrates would already be here to arrest me.” His voice was flat.
Crispina nodded. “I want you to withdraw from the tribune race. And of course desist any of these fraudulent activities which may still be ongoing. In return, I’ll swear to silence. You will avoid financial ruin and public condemnation.”
He glowered at her. “Swear it.”
Crispina raised her hand, lifted her eyes skyward, and spoke a formal oath. “I hereby swear by Juno, queen of the gods, that if Epidius Verus withdraws from the tribune election, I will never reveal his illegal doings to a magistrate or the public. May Juno strike me down if I lie. And if Epidius Verus does not withdraw from the tribune election, I swear I will do everything in my power to ruin him.”
Silence fell in the atrium. She glanced from Verus, still bristling with helpless fury, to Licinia, who seemed on the verge of crumpling to the ground in shame. She addressed Verus. “I’ll look forward to hearing news of your withdrawal by tomorrow.”
“Get out of my house,” he growled.
“With pleasure.” She nodded primly, and showed herself out.
Chapter 31
Aelius gazed at Max, who was stuffing his face with a plate of poached pears across the dining table. Fondness swelled in his chest. As of an hour ago, Max was legally Aelius’s son and heir. They had visited a praetor to make the adoption official, then met Gaia at a temple to sacrifice a brace of doves in honor of the occasion. On the way to the temple, Aelius had bought Max his favorite treat, savillum. Max had devoured an entire one by himself but somehow still had room to inhale the contents of the celebratory lunch at home.
Catullus was the only one in attendance besides family. He was as jovial as always, joking with Max and unashamedly flirting with Aelius’s mother. His presence was welcome, but it didn’t fill the emptiness Aelius felt on the dining couch beside him.
Crispina should be here. He had thought of her often this past week. He missed her with a keen ache. Anger still filled him when he remembered what she had done, how she had lied to him, and he couldn’t yet forgive her. But by the gods, he longed to see her. To spark one of her rare smiles, to see how she cared for Max, stern and tender at the same time. And especially to hold her, squeeze her, feel her shudder against him as he…
He tried to snap himself out of it. Dwelling on the past would do no good. As of today, he had a new future to build in Max.
Max lifted a dish of fried octopus and offered it politely to Gaia—too politely. “More octopus, grandmother?” His mouth curved in a sly grin. He had been good-naturedly tormenting Gaia with her new title since they returned, once he realized how much it annoyed her.
Gaia smacked him with her folded napkin. “Maximus Herminius, you call me that one more time and I will send you to bed right this instant!”
Catullus burst out in full-throated laughter. “I never thought the day would come when I would gladly fall at the feet of someone’s grandmother, if she would have me.”
