“I said, I’m not hungry,” he snapped, but immediately regretted his harsh tone. “I’m sorry, Mama—”
She held up a hand to silence him, her head turning toward the front of the house. “Someone is at the door.”
Aelius froze. He could just hear the sound of the door opening and words exchanged between Ajax and whoever had come. A moment later, the door closed, and footsteps approached.
Through the doorway, Aelius glimpsed Ajax. “Letter came, mistress,” Ajax said.
Gaia reached out to take the small scroll from him. “Thank you.”
He departed, and Gaia came back into his study to hand him the scroll. Aelius took it, staring down at the red wax that sealed it. It was the seal of the magistrate’s office that supervised the elections.
Aelius swallowed hard, panic suddenly rising in his chest.
His mother smiled encouragingly. “Go on, open it.”
“I-I can’t.” His fingers were stiff, he couldn’t bring himself to break the seal. “You do it.” He handed the letter back.
She broke the seal and unfurled the scroll.
“Well?” Aelius asked, his heart thumping.
She smiled again. “You’ve forgotten I can’t read, dear.”
He lurched to his feet and took the scroll. His eyes skimmed over the words.Congratulations…tribune…victory…
He read it twice, three times. He’d done it. He’d really done it.
Aelius dropped back into the chair. Shock thrummed through him. After so much uncertainty, he could hardly believe this was really happening.
He read the letter a fourth time, just in case.
“I presume it’s good news?” his mother asked, her smile growing.
He managed a nod. She crossed behind his desk and wrapped him in her arms, bending to kiss his forehead. “I am so proud of you, my love.”
He returned the embrace, hugging her tighter than he had since he was a child. All he had ever wanted was to make her proud, to erase some of the pain and shame of their beginnings. Emotion choked him for a moment, and he pressed his face into her shoulder until he could master himself.
She drew back and kissed him on the forehead once more. “I will go tell the kitchen to serve our finest wine at dinner tonight.”
“Make it our second finest.” His voice was raspy. “Save the finest for tomorrow.”
She nodded, then left. Aelius’s gaze returned to the letter. It contained a list of the ten newly elected tribunes in order of votes received. His name was the last. Rufus’s name was only one spot higher, which gave him a certain grim satisfaction.
They’d be colleagues now. Perhaps they could find a way to work together, as they would both face a difficult road forward. As Catullus had once said, Romans hated new money almost as much as they disliked upstart freedmen. It was a miracle either of them had managed to win enough votes to be elected.
Thinking of Rufus made his mind turn to Crispina. He would see her tomorrow at his victory dinner, assuming she showed up. What would he say to her? His heart ached to forgive her, but his mind balked. A chance victory didn’t erase the fact that she had lied to him. He only had to decide if he would insist on a divorce, or settle for a distant marriage to preserve the advantage of her family’s connections.
Crispina spent the day of the election consumed with powerless anxiety. She kept reading and rereading the curt note Aelius had sent a few days ago, mentioning Verus’s withdrawal and his renewed hope of victory. Would it be enough?
In the morning, Mother insisted she help with the weaving, as Father needed a new tunic. She tried to expend some of her nervous energy in the push and pull of the loom, but made so many mistakes Mother started muttering under her breath about what a trial it was to have such a careless and ungrateful daughter.
In the afternoon, Crispina feigned a headache and retreated to her room to read, but even Sappho couldn’t distract her. Her mind wandered from the inked words to the Campus Martius where the election was taking place.
She wondered if Aelius was nervous, or if Verus’s withdrawal had instilled him with confidence. She wished she could be there to reassure him. At least he had Max to distract him. No doubt the boy’s capers would be a blessing today.
In the evening, she dared to ask Father over dinner: “Have you heard anything of the election results?”
He frowned at her. “Election?”
