“I helped write it,” Catullus said, looking smug. “Did it work?”
“I would have preferred more groveling.”
“He must have cut a few lines. I wrote in plenty of groveling.” He waved a hand. “In any case, I’m guessing the fact you’re here asking about him means you’re considering it.”
“I only want to find out why he wants to marry me.”
Something shifted in Catullus’s gaze, growing cautious, and Crispina had a feeling that whatever he was about to say wouldn’t be the whole truth.
“Aelius is running for tribune of the plebs,” Catullus said. “Running again, rather. He lost the last election. He’s decided he needs to foster powerful connections to gain the votes he needs, and marriage is the best way to do that. Which was my idea, of course.”
“So he’s a plebeian.” That wasn’t entirely a surprise. Neither she nor Horatia had recognized his name, which indicated he wasn’t part of the exclusive patrician set they’d been born into. “And a politician.” He certainly had the brash confidence for it, not to mention the voice. Even when delivering an ill-timed and idiotic proposal, his voice had been smooth and rich, and she imagined it would sound quite pleasant booming over a crowd in the Forum.
She had never considered marrying outside her class, but even a plebeian husband could give her the freedom she longed for.
Catullus nodded slowly. Again, he seemed to be thinking something he wouldn’t say out loud.
Crispina pressed further. “But the tribune position is reserved for plebeians, so presumably none of them are well-connected among the patricians. Why is he different from any other plebeian candidate?”
Catullus opened his mouth, considered for a moment, then closed it.
“There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“Yes, there is,” he admitted. “But it’s not my place to tell you, so you’ll just have to agree to meet Aelius one more time if you want to get the whole story.”
Crispina huffed. “Fine. I’ll bother you no longer.”
“One more thing,” he said as she turned to leave. “I realize this must all seem very strange, but I know Aelius well. He’s ambitious and determined to make a success of himself. Any woman would be lucky to have him as her husband.”
She didn’t entirely trust the poet, but his words rang with sincerity. “I appreciate the endorsement,” Crispina said, then bid him goodbye and left.
Perhaps it was just the stifling boredom of life after a humiliating divorce, but Aelius Herminius, plebeian politician who made impulsive proposals of marriage and had a mysterious secret, was becoming very intriguing indeed.
Chapter 4
Aelius glanced over the wax tablet Crispina had sent in reply to his letter. The tablet itself was not a promising sign; she didn’t want to waste her papyrus on him. And she’d made him wait two days, but at least he had a response.
Crispina to Aelius Herminius:
Thank you for your apology. I would have appreciated more groveling. If you would like to grovel in person, you can find me at the Salonius house next Thursday night. I trust your poet friend can get you in.
A curt reply, but altogether not as bad as he’d hoped. She was willing to see him again, which was encouraging. He dashed off a quick note to Catullus to tell him about the party and ask if he could snag an invite for them both.
His plan now seemed to have a reasonable chance of success, which sent a strange flutter of optimism mixed with trepidation through him.
It’s just marriage,he reassured himself as he paced in his study, thinking over what he would say to Crispina the next time he saw her.People get married all the time. I was going to have to marry anyway. Might as well get something out of it.
“Aelius?” His mother opened the door to his study. “Dinner is being served. You must have worked up an appetite with all that pacing.”
He flushed. “I didn’t realize you could hear.”
“Is something bothering you? I hope you’re not still distressed about the election. You did everything you could.”
“It’s not about the election—well, it is, but not the last one. The next one.” He took a deep breath. Now was as good a time as any to tell her what he was planning. “There’s something I wanted to discuss with you, Mama. Er, to tell you.”
She clasped her hands together. “Should I be worried?”
“No. At least, I hope not.” He shifted from foot to foot, trying to feel more like a grown man and less like a boy confessing to stealing figs from their master’s kitchen. “I plan to marry.”
