Page 1 of The Tribune Temptation (Roman Heirs #1)

T here was a woman in his lap, and Aelius had no idea how she’d gotten there.

It must have happened when he’d closed his eyes to take another gulp of strong wine. Her weight had settled against him, making the stool beneath him creak, and he opened his eyes to meet a flirtatious smile. A pair of kohl-shadowed eyes gazed at him.

The crowded tavern resounded with the noise of men engaged in drinking games, gambling, or general carousing. A few women, colleagues or competitors of the one in his lap, filtered through the throng in search of business.

“Excuse me,” he said, attempting not to slur. “I’m not interested in your services.”

His friend Catullus, on the other side of the rickety tavern table, leaned forward with a grin. “Come on, let her distract you from your troubles. You’ll feel better after, no doubt.”

“I will guarantee it.” The woman cast an appraising glance at Catullus. “I do offer a favorable rate for two at a time.”

Catullus’s eyes lit with interest, and he raised an eyebrow at Aelius hopefully. “That’s a good deal. I’m game if you are.”

“I am not,” Aelius said. Catullus was quite flexible with his amorous exploits and while Aelius was no prude, he drew the line at consorting with his own friend. In any case, he did not engage with prostitutes as a rule. Most of them were slaves, and whatever enthusiasm a skilled practitioner might affect, he refused to lie with a woman who couldn’t say no. He remembered too well the oppressive feeling of living a life that wasn’t truly his own.

He gently pushed at the woman’s shoulder, but she didn’t budge. His irritation sharpened. He could have removed her more forcefully, but he would not shove a woman, even one who had deposited herself in his lap without invitation.

With a sigh, he thrust a hand into the leather purse securely belted at his waist and drew out a bronze coin. “For your trouble.”

She rolled her eyes and snatched it up, finally climbing off him. “Well, I’m here most nights, if you’re ever in a better mood.”

“Thank you,” Aelius muttered, and she swayed over to greet some men at a nearby table.

Cheers exploded from the other side of the tavern as someone won a drinking game. Aelius glowered at the knot of revelers. Such happiness felt miles away after the day he’d had.

His cup was empty, so he reached for the wine jug, but Catullus got there first and moved it out of reach. “I think you’ve had enough. Drowning your sorrows is all well and good, but really, it’s just a minor setback.”

“Minor setback? I lost an election.” The loss still pierced him, as fresh and humiliating as it had been when the magistrates announced the results a few hours ago.

Catullus took a casual swig of wine. “There will be other elections. Besides, no one expected you to win. Frankly, I was shocked anyone voted for you.”

“You really know how to make me feel better.”

“I meant it’s a testament to your charm, and your future potential. For someone like you, to win as many votes as you did? It’s encouraging.” Catullus’s eyes flicked to the mark on the inside of Aelius’s left wrist.

Reflexively, Aelius moved his arm so the brand was no longer visible. He usually wore a thick silver bracelet to hide it, but he’d taken it off before embarking on this drinking excursion to lessen the chances of being mugged. “I don’t know what else I can do. I practiced every speech, I—”

“Listen, you didn’t lose because your speeches weren’t practiced enough. You lost because the people who matter either don’t know who you are or don’t care. Elections aren’t won in the Forum or at the ballot-box. They’re won in dining rooms on the Palatine Hill.”

A hopeless weight pressed down on Aelius’s chest. Perhaps he’d underestimated how competitive the election for tribune of the plebs would be. It was the only political office reserved for men of plebeian rank, meant to curtail the dominion of the patrician class.

More importantly, it was a crucial stepping-stone on the path to Aelius’s true goal: to be Rome’s first freedman consul. Winning the most powerful position in Rome would ensure no one could afford to look down on him or his mother ever again. It would also allow him to enact policies that would benefit the lives of slaves and freedmen like him. He just needed to keep that part of his plans a secret for now, or else be branded a radical without hope of winning a single vote.

But the powers of a consulship were of no consequence if he couldn’t even win a low-level tribune election. “I’m afraid no well-to-do families are inviting me to their dinner parties.”

“But they are inviting me.” Catullus gave him a significant look that Aelius couldn’t decipher. “I have some thoughts that may be of use for your second attempt, but let’s discuss further when you’re sober. I need to get you home before midnight, or else your mother will skin me alive. Though to be fair…” He rose to his feet and tugged Aelius up from his stool. “There’s not much I wouldn’t let your mother do to me.”

Aelius groaned, both from Catullus’s infatuation with his mother and from the way his head spun at the sudden change in position.

Catullus hooked a lanky arm around Aelius’s shoulders and maneuvered him through the tavern to the door. “Are you sure she entertains no callers? A beautiful widow like that shouldn’t be spending her nights alone. I’d expect you to be like Telemachus, fending off his mother’s suitors.”

“Am I supposed to get that reference?” Aelius’s education had been condensed, and the finer points of literature often eluded him. He’d only received four years of tutelage between the ages of fourteen, after being freed from slavery, and eighteen, when he’d joined the army to complete the ten years of military service required to stand for political positions.

Catullus sighed. “The Odyssey, you barbarian.”

They left the tavern and emerged into the cool night air. Catullus kept a steadying arm around Aelius’s shoulders as they traipsed—or stumbled, in Aelius’s case—through the streets.

Aelius felt a rush of gratitude. Despite Catullus’s often inappropriate remarks, he was a good and generous friend. Befriending him had been one of Aelius’s better decisions since leaving the army and pursuing political office. Catullus cast a wide social net, fraternizing with people of all classes to gather material for his popular poetry, and didn’t mind being seen with a freedman.

The journey home was hazy, but soon they were entering the atrium of Aelius’s home on the Esquiline Hill. The atrium contained a small pool to collect rainwater, flanked by columns with square-carved tops. A few decorative items, inherited from his late stepfather, Herminius, adorned the perimeter of the room. A stone pedestal held an antique red-and-black vase depicting a group of prancing satyrs. Near the front of the room, there was a small cluster of portrait heads, each representing an ancestor of the Herminius family.

The newest head showed his stepfather’s countenance. It was a good likeness, but the marble made him look more dour than he had been in life. Herminius, a successful grain merchant, had been quick to smile and always the first to offer someone a kind word. He’d married Aelius’s mother, Gaia, shortly after the two had been freed, and had died of an illness two years ago.

Catullus jabbed him in the ribs. “Try to look just a little bit sober in case we should see—”

A shadow moved, and Aelius’s mother rose from a bench set between columns. She pulled a shawl closer around her slender shoulders and regarded them with an icy stare. “Good evening, boys.”

Catullus straightened up at the sight of her. “Good evening, lady. I have returned your son to you.”

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Aelius said, willing his words to come out crisply.

“You didn’t wake me.” Gaia raised her chin. “It’s rather difficult to sleep when one knows her only son is out carousing, at the mercy of every thief and brigand prowling the streets at night.”

Guilt stabbed at Aelius. He shouldn’t have made her worry. “I’m sorry, Mama. I just needed…” To forget. To escape.

Her gaze softened. “Well, I’m very glad you’ve returned safely.”

“I made sure to look out for him, Gaia.” Catullus stepped forward and took her hand, planting a gallant kiss on it. “I would not have such a lovely brow creased in worry.”

Aelius rolled his eyes, which made him dizzy, but Gaia smiled. “Flatterer.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true, lady. I wish you would let me write a poem to—”

“Clearly we have both had too much to drink.” Aelius attempted to elbow Catullus but missed. “I think it’s time for bed.”

Gaia nodded. “Catullus, you must stay here for the night. You live across town, and it’s dangerous to walk alone at this hour. I will have a room prepared for you.”

“Your beauty is matched only by your generosity, lady.”

She gave him another smile, then beckoned Catullus to follow her to one of the spare bedrooms. Aelius retired to his own room. He collapsed into bed without undressing and stared up at the ceiling. The room spun, and he closed his eyes, which only made it worse.

Now that he was alone, all the unpleasant feelings he’d been trying to escape came flooding back. What if he couldn’t do it? What if his dreams to climb the political ladder and become consul were truly foolish?

A knock sounded at his door. “Aelius?”

His mother’s voice. He struggled into a sitting position, a hand pressed to his forehead as if that could stop the spinning. “Yes?”

The door eased open, and Gaia slipped through. She carried a small clay lamp which cast a glow of flickering light into the darkened room, illuminating the whitewashed walls. “I wanted to see how you were doing. I was worried about you.”

“I’m fine. Catullus kept an eye on me, as you can see.”

She shook her head and came to sit on the edge of his bed, the lamp nestled in her lap. “Not that. I meant I know how upset you were by the election.” She laid a cool hand against his forehead, just like she used to do when he was a child.

Aelius turned his face away. He’d tried to hide his devastation from his mother, but as usual, she saw right through him. “Every politician loses at some point. I’ll run again next year.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? Maybe you should take some time to think about it.”

“You don’t think I can do it?”

“I’m certain you can. But I question if this will make you happy. This constant striving, scheming…Once you attain one position, you will only want the next thing. If it’s money you’re worried about, you know Herminius left us with plenty to live on. We could leave the city and take an estate in the country. Somewhere by the sea, or maybe a little vineyard in the hills. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Would leaving the city make you happy?” Her happiness, after all they had suffered, meant everything to him.

She shrugged. “It would be a lovely place to raise a family.” She gave him a meaningful look. “We have a name now. You can’t let that disappear.”

Her right hand went to her left wrist, covering the brand that matched Aelius’s own. T, for their former master. Aelius usually hated the fact that they were both permanently marked with a relic of their past shame, but there were times when the twin marks were almost comforting. The brands now signified that he and his mother belonged only to each other.

“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.”