Page 17 of The Tribune Temptation (Roman Heirs #1)

C rispina crouched in the dirt, gathering wax tablets and stacking them into her basket. The tablets were filled with clumsy letters etched by her students, and each one made her smile. She moved fast, anticipation filling her at the prospect of returning home to a companionable afternoon with Gaia and an evening of pleasure with Aelius.

There was no dinner party tonight, so they would have the night all to themselves. The past month had been full of exploration and learning. They had discovered more pleasure than she thought possible, especially given the boundary she’d established.

Most of her students had already departed after the lesson concluded, but one boy remained, hunched over his tablet. Crispina surveyed him. He wasn’t one of her regulars, and she suspected he had only shown up after hearing rumors of free food. He hadn’t said a word throughout the lesson. He appeared to be about seven years old, with skinny limbs poking out of his threadbare, dirty tunic. He was currently occupied in stabbing his tablet with the stylus over and over again, chipping away at the layer of wax.

Crispina cleared her throat. “May I have that back?”

He glanced up at her with disinterest, then returned his attention to the destruction of the tablet.

“Excuse me.” She adopted the cool, steely tone she used when reprimanding the students. “It’s polite to reply when someone asks you a question. I’m taking this away from you if you’re going to destroy it.” She reached for the tablet.

He jerked it away, but she managed to grab a corner. They engaged in a brief, ignominious tug-of-war. Crispina had to exert all of her strength to yank the tablet away from the child. She stowed it safely in her basket. “And the stylus?” She held out a hand, palm up.

The boy heaved a sullen sigh and placed the stylus into her hand.

“Thank you. Now, where are your parents? Do you live nearby?”

He shrugged.

She reverted to something simpler. “What is your name?”

He lifted his chin. “Quintus Fabius Maximus.”

“That is not your name.” That was the name of the famous general who had faced off against Hannibal a century and a half ago.

He glared at her. “Yes, it is.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I suppose I can call you Quintus.”

He shook his head. “Maximus,” he insisted.

Maximus was a ridiculous name for a seven-year-old. “I’m not calling you that. Will you tell me where you live?” She tried for an encouraging smile. “I can walk you home.”

He toyed with a pebble in the dirt. “Not s’posed to go home.”

Crispina frowned. “What do you mean?”

Another shrug. “Ain’t enough food.”

“Isn’t,” Crispina corrected automatically, but her heart tightened at his words. Someone here would know where the boy lived. She could take him home and speak to his mother, perhaps offer some assistance. “Come with me. We’ll sort this out.”

She reached for his dirty hand, but he shied away, fixing her with a stubborn glower. “Not unless you call me Maximus.”

Crispina let out a tight sigh. She had better things to do than argue with a child about the grandiose name he’d appropriated for himself. “How about Max?” she offered. The abbreviated name sounded slightly less ostentatious.

He considered for a moment, then nodded. She grabbed his hand and led him toward the block of apartments that surrounded the courtyard.

Crispina knocked on door after door, asking those who answered if they knew Max or his parents. Most either shrugged and shut the door in her face, or surveyed her with blank looks and shook their head.

One young woman, a baby at her hip, gave Max a long look. Crispina’s interest piqued, hoping she would have something helpful to say. But the young woman only sighed. “With respect, lady, some children are better off away from home.” She withdrew into her home and shut the door.

Crispina contemplated her words. Maybe the boy had been forced out by his parents, deemed too much of a burden to feed and clothe, or maybe he’d escaped an unhappy home. Perhaps striving to return him to his home would only bring misery down upon him.

She glanced up at the sky. The afternoon had waned, and the sun was dipping toward the horizon, casting long shadows over the courtyard. Crispina needed to get home before dark. Which meant she had to figure out what to do about Max.

“When is the last time you were home?” she asked.

“Couple days.”

“And where have you been staying since then?” Maybe he had found a temple or somewhere to take him in, give him a safe place to sleep.

“Down by the river.”

Decidedly not safe, then. Crispina put her hands on her hips and gazed up at the sky, as if the gods might reveal an answer written in the clouds. If she brought Max home, she would have to tell Aelius how she’d found him. He would insist she stop her lessons. Aelius might be generally tolerant, but there was no way he would think it suitable for a prospective tribune’s wife to be skulking around a slum.

Or, she would have to lie to her husband, spin up some other story about how she came upon Max. And would Aelius even agree to let a strange child stay in his house?

She would face that battle when she came to it. She let out a sigh of resignation. “All right. You’re coming with me.”

He looked up at her with a suspicious frown. “You can’t order me around.”

“Maybe not, but I can offer you good food and a warm bed. Is that inducement enough?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You got any more of those cakes?” He nodded toward her basket.

“The kitchen is full of them.”

Anticipation lit his face, and he allowed her to lead him from the courtyard.