Page 9 of The Tribune Temptation (Roman Heirs #1)

I n the days after the wedding, Crispina spent most of her time with Gaia. Aelius was rarely at home, so they only saw each other in the evenings. Crispina set up a little library in one of the spare bedrooms. She commissioned a carpenter to install shelves and purchased more scrolls to fill them with, everything from a treatise on new architecture styles to a history of Alexander’s foray into India. She’d even managed to find some writings from Judaea, though her Aramaic was rusty. Gaia made no complaint when Crispina spent the whole day sequestered in her library reading.

Crispina aimed to resume her visits to her students on the Aventine as quickly as possible, but didn’t want to push her luck too soon. She waited a week, then tried to feel out how accommodating Gaia would be of any ventures outside the house. “I plan to visit my friend Horatia tomorrow,” she said one day at lunch.

Gaia glanced up from her food. “How nice. Was she at the wedding?”

Crispina shook her head. “Her husband was, but she was close to giving birth. Her husband sent a message yesterday to say the child had come.” That much, at least, was true, and Crispina did plan to pay a visit to Horatia. She and Decius had been blessed with another healthy son.

“Well, I’m sure she’ll appreciate your visit.”

“She lives quite close, so I plan to walk there.” Crispina watched Gaia’s face, curious if she would insist she take an escort.

Gaia shrugged. “Exercise is most beneficial, as long as the weather is nice.”

Crispina’s heart leaped. Freedom, at last .

She spent the rest of the day preparing the items she would need to take to her pupils: a basket of wax tablets and styluses for writing, a few basic scrolls for the children to practice reading, some food for the children and their families, and her disguise, the garb of a priestess. Or at least garb that looked enough like a priestess no one would bother her. There were so many tiny cults in the city, each with its own ministry, that it was easy enough to impersonate a nondescript priestess without raising anyone’s suspicions.

The next morning, she gathered up her basket and left the house. No one stopped her or insisted she take an escort. A broad smile spread across her face as she emerged into the sunlit street. She took a deep breath, savoring her freedom—only to regret it as the stench of horse droppings hit her nose.

Crispina headed down the street and ducked into an alley a few houses over. There, she retrieved a long, shapeless gown of undyed linen from her basket and pulled it over her head. It fell to her ankles, covering her dress beneath. She twisted off her wedding ring and hung it on a cord around her neck, tucked out of sight beneath the gown. Then, she removed her green palla and replaced it with a long veil of the same undyed linen fabric as the tunic. She pinned and tucked it in a way that covered all of her hair, and pulled it around her face and shoulders like a cloak. Priestesses were notoriously modest, so the more fabric covering her, the better.

Once disguised, she resumed walking, head bowed in an affectation of religious humility. Aelius lived in a different neighborhood than her parents or Memmius, so she had less distance to travel to the block on the Aventine where she conducted her lessons. Would the children even remember her? Would they blame her for her months-long absence?

The buildings changed as she crossed into the neighborhood where her students lived, becoming darker, dirtier, some with smoke-damaged walls and terraces precariously supported on decaying beams. She passed the blackened hull of a burned-out apartment building. Fire was all too common in these crowded areas. The smell of dung and rotting fish wafted over her. The Aventine bordered the river, where all sorts of refuse was dumped, and the stench was always stifling.

She ducked into the courtyard of the apartment building where she usually taught. Her gaze flicked around. It was just as she remembered: dingy and in disrepair. A lone slave swept leaves from one corner of the courtyard with listless strokes of a broom.

A movement beneath a rickety-looking table caught her attention. She squinted into the shadows, and then smiled as a boy of eight with dirt-smudged cheeks crawled out. “Hello, Silus.”

He chewed on his fingernail, surveying her with an appraising gaze. “Did you bring anything to eat?”

She proffered her basket, piled high with figs, sweet cakes, and rounds of cheese, the best Gaia’s kitchen could spare. “I always do, don’t I?”

His eyes lit up. “She’s back!” he shouted.

A moment later, five more children materialized from doors, behind stacks of barrels, and hurtled down the stairs that led to the second level of the apartment complex. “Careful!” Crispina warned as one tall boy vaulted down the last few stairs and skidded to a halt in front of her.

Twelve grasping hands extended toward her. Crispina dutifully handed out the goods in her basket. “Remember, save some to share with your families.”

The tall boy, Sextus, shoved a little girl aside to push to the front of the crowd and tried to reach into her basket to grab a handful of figs. Crispina jerked the basket out of his way and fixed him with a sharp look. “Apologize to your sister.”

It had taken a while to master the withering glare and icy tone necessary to discipline these children, but she hadn’t lost her touch. Sextus quailed and mumbled an apology to his little sister.

“Junia, do you accept his apology?” Crispina asked the girl.

She glared at her brother and tipped her chin up, as if debating withholding acceptance, but nodded. Crispina gave them each a handful of figs.

Crispina glanced over the children. She usually had seven regulars. Some other children would filter in and out each week. “Silus, where is your sister?” At fourteen, Silus’s sister Marcia was one of the older members of their little school.

“Married,” Silus said through a mouthful of cheese.

Crispina winced. “I see.” She had been hoping to have more time. Marcia had only just memorized the alphabet and begun to read simple words. Crispina knew that unlike the boys, a girl’s future only extended to being a wife and mother, but she had hoped if Marcia received a solid education, she could in turn teach her own children. “Well, please give her my best wishes the next time you see her.”

“Won’t see her,” Silus said, stuffing another piece of cheese into his mouth. “Went to live in Ostia.”

“I see,” Crispina murmured again. Marriage on its own was trying enough for a young woman, and to leave behind everything one knew for a new city with a strange husband must be devastating. If Marcia had been better schooled in reading and writing, she could have sent letters to her family. But now, she would be almost completely isolated. Crispina hoped Marcia would find happiness with her new husband, but this development only further strengthened her belief in this mission.

Crispina set aside her worries about Marcia and focused on her current pupils. She passed out the wax tablets and styluses and quizzed the children on their letters. Most of them had forgotten much of what they’d learned in Crispina’s absence, which galled her. Sextus confused P and D, and Junia kept writing her M’s with an extra peak. Hopefully, marriage to Aelius would allow Crispina to resume a more regular schedule.

When the children started to lose focus, Crispina allowed them to draw whatever they wished on their tablets, and when that exercise had run its course, she packed everything up, distributed the remaining food, and bid them goodbye with a promise to be back next week.

She walked to Horatia’s house with a bounce in her step. She always felt rejuvenated after one of her lessons. It coupled the thrill of doing something wrong and slightly dangerous with the certainty she was improving the lives of these children. They had been born into poverty, but if they learned reading, writing, and basic math, they could achieve a future that contained more than manual labor. Maybe one day, one of her pupils could even run for political office like Aelius. They already had a leg up, as they’d been born free.

In an alley near Horatia’s house, she paused to strip off her priestess garb and put her wedding ring back on. Horatia knew of her exploits, but Decius didn’t, and she didn’t want to cause any gossip that might get back to Aelius. For all his talk of offering her freedom, there was no way he’d look past his wife holding lessons in a slum. Her Aventine venture had to remain a secret, as it always had been.

Once restored to her normal appearance, she knocked on Horatia’s door. A slave let her in and escorted her to the atrium, where Horatia reclined on a couch in the sunlight, a tiny baby asleep in her arms.

Horatia shot her a glowing smile and held a finger to her lips. “He’s just fallen asleep.”

Crispina sat on the couch next to her and peered at the baby’s face. The sight of the newborn stirred a tense feeling of jealousy inside her—not of the child himself, but that Horatia was so easily able to do what Crispina couldn’t. She pushed the feeling aside, determined to be happy for her friend. “He’s very precious. Do you have a name picked out?”

Horatia nodded. “But of course I can’t tell you until the ceremony in a few days.” Newborn boys were officially named on the ninth day after their birth. “Do you want to hold him?”

“No, thank you. I won’t risk disturbing him.” Being around Horatia’s older son, especially in infancy, had made her question if she actually wanted a child or just wanted to prove that she could have one. The constant shrieking and squalling set her teeth on edge, and she had never found babies to be as adorable as their mothers seemed to. Even now, gazing at the infant clasped in Horatia’s arms, she felt no urge to hold one of her own.

“Now tell me everything,” Horatia said. “How is married life?”

Crispina shrugged. “Pleasant enough so far. I was able to go visit the children today. I just came from there, in fact. Marcia got married and went to live in Ostia.”

Horatia frowned. At first, Crispina thought she was frowning at Marcia’s fate until her next words. “Are you sure it’s wise to keep up with that?”

“This was the whole reason I married Aelius in the first place,” Crispina said. “I wanted freedom to resume my lessons. Which used to be our lessons.” Until Horatia had gotten pregnant for the first time, teaching the children had been their joint secret. But once Horatia became a mother, her passion had faded.

“I suppose it would be different if you had children of your own to look after. What if Aelius finds out? A politician’s wife can’t be grubbing about in a slum. It could embarrass him.”

“I don’t intend for him to find out.” Irritation sharpened her voice. It was true, Crispina had more time on her hands without children to look after, but even if she was blessed with a child, she would never abandon her students.

“He might divorce you if he does find out.”

“We agreed not to separate until after the election at the earliest. A divorce for any reason would draw too much attention.”

“How romantic,” Horatia muttered.

“This marriage is not about romance,” Crispina snapped. “Not all of us have the luxury of a fawning husband who grants every whim.”

Horatia narrowed her eyes. “I suppose I can’t blame you for being jealous.”

Crispina bit her lip on another sharp remark. She didn’t want to quarrel with her best friend, especially not days after Horatia had given birth. Her problems weren’t Horatia’s fault, so she forced a neutral expression and changed the subject to ask about the arrangements for the baby’s naming ceremony.