Category: Excerpt

Blog Tour: Emperor by Andrew Frediani

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Emperor BLOG TOUR BANNER

As regular followers of What Cathy Read Next will be only too aware by now, I love my historical fiction. One of my favourite time periods for historical fiction novels is Ancient Rome. Throw in a bit of political intrigue and I’m a happy reader. So I’m thrilled to be hosting today’s stop on the blog tour for Emperor, the latest in Andrew Frediani’s Rome’s Invincibles series.

I have a wonderful extract below to give you a taste of this thrilling third instalment in the story of Octavian and his rise to power.

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EmperorAbout the Book

The battle for control of Rome continues. Will Octavian succeed in defeating the dangerous pirate Sextus Pompeius?

Octavian has defeated and killed Caesar’s assassins, but the road to absolute power is still long and treacherous. Threat now comes from Sextus Pompeius – a cunning pirate active along the Italian coasts, who terrorises Perugia’s citizens with his constant attacks. Octavian and his associates don’t have time to celebrate their victory in the final battle in the civil war before another even more bloody threat arises: the one presented by Sextus Pompeius at sea. The long campaign against the pirates proves frustrating, and often sees Octavian close to defeat and even death. Everything seems to conspire against him: his enemy appears to be receiving divine assistance, public opinion is against him, the soldiers lack confidence in their commander, and rebellion is just around the corner…

Format: ebook (398 pp.)                 Publisher: Aria
Published: 1st September 2017     Genre: Historical Fiction

Purchase Links*
Amazon.co.uk ǀ Kobo ǀ iBooks ǀ Google Play
*links provided for convenience, not as part of any affiliate programme

Purchase the previous books in the series from Amazon

Find Emperor on Goodreads

Extract from Emperor by Andrew Frediani

I

It was better not to get too close to the two severed heads that hung from the rostrum in the middle of the Forum.

By now, they were no more than lumps of decomposed, rotten flesh peeling from skulls, the orbs of the eyes empty, the remaining tufts of matted hair plastered to the cranium and the lips stretched out in a grim rictus of death.

A shiver of disgust went through Gaius Cilnius Maecenas as he contemplated the awful things.

He was surprised by the small crowd that had gathered around what was left of Brutus and Cassius, two assassins of Julius Caesar who had been killed at Philippi just over a month ago. It was extraordinary that people continued to go to the forum to watch them rot after they had already been there for a week.

He turned to Octavian. ““Why do you think they are attracted to these two disgusting trophies?” he asked. As he spoke, he felt a throb of pain in his side: it happened every time he spoke since he had been injured in Macedonia – and by a friend, not by the enemy.

“I was just wondering myself whether they come here on a pilgrimage out of some kind of veneration for the murderers of Caesar or whether they do it to express their contempt…” replied Octavian, who was also unwell and still weakened by the disease that had prevented him fighting in the first battle of Philippi. Yet, he had more than made up for that in the second, fighting on the front line despite not yet having fully recovered, but the effort of it had cost him dearly over the following weeks, and he had been taken ill while they were aboard the ship returning to Italy.

“Probably both, I would imagine,” remarked Agrippa, pointing to the heap of rubbish at the base of the Rostra beneath the two heads. “This stench isn’t the smell of decomposition. They come here to throw stuff at them…”

“Especially when they see that there are members of the triumvirate present,” added Salvidienus Quintus Rufus, the fourth member of the brotherhood that the young heir of Caesar had been assembling for the last two years with the aim of avenging his adoptive father and succeeding him in power. Rufus indicated a plebeian who threw a stone at the two heads, then looked round at them for approval. Soon afterwards a woman with a basket of vegetables hanging from her arm copied him, then smiled at the four men who, surrounded by their bodyguards, stood off to one side observing the scene. Not content, she then began to insult what remained of Brutus and Cassius and those nearby hastened to imitate her.

“It’s no coincidence that there are no senators about, then…” commented Maecenas. “These two are martyrs to freedom, as far as many of them are concerned and they would rather not compromise themselves by coming here. Quite apart from the fact that it would be beneath their dignity to shout insults or throw fruit – if there are actually any of them who hated Brutus and Cassius enough to do so, which I doubt.”

“Yes. If any of them have been here, then they’ve done so in disguise – perhaps dressed as commoners,” mused Agrippa. “And certainly not to insult them – to honour them, perhaps…”

“It remains to be seen just how strong this opposition in the Senate actually is. And what measures we will have to take in that regard,” said Rufus, who, as always, went straight to the point.

Maecenas was beginning to find it hard to tolerate the man. Just before the Battle of Philippi, the sect of Mars Ultor, which Octavian led with their assistance, had been on the verge of falling apart: rivalries, suspicions, failures and murders had compromised the mission that was the reason for the group’s very existence. And then at Philippi things had gone well, mainly, it had to be admitted – in private, at least – thanks to Mark Antony, the unwitting ally of the sect who had led Caesar’s armies to victory. It was thanks to that success that Octavian had been able to consolidate the group and resume his role as triumvir. There was still much to do, both in order to build the society that he and the other members of the sect desired and to finish avenging Julius Caesar and the other fallen members of his family.

Frediani_Andrew_400pxhAbout the Author

Andrew (Andrea) Frediani is an Italian author and academic. He has published several non-fiction books as well as historical novels including the INVINCIBLE series and the DICTATOR trilogy. His works have been translated into five languages.

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Blog Tour: Find Me by J.S. Monroe

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Find Me blog tour banner

I’m delighted to be co-hosting today’s stop on the blog tour for Find Me, a tense, suspenseful thriller by J. S. Monroe. You can read an extract from Find Me below.

Plus there’s a chance to win your own copy of Find Me (UK & ROI only). You can enter here.  Entries close on 17th September 2017.

FindMeAbout the Book

Five years ago, Rosa walked to the pier in the dead of night, looked into the swirling water, and jumped. She was a brilliant young Cambridge student who had just lost her father. Her death was tragic, but not unexpected.

Was that what really happened? The coroner says it was suicide. But Rosa’s boyfriend, Jar, can’t let go. He sees Rosa everywhere – a face on the train, a figure on the cliff. He is obsessed with proving that she is still alive.

And then he gets an email. Find me, Jar. Find me, before they do…

 

Format: Paperback (400 pp.)        Publisher: Head of Zeus
Published: 7th September 2017    Genre: Thriller

Purchase Links*
Amazon.co.uk ǀ Amazon.com
*links provided for convenience, not as part of any affiliate programme

 

Find Find Me on Goodreads

Extract: Find Me by J S Monroe

After the pub we went for a meal, even though I wasn’t hungry. I don’t know where it was, some place down by the river. I was still pretty drunk – until it was time to pay.

And that’s when I met him. Why now, with so little time left? Why not in my first term?

He was making his way around the table, taking payment from each of us. One bill, split fourteen ways, can you believe it? But this guy never complained, not even when he came round to me and my card didn’t work.

‘The machine’s acting up,’ he said, so quietly I could hardly hear him. ‘We’re out of range. Best you come up to the till now.’

‘Sorry?’ I said, looking up at him. I’m not short, but this guy was tall, a big bear of a man with a clean-shaven chin and a soft Irish brogue.

He leant down, checking that no one else could hear. His breath was warm and he smelt clean. Sandalwood, maybe.

‘So we need to try your card again, nearer the till.’

There was something about the look he gave me, an avuncular, reassuring smile, that made me get up from the table and follow him over to the till. And I liked his big tidy hands, a discreet ring on his thumb. But he wasn’t my type at all. The wide sweep of his jawline came together too sharply at the chin and his mouth was pinched.

It was only when we were out of earshot that he turned to me and said in a louder voice that my card had been rejected.

‘I’ve been advised to take the card from you and cut it up.’ He grinned. His big face brightened and gained better proportions when he did that: the chin softened and his cheekbones rose up.

‘What do we do?’ I asked, pleased that we seemed to be in this together. I’ve been broke since the day I arrived.

He looked down at me, realising for the first time, I think, quite how drunk I was. And then he glanced across at the table.

‘The cast?’ he said.
‘How did you guess?’
‘No tips.’
‘Maybe they’ll leave one in cash,’ I said, suddenly defensive of my new friends.
‘That would be a first.’
‘You’re not an actor yourself then,’ I said.
‘No. I’m not an act-or.’

He made me feel embarrassed by the word, rhyming the second syllable with ‘roar’.

‘So what do you do when you’re not being rude about my friends?’ I asked.
‘I’m a student.’
‘Here? At Cambridge?’
 It was a stupid, patronising question and he spared me an answer. ‘I write a bit, too.’

‘Great.’ But I wasn’t listening. My mind was already wandering back to my contribution to the bill and the fact that I had no means of paying. I don’t want any of the cast to know I’m penniless, even if it goes with the profession. And I can’t tell them that my financial worries – all my worries – will soon be over. I can’t tell anyone.

‘There’s enough money in the tip box, from other diners, for me to cover it,’ he said.

For a moment I was lost for words. ‘And why would you want to do that?’

‘Because I think it’s the first time you’ve hung out with these people and you’re trying to impress them. Not being able to pay might cost you the part. And I’m already looking forward to coming to watch. Ibsen’s all right, you know.’

We looked at each other in silence. He caught me by the elbow as I swayed too much. I was starting to feel very sick.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

‘Can you take me home?’ The tone of my voice – slurred, pleading – sounded all wrong, as if I was listening to some- one else talking.

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J S Monroe_author pic_credit Hilary StockAbout the Author

Jon Stock, now writing as J.S. Monroe, read English at Cambridge University, worked as a freelance journalist in London and was a regular contributor to BBC Radio 4. He was also a foreign correspondent in Delhi for the Daily Telegraph and was on its staff in London as Weekend editor. He left Telegraph in 2010 to finish writing his acclaimed Daniel Marchant spy trilogy and returned in 2013 to oversee the paper’s digital books channel. He became a fulltime author in 2015, writing as J.S. Monroe.

His first novel, The Riot Act, was shortlisted by the Crime Writers’ Association for its best first novel award. The film rights for Dead Spy Running, his third novel, were bought by Warner Bros, who hired Oscar-winner Stephen Gaghan (Traffic, Syriana) to write the screenplay. It is currently in development.

He is the author of five novels and lives in Wiltshire, England, with his wife, a photographer, and their three children.

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