Pompeii: City on Fire (Kindle and ePub)

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A city on the brink of disaster. A slave girl with a deadly secret.

Disguised as a young man, Ariella escapes life as a Jewish slave in Rome, only to be sold into a traveling gladiator troupe.
Waiting for her moment to gain fame and then freedom, she keeps her identity secret.
But when she arrives to fight in Pompeii, a Roman politician-turned-winemaker shows too much curiosity, and Ariella must harden her heart against Cato’s interest.
And then there’s Jeremiah, the aged barracks slave who whispers of a new sect of Jews called Christians, who offer a different way of life.
All the while, Vesuvius looms over the city, churning with deadly intent.
It’s getting harder to protect her heart.
Corrupt politics and religious persecution throw Cato and Ariella together, but time is running out.
Pompeii will soon be lost to the world under an onslaught of fiery ash.
Can the two bridge their differences, to save the lives of those they love?

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“Tracy's way of creating an intriguing story and including the TRUTH in the process is a blessing.”

“Higley is one of my favorite authors because of her stories of damaged and vulnerable people discovering the love and power of God in the ancient world.”

“There are some books which leave a lasting impression on the reader. This novel was one such book. For days it lingered in my mind. I saw the volcano, the gladiators, the corruption and I was reminded of the cost the early Christians paid so that we can sit comfortably in pews today.”

“Historical whirlwind of adventure that made me feel as if I was there!! This is a beautifully written book that was written in such a way that I could almost feel the heat and smell the sulfuric poisonous fumes as the characters ran for their lives.”

“The story was told beautifully, the characters were deep, their storylines moving. It's a stunning story of freedom and redemption, one I can't wait to read again.”

“A gripping read, bringing to life the historical city of Pompeii in such a vivid way that I felt like I was watching the scenes play across my mind.”

“Beautifully written and intriguing; I strongly suggest this book to readers who are fans of Historical fiction.”

“Brings you into the everyday world of Pompeii and just as you are settled in, the story begins to build, like that of a mountain, slowly giving away signs that chaos and destruction is on the way… A fantastic book!”

“I think this book makes my top 10 fictional books of all time list, and that is saying a lot because I have read many great books.”

“I highly recommend it for someone looking for an immersive and exciting historical read.”

 

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Enjoy a sample from Pompeii: City on Fire

PROLOGUE

“Tracy's way of creating an intriguing story and including the TRUTH in the process is a blessing.”

“Higley is one of my favorite authors because of her stories of damaged and vulnerable people discovering the love and power of God in the ancient world.”

“There are some books which leave a lasting impression on the reader. This novel was one such book. For days it lingered in my mind. I saw the volcano, the gladiators, the corruption and I was reminded of the cost the early Christians paid so that we can sit comfortably in pews today.”

“Historical whirlwind of adventure that made me feel as if I was there!! This is a beautifully written book that was written in such a way that I could almost feel the heat and smell the sulfuric poisonous fumes as the characters ran for their lives.”

“The story was told beautifully, the characters were deep, their storylines moving. It's a stunning story of freedom and redemption, one I can't wait to read again.”

“A gripping read, bringing to life the historical city of Pompeii in such a vivid way that I felt like I was watching the scenes play across my mind.”

“Beautifully written and intriguing; I strongly suggest this book to readers who are fans of Historical fiction.”

“Brings you into the everyday world of Pompeii and just as you are settled in, the story begins to build, like that of a mountain, slowly giving away signs that chaos and destruction is on the way… A fantastic book!”

“I think this book makes my top 10 fictional books of all time list, and that is saying a lot because I have read many great books.”

“I highly recommend it for someone looking for an immersive and exciting historical read.”

CHAPTER ONE

Rome

Nine years later

Night fell too soon, bringing its dark celebrations to the house of Valerius.

Ariella lingered at the fishpond in the center of the dusky atrium, slipping stale crusts to the hungry scorpion fish one tiny piece at a time. The brown-and-white-striped creature snapped at its prey with precision, the venomous spines along its back bristling.

The fish food ran out. There was no delaying the inevitable.

Let the debauchery begin.

Nine years a slave in this household, nine annual tributes to Dionysius. The Greek god, embraced by the Romans and renamed Bacchus, apparently demanded every sort of drunken vice performed in his honor. And Valerius would not disappoint the god.

Indeed, Valerius flaunted his association with the mystery sect, though its practice was frowned upon by the government and disdained by most citizens.

Ariella inhaled, trying to draw strength from the deadly fish her master kept as a pet. For they were both kept as such, weren’t they? The scorpion fish’s body swayed like a piece of debris, its disguise needless in its solitary enclosure.

Within an hour Valerius’s guests poured into the town house, sloshed up most of the wine she’d placed on low tables in the triclinium, and progressed to partaking of the extract of opium poppies, tended in red-tinged fields beyond the city. The sweet, pungent smoke hung like a smothering wool toga above their heads.

A traveling guild of actors somersaulted into the room, their lewd songs and costumes an affront to decency and a delight to the guests. Ariella lowered her eyes, embarrassment still finding her even after all she had endured, and cleared the toppled cups and soiled plates. She passed Valerius, sprawled on a gold-cushioned couch, and he rubbed a hand over her calf. Her muscles twitched like the flank of a horse irritated by a fly.

Her master’s high-pitched laugh floated above the general noise of the intoxicated. Ariella winced. Valerius performed tonight for his honored guest, another politician from the south somewhere.

“Perhaps we shall make a man of you yet, Maius.” Valerius waved his slender fingers at the larger man. “I shall take you out into the city and declare to all that you are one of us.”

The politician, Maius, reddened.

Ariella leaned over him to refill his cup. Clearly, he was here to humor Valerius but not align himself with the vile man.

When the actors had twirled their final dance and claimed applause, the herd of guests took their revelry to the streets. Valerius dragged Ariella through the door, always his special companion this night. Her breath caught in her throat. It was not the streets she feared. It was what would come after.

Why could she not be strong, like her mother?

The insanity built to a crescendo as they wound their torch-lit way toward the Via Appia, where the procession would climax. The Bacchanalians howled and pushed and tripped, their vacant eyes and laughing mouths like the painted frescoes of her nightmares. Hair disheveled, carrying blazing torches, they danced along the stones, uttered crazed predictions, and contorted their bodies impossibly. Back in Jerusalem, her father would have said they had the demons in them. Here in Rome, Ariella rarely thought of such things.

It was enough to survive.

They passed a cluster of slaves, big men, most of them, herded into a circle amidst a few flaming torches. Strange time of day for a slave auction. Ariella met the eyes of a few, but their shared circumstance did not give them connection.

Snatches of speech reached her. A gladiator troupe. A lanista, the trainer for the troupe, called out numbers, making new purchases. A memory of home flashed, the day she had been sold to Valerius’s household manager. She had thought herself fortunate then, when so many others were sold off to entertain in the arena. Foolish child.

The unruly procession passed the men bound for death and Ariella’s gaze flitted through them. Did they feel the violent shortness of their lives pressing down on them? Before her stretched nothing but endless misery. Was their lot not preferable?

A muscled slave with the yellow hair of the west shifted and she glimpsed a face beyond him. Her blood turned to ice, then fire.

Micah?

She yanked away from Valerius’s sweaty grip. Stood on her toes to peer into the men.

Valerius pulled away from the raucous group, wrapped a thin arm around her waist, and brought his too-red lips to her ear. “Not growing shy after all these years, are we?” His baby-sweet voice sickened her.

She leaned away. Caught another look at the boy.

Turn your head. Look this way!

Valerius tugged her toward the road, but her feet had grown roots. She must be sure.

But then he turned, the boy about to be a gladiator, and she saw that it could not be Micah. He was too young—older than she remembered her brother, but not old enough to be him, though the resemblance was so strong that perhaps he was a distant cousin. In fact, the boy looked more like her than Micah. If she were to cut her hair, she could pass for his twin.

She let Valerius pull her back to the procession, but the moment had shaken her. Memories she had thought dead turned out to be only buried, and their resurrection was a knife-blade of pain.

She sleepwalked through the rest of the procession, until their drunken steps took them to the caves on the Via Appia, dark spots on the grassy mounds along the road where greater abuses could be carried out without reprisals.

Valerius and his guest, Maius, were arguing.

Ariella forced her attention to the men, leaving off thoughts of Micah and home. It did not pay to be ignorant of Valerius’s moods.

“And you would sully the position you’ve been given by your dissolution!” Maius’s upper lip beaded with sweat and he poked a finger into Valerius’s chest.

Valerius swiped at the meaty finger. “At least I am not a coward! Running home to pretend to be something I am not.”

“You think me a coward? Then you are a fool. I know how to hold on to power. Yours will wash away like so much spilled wine.”

Valerius cackled. “Power? Ah yes, you are a mighty man down there in your holiday town by the sea. I daresay you couldn’t put a sword to a thief if he threatened your family!”

Ariella took a step backward. Valerius misjudged Maius, she could see. The man’s eyes held a coldness that only came from cruelty.

Before Valerius could react, Maius had unsheathed a small dagger from his belt. He grabbed for a nearby slave, one of Valerius’s special boys, wrapped a meaty arm around his forehead, and in one quick move sliced the slave’s neck. He let the boy fall. Valerius screeched.

“There.” Maius tossed the dagger at the smaller senator’s feet and glared. “I owe you for one slave. But perhaps now you will keep your pretty mouth shut!”

“What have you done?” Valerius bent to the boy and clutched at his bloody tunic. “Not Julius! Not this one!”

The moon had risen while they marched, and now it shone down on them all, most of the guests taken with their own lustful pursuits and senseless to the drama between the two men. Ariella traced the path of moonlight down to her feet, to the glint of iron in the dirt. Maius’s dagger.

She had not held a weapon for many years. Without thought she bent and retrieved it. Held it to her side, against the loose fabric of her robe.

She could not say when the idea first planted itself in her mind. Perhaps it had been back in the city when she had seen the boy who was not Micah. Perhaps it only sprang to life at this moment. Regardless, she knew what she would do.

She would not return to Valerius’s house. Not participate once more, behind closed doors, in the mystery rites that had stolen her soul. Her nine years of torture had come to an end.

No one called out, no one pursued. She simply slipped away, into the weedy fields along the Via Appia, back to the city, the dagger hidden under her robe. She unwrapped the fabric sash at her waist and wound it around her hair. A few quiet questions and she found the yard where the newly purchased gladiators awaited their assignment. A little flirtation with the loutish guard at the gate, enough to convince him that she was one of the many Roman women obsessed with the fighters, and he let her in with a wicked grin.

She found the boy within moments. His eyes widened as though she were his first opponent. She pulled him to the shadows, to the catcalls of his fellow fighters.

The dagger was steady in her hand and sharp enough to slice through large hanks of hair. The boy watched, wide-eyed, as she disrobed in front of him, modesty ignored.

He was young enough to easily convince.

Within minutes she had donned his leathers and taken his place on the ground with the other fighters. The boy stumbled across the yard, awkward in his new robes and headscarf.

It was done.

Elana would be proud.