Excerpt: Death and The Poet (The Publius Ovidius Mysteries #2) by Fiona Forsyth
- Archaeolibrarian
- 1 day ago
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Book details:
Book Title: Death and The Poet
Series: The Publius Ovidius Mysteries
Author: Fiona Forsyth
Publication Date: 20th March 2025
Publisher: Sharpe Books
Pages: 361
Any Triggers: murder, references to slavery, domestic abuse, alcohol, cancer
@fionaforsythauthor @cathie.dunn1 @thecoffeepotbookclub
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14 AD.
When Dokimos the vegetable seller is found bludgeoned to death in the Black Sea town of Tomis, it’s the most exciting thing to have happened in the region for years. Now reluctantly settled into life in exile, the disgraced Roman poet Ovid helps his friend Avitius to investigate the crime, with the evidence pointing straight at a cuckolded neighbour.
But Ovid is also on edge, waiting for the most momentous death of all. Augustus, the first Emperor of Rome, is nearing his end, and the future of the whole Roman world is uncertain.
Even as far away as Tomis, this political shadow creates tension as the pompous Roman legate Flaccus thinks more of his career than solving a local murder.
Avitius and Ovid become convinced that an injustice has been done in the case of the murdered vegetable seller. But Flaccus continues to turn a deaf ear.
When Ovid’s wife, Fabia, arrives unexpectedly, carrying a cryptic message from the Empress Livia, the poet becomes distracted - and another crime is committed.
Ovid hopes for a return to Rome - only to discover that he is under threat from an enemy much closer to home.
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The first murder
June 11, or three days before the Ides
Tomis on the Black Sea
“Urgh,” said Ovid. “That’s a lot of blood.”
“Blood happens,” said Avitius. “Especially with head wounds. This man took some time to die.”
“Really? How do you know?” asked Ovid.
“Even love poets like you must know that people stop bleeding when they die,” said Avitius patiently.
“I don’t have your experience,” said Ovid. “I might have to go back and rewrite several bits of the Metamorphoses now I know that.”
The man lying at their feet looked as though he wanted to complain about their lack of attention to him, outrage in his open mouth and out-flung hands. His eyes were almost closed and the disconcerting hint of watchfulness was enough to make Ovid fumble for a couple of coins to weigh the eyelids down. Carefully he placed each coin and with the closing of the eyes something about the dead man finally fled. Now only the pool of blood under his head could speak for him, and Ovid saved that picture in the space in his mind labelled “Might be good for a poem”. He knew better than to tell this to Avitius.
“You say he took time to die,” he said. “Which sounds horrible. Is it likely that he was conscious?”
“No,” said Avitius kindly.
“What’s the poor man’s name again?”
“Dokimos,” said Avitius. He pointed at the dead man’s face. “Looks as though he broke his nose as well.”
“The gods did not intend noses to face off to one side,” said Ovid. “I hope his spirit doesn’t walk. A broken nose isn’t going to suit any ghost.”
“That is not funny,” said Avitius.
He straightened up and looked around. “I’d guess that the neighbouring stallholder is dying to talk to us. Keep quiet and look as though you are my clerk or something.”
Ovid wrapped his cloak around him as they walked the few paces to the pastry stall. Today might be sunny but he had spent most of the last winter and spring enduring a painful cough that sent sharp pains across his chest, and he was convinced he was still suffering. He comforted himself with the thought that it would probably be unpleasantly hot in Rome, and smelly too.
“Now,” he thought, “how does one look like a clerk?”
It was sweet to his ears when the man on the stall addressed him first.
“You’re Ovid the poet aren’t you? I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“All good, no doubt,” said Ovid, smirking at Avitius. Clerk, ha!
“Heard some of your work recited once at a festival,” said the stallholder. “All about the lad who stole the Sun-God’s chariot. Nice.”
Ovid warmed even more to him.
“That’s kind of you,” he beamed.
The man nodded. “Shame about you being here in exile and all that,” he said conversationally. “How’s that going for you? Still no sign of getting back home?”
“No, not really,” said Ovid. “The Emperor still hates me.”
As ever, saying this with anything like a light tone took some effort. Five years on from his humiliating exile at the hands of the Emperor Augustus himself, Ovid found it as bewildering and unfair as that first evening when he had sat stunned while his wife and household wept and packed around him. He was practised at moving the conversation on though.
Fiona studied Classics at Oxford before teaching it for 25 years. A family move to Qatar gave her the opportunity to write about ancient Rome, and she is now back in the UK, working on her seventh novel.
Author Links:
Website: https://substack.com/@fionaforsyth1
Twitter: https://x.com/for_fi
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.co.uk/stores/Fiona-Forsyth/author/B001KI2DEC
Tour hosted by: The Coffee Pot Book Club
Thank you for hosting Fiona Forsyth today, with an intriguing excerpt from her new murder mystery, Death and The Poet.
Take care,
Cathie xx
The Coffee Pot Book Club
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