04 Jun Fiona Forsyth Death and The Poet #HistoricalMystery #RomanHistoricalFiction #AncientRome #Ovid #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub @for_fi @cathiedunn

FEATURED AUTHOR: FIONA FORSTH

I‘m delighted to welcome Fiona Forsyth as the featured author in The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour being held between May 22nd – June 12th,  2025. Fiona Forsyth is the author of the Historical Mystery, Death and The Poet (The Publius Ovidius Mysteries), published by Sharpe Books on 20^th March 2025 (361 pages).

Below are highlights of Death and The Poet, Fiona Forsyth’s author bio, and an excerpt from her book.

Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2025/04/blog-tour-death-and-the-poet-by-fiona-forsyth.html

HIGHLIGHTS: DEATH AND THE POET

Death and The Poet
(The Publius Ovidius Mysteries)
by Fiona Forsyth

Blurb:

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.

Triggers: murder, references to slavery, domestic abuse, alcohol, cancer

Buy Link:      

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/brx0WY

This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.

AUTHOR BIO: FIONA FORSTH

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     Twitter     Facebook     Instagram     Bluesky

Book Bub     Amazon Author Page     Goodreads

EXCERPT: DEATH AND THE POET

July 20, or 13 days before the Kalends of August

“You need to come down to the marketplace,” said Bella. She stood in the doorway to his bedroom, a place she never entered except when he was not there. He started to form sleepy objections and she said firmly, “You do. There’s been an accident at the Temple of Rome, and someone’s hurt, but I don’t know who. I need to sort out Astyanax, so give me a call when you’re ready.”

Ovid dressed and hurried into the hall. Bella and Astyanax were already there, Bella trying to get Astyanax headed to The Lyre for his lessons while he insisted that he wanted to see the accident in the marketplace. Fabia came into the hall asking what the fuss was about and got a tangled explanation that ended with Astyanax making an ill-judged attempt to get her on his side.

“Do as you’re told,” Fabia said as soon as she understood and without any further complaint, Astyanax ducked his head and ran off. Bella looked relieved.

“What do you know about what has happened?” Ovid asked Bella as he got tangled in the cloak.

“I went down just now to get the bread,” said Bella. “The Temple is a mess – scaffolding all over the front steps, bits of stone everywhere, looks like one of those slabs has come down. There’s a load of workmen crawling all over and everyone says there’s a body, or someone injured.”

“I don’t see that you must go,” began Fabia to Ovid, but he kissed her and followed Bella out of the front door.

He didn’t usually run anywhere but he had to walk quickly to keep up with Bella and they weren’t the only ones hurrying into the marketplace to join the crowd in front of the temple. The scene was as Bella had described to him, but what he immediately noticed was the figure at the top of the steps – Leocrates, standing and watching as his men lifted up scaffolding poles and broken planks. They made a great fuss over what seemed a small task to Ovid and blocked his view of the group in the temple’s open doorway. Ovid nudged Bella and hissed, “Can you see who it is?”

She wriggled forward, stood on tiptoe and took a long look before saying decisively, “The army doctor is there, and the priest. There’s someone lying on the floor.”

Ovid turned to the crowd in front of him and yelled, “Who is injured?”

Heads turned. People looked at each other and tapped those in front: the question went forwards and the rumble of answers spread back.

“He’s dead”

“He’s nearly dead, you mean.”

“It looks like Sulla the merchant.”

“The doctor’s been working on him for ages.”

“Yes, it’s Sulla.”

Ovid cursed. An accident with the scaffolding he might accept, an accident that injured Sulla was different. He pushed through the crowd.

“I can help!” he yelled as he made his way, hoping this doubtful assertion would work. It did and people made a way for him.

“Rascanius!” he called as he climbed the steps. Leocrates shot him an angry look but Ovid pretended not to see the stonemason as he dropped to his knees on the gritty floor and saw Sulla’s injuries.

“Oh dear gods,” he said.

Rascanius, the army doctor, was busy tying a long piece of wood to Sulla’s bloody left leg. The doctor’s assistant was dabbing at a head wound above one ear, and both men’s hands and arms were streaked with blood. An army stretcher stood propped against the wall.

“Oh, it’s you,” said Rascanius. “Good, I can cover him with your cloak. Help us get him onto the stretcher then to Headquarters.”

Ovid was preparing to stand when Sulla made a grunting noise. They all went still and Ovid saw Sulla’s eyes creep open with a series of jittery flutters. He said soothingly, “You are safe, the doctor is patching you up then we can get you to the infirmary in Headquarters.”

“No.”

It was a whisper but unmistakable.

“No?” Ovid looked at Rascanius. “Has he said anything to you?”

“He’s been unconscious,” said Rascanius. “He probably doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“Not Headquarters,” said Sulla clearly in Latin, then his eyes closed.

Ovid paused and thought.

“Take him to my place,” he said slowly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Rascanius. “It will be much more convenient for me to look after him in Headquarters.”

“Humour me, and I’ll pay you to make visits,” said Ovid. “I know you do make visits, you did for me after all.”

Rascanius shrugged. “Very well, but let’s get him there quickly,” he said. “He has a nasty dent in his head and this leg is badly broken. He needs to be in bed as soon as we can get him there – slowly and carefully, please, although,” and he paused to take a professional long look at his new patient, “we needn’t worry about hurting him further because there isn’t much more that can be done to him. Come on then.”

Ovid realised that he was supposed to help here. He and the assistant carefully lifted Sulla as Rascanius slid the stretcher under him, then with the aid of a couple of volunteers from the crowd, the stretcher was raised and carried down the temple steps. In the sunlight, Ovid saw that Sulla’s limbs were covered in scrapes and bruises, and a fine layer of dust lay over him, smeared with blood by attempts to help. The bandage around his head was already stained, and he left behind a pool of blood where he had been lying.

Bella had started off ahead of them to tell Fabia and make preparations, and the stretcher-party made their way to Ovid’s house slowly, hoping that they would not jolt Sulla into consciousness before they got there. Ovid quietly questioned Rascanius, sticking to Latin.

“What was he doing in the temple?”

“I don’t know – I received the message that there was some sort of accident and when I arrived there he was,” said Rascanius. “I was told it looked as though he’d fallen off the scaffolding when it collapsed and then one of those sheets of marble fell on his leg. The workmen had got him out from under the mess and laid him there in the temple doorway.”

“Who sent for you?” asked Ovid. “There are a couple of civilian doctors in Tomis after all.”

“The priest, Whatsisname. He said that an army doctor would be more familiar with broken bones,” said Rascanius. “Good thinking. And I don’t mind helping out as long as it doesn’t interfere with my duties. Especially as I’ll get paid for it, by you.”

He looked at Ovid. “Are you going to tell me why he isn’t to go to Headquarters then?”

“He’s my friend,” said Ovid. “It makes sense.”

Rascanius gave a “Huh!” and said, “Strange lives we lead here on the edge of Roman rule, eh? When you were in Rome would you ever have counted a merchant like Sulla your friend?”

“If he supplied my wine, maybe,” said Ovid, and knew he was lying.

Twitter: @cathiedunn
Instagram & Threads: @thecoffeepotbookclub
Bluesky: @cathiedunn.bsky.social