Empress of Pompeii

By Lorraine Blundell

68 AD. A madman rules Rome’s empire while its empress, born in Pompeii, tries desperately to restrain him as he plummets out of control. This is her story. A woman of strength and character, her personality is complex. Endearing and generous, she could also be cruel and calculating.

In Pompeii, vicious gladiatorial riots explode. A serial poisoner is at work in the shadows, as Rome burns and Christians are used as flaming human torches to light the palace gardens.

‘Empress of Pompeii’ reveals a rich tapestry of life, from the splendour of Rome’s royal palace and Nero’s golden house to Pompeii’s sordid, murderous laneways, the extravagant villas of the wealthy and the eruption of Vesuvius.

Nero rules Rome in a time of fear and turmoil. Desperately, the empress, Poppaea, attempts to protect Pompeii and save her young son’s life. Nero’s praetorian prefect, Tigellinus, cradles her head in his arms as she lies dying in a pool of blood on the marble palace floor, murdered by Nero in a fit of rage. After her death he orders the murder of her son and the boy’s life hangs in the balance. He was later found dead. Or was he? Does the answer lie in Pompeii?

2022 Edition

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Feb 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665596688

Lorraine Blundell

Lorraine Blundell (Parsons) was born in Brisbane, Australia. She lives in Melbourne and has a daughter, Jenni, and a son, Steve. Lorraine graduated from the University of Queensland with a Bachelor of Arts Degree majoring in English and History. She holds a teaching qualification in Drama from Trinity College, London. She trained as a classical singer at the Queensland State Conservatorium of Music, Brisbane. Spanning that period she sang professionally on television as a solo vocalist, regularly performing on channels BTQ7 and QTQ9 Brisbane as well as nationally on HSV7 Melbourne. Lorraine is an experienced performer in amateur musical theatre productions. Her interests are singing, ancient history and archaeology.

Book preview

© 2022 Lorraine Blundell. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  02/18/2022

ISBN: 978-1-6655-9669-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-9668-8 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

For Jenni and Steve

With Thanks

Professor Miles Prince

Dr. Harold Cashmore

Michelle Schmidt

CONTENTS

Characters

Author’s Note

PART I

Chapter 1     Pompeii

Chapter 2     Rome

Chapter 3     The Palatine Hill

Chapter 4     Pompeii

Chapter 5     The Forum

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11   Rome

Chapter 12   Pompeii

Chapter 13   Rome

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

PART II

Chapter 19   Baiae

Chapter 20   Rome

Chapter 21   Rome

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24   Baiae

Chapter 25   Rome

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30   Naples

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

PART III

Chapter 34   Rome

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38   Pompeii

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

PART IV

Chapter 44   Rome

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47   Pompeii

Chapter 48

Chapter 49   Rome

Chapter 50

PART V

Chapter 51   Pompeii

A Glimpse Into The Future

Historical Notes

The Author

CHARACTERS

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AUTHOR’S NOTE

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To avoid confusion the novel’s main character is referred to as Poppy. Her historical name was Poppaea Sabina (the Younger).

Her mother was Poppaea Sabina (the Elder).

MAP

POMPEII

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PLAN

VILLA DEI MISTERI

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PART I

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What an artist dies in me

Nero

9 June 68 AD

1

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POMPEII

64 AD

The Villa of Oplontis

The fringe of Pompeii

T hey called her a goddess.

Poppy found it amazing how much human beauty could affect ordinary people. She’d heard the whispers and gasps as she was carried through the crowds in Rome whilst reclining with the curtains open.

But she was no goddess just an ordinary woman who’d made her share of mistakes, some unforgivable and she knew it. Most could never be rectified, but she hoped that those good deeds she had done would surely count for something.

How she loved this villa!

Had time really gone so fast?

On arrival she’d opened all of the doors and windows to let the sunshine and fresh air pour in then sat alone with a cup of wine looking out at the garden, so gracious and with a beauty she could never match. The breeze blew golden leaves inside and they scattered onto the marble floors where they lay motionless in desolation.

There were so many memories here. This was the place where she’d found peace.

Perhaps, in a world as yet unknown to her she would find forgiveness for all she’d done that had been selfish and cruel.

Intuition told her that she would never return and tears welled in her eyes. This had been her sanctuary where she could be herself, unjudged and accepted for who she truly was. There were few who’d really known her, perhaps only her mother and Farzana. What a wonderful friend she had been.

A smile briefly brightened her face at the memories.

She took no note as to how long she’d sat thinking, but when it was time to go, she knew and simply closed the door gently behind her as she made her way back to her waiting carriage.

Poppy did not look back.

2

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ROME

The Tullianum Prison

Adjacent to the Forum

T he gaoler snarled at Locusta as her eyes blazed at him with hatred. ‘Don’t stare at me like that you witch!’

She sat on the dirt floor studying him as he lounged against one of the side walls. Her eyes never left his face which he found somewhat disconcerting.

The roar of water flowing in the sewer beneath the prison could clearly be heard. It had carried many corpses away from this place of death after execution.

‘You’ll die from the damp and cold here before long,’ Locusta told him in a nonchalant tone of voice. ‘Of course, I could always poison you first!’

She gave a laugh which was more of a cackle.

‘You stay away from me,’ he ordered, a fleeting look of fear crossing his face. ‘You old hag!’

Locusta was not young but although dressed in tatters and her face streaked with dirt, she was still far from being an old hag. In truth, though, she was becoming bored with her incarceration in the prison this time.

What was Nero doing? She should have been out of here by now. She thought back to the rather large favour she’d done for him, one that could eventually make him the most powerful ruler ever.

Locusta had smiled to herself when she found out that she’d been successful. Unfortunately, she’d been severely beaten earlier when her first attempt to poison Britannicus had failed. She’d cowered in one corner of the palace cell as the two guards approached her later.

‘What have I done?’ she asked gaping at them fearfully.

‘It’s what you haven’t done,’ the older guard growled at her. ‘You were given a task and you’ve failed now you’ll pay the price.’

They took their time slapping her hard and shoving her against the wall. It was obvious that it was not their intention to injure her but rather to leave her scared and bruised.

‘The poison didn’t work. Make sure the next time it does!’ They slammed the cell door behind them and she was left to devise another method of killing the man that Nero, or more correctly, Agrippina wanted dead.

Finally, the next night, she succeeded.

She looked down at her arm where yellowing from the bruising still showed. She’d wanted her reward including release from the cell. Instead, she had been arrested and taken to the Tullianum prison for the sake of appearances and questioned about what she might know.

No one could prove poison or anything else had caused the death of Britannicus, which was declared to have been an act of nature.

It took several days before Locusta was finally freed when a royal order arrived from the palace.

‘Your turn will come,’ she warned the gaoler spitefully as she sauntered out through the door, ‘but you won’t know when.’

His sleep was restless for many nights.

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Locusta came from a village in southern Gaul, the daughter of the village chief. She hid on the bank of the river, peeking out from the trees beside the stream during a raid by Roman soldiers as their horses swept into the main street in a cloud of dust. They slaughtered all but the young and fit who were then bound together ready for the long, wearying walk to Rome. Her father and mother lay dead where they’d fallen.

Blood slowly seeped around her father’s body like a disarrayed crimson cloak.

Eventually, she made her way along the road to Rome keeping out of sight as much as possible. When she arrived she was tired and thirsty.

Locusta was a quick learner and soon realised that the only way she could keep herself alive was by using the knowledge that she’d learned from her mother about poisons. She’d practised from the time she was a young child and many small animals were found dead on the riverbank as a result of her experiments. She knew all about the tall, purple spotted hemlock plant that grew at the river’s edge. And many others.

Once in Rome her prospects increased and she allowed herself to dream of a better future. Little by little her reputation grew and her victims became those of more importance.

There was an unspoken agreement once she reached the heady heights of working for royalty that she would be charged as a criminal as the law required, but then pardoned and released almost immediately.

As far as Locusta was concerned it was a wonderful arrangement that suited everyone. It was also an acceptable agreement for those who used her services as long as she kept her mouth shut and stayed out of sight.

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The Royal Palace

Earlier

Young Britannicus, son of the Emperor Claudius, had attended a dinner at the palace in the company of other guests. He was still more a boy than a man but as the emperor’s son was treated with the respect due to him.

It was a pleasant occasion. At least, to start with. Wine flowed freely and extravagant dishes followed one after the other from the kitchens. Exclamations of delight met the arrival of platters of peacocks’ tongues.

The scene was one of beauty and frivolity.

The light from many candles dazzled on expensive golden bracelets and necklaces highlighting the many colours worn by the women who had been invited, and their soft laughter flowed lightly throughout the room.

The windows looked out upon extravagant gardens with tiny paths that wound throughout and there were hidden recesses with stone benches on which to sit for quiet reflection. Fountains flowed with crystal clear water that splashed and played by night and day, and guards continued on their never-ending patrols to keep those safe who’d earned the privilege of being present on this evening.

The perfume of jasmine and roses flowed seductively through the windows easing the warmth of the night and guests began to relax in an environment that seemed close to perfection. Conversations became animated.

Nero and his step brother Britannicus sat discussing where they’d spend the remainder of the summer, hopefully, away from Rome.

‘Tivoli would be ideal,’ Nero suggested. ‘Plenty of lovely villas and willing girls with young bodies to enjoy.’

‘What about the bay of Napoli?’ Britannicus giggled, ‘or of course there’s always Baiae. We could play dice or cards at the tavern too.’

A few seconds later, however, Britannicus found himself gasping for breath. Without warning he fell down apparently having suffered a convulsion and couldn’t speak. Within minutes he was dead. He certainly wasn’t going anywhere.

Sheer panic followed and it was all that Nero could do to ensure that he wore a suitably horrified expression on his face as attempts were made to revive Britannicus. His wine taster had not suffered the same fate, so it was assumed that the death was due to a sudden health condition.

Perhaps he’d just simply stopped breathing.

Did anyone think of also testing the water that had been added later to cool his hot wine? No.

It contained the deadly poison hemlock.

Claudius had to be carried back to his rooms so distressed that he was unable to speak. His head lolled to one side and drool came from his mouth. His son was dead and he was inconsolable.

Nero and his mother, Agrippina, both fully understood the importance of this change in their circumstances. He’d just moved one important step closer to becoming Emperor of Rome.

Agrippina was absolutely exultant. Returning to her rooms after the death of Britannicus she stood gazing out of the window at the night sky, visions of power running through her mind. She’d deal with Claudius very soon and then nothing would stand in her way.

As for Nero, he’d do as he was told.

She would be the power behind the throne. She sat considering any possible problems that could cross her path to success. The only one might be Seneca. He was too smart for his own good and as Nero’s tutor, held a great deal of power and influence over him.

For a brief moment it crossed her mind that she could probably get rid of him as well, but perhaps that was a step too far just yet. Seneca wielded great influence in Rome’s senate. It wouldn’t do to cause problems with the senators right now.

She must be patient. She’d wait. She’d prepare Nero to charm the senate into believing him to be exactly the right emperor to follow Claudius.

Agrippina had always found a way to get what she wanted. She had enough wealth to bribe anyone and was a formidable woman. Few dared to cross her for fear of endangering their lives.

The future was certainly looking promising.

3

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THE PALATINE HILL

A n ancient, derelict hovel hugged the slopes of the Palatine Hill. It was tiny and so hidden by the overgrowth surrounding it, that an interloper could come upon it before becoming aware of its existence. The woman inside sat engrossed in a task in which she was obviously experienced. The beginning of a humpback was evidence enough that her youth was behind her. She was tall and thin and her matted hair streaked with grey hung down past her shoulders.

As she worked, Locusta muttered to herself.

Her head jerked upwards as she heard a footfall outside the door, and she shrank back against the wall. A woman covered in black, her face hidden by a hood, entered and gazed around her.

‘I’m told your name is Locusta,’ she uttered softly.

‘Who wants to know?’

‘My name is Poppaea.’

‘Ah! Let me look at you.’ Locusta moved forward more quickly than her visitor would have imagined her capable. With a jerk she pulled away Poppaea’s hood. ‘Yes, you’re as beautiful as they say you are,’ she said thoughtfully as she gazed at her visitor. ‘I’m not surprised to see you,’ she continued, her voice low and raspy. ‘You’re in a bit of trouble, aren’t you!’

Surprised by the woman’s words, Poppaea looked around her. The hut was circular with lit candles ringing most of the interior. Nonetheless, it was dim inside. There was a simple, earthen floor. Poppaea’s gaze was drawn towards the plants that were massed haphazardly on a couple of benchtops and on the counter where Locusta had been working with a pestle and mortarium. The hovel had a stink all its own although it stood hidden very close to the luxury palaces of the emperor and the ultra-wealthy of Rome.

‘There is nowhere else to turn,’ Poppaea told the poisoner. ‘Others have caused my downfall. Now, to save my daughter’s reputation I must take the honourable way out if the scandal continues.’

The older woman sighed. ‘Always that seems to be the case. Honour! What is it really worth?’ She paused as she studied Poppaea. ‘So, you’ve come to me seeking a poison that will give you a quick death?’

‘Yes. Unless things change it may become necessary.’ It occurred to her that this old woman would be unlikely to know the meaning of the word honour.

‘You’re not the first, nor will you be the last,’ Locusta whispered. ‘A wealthy woman whose name I dare not utter has just been here seeking the future death of her husband. It is too soon for her to act yet but when the time comes, I will do as she asks and in return, she’ll have no choice but to pay me exactly what I demand. What is the worth of a human life do you think?’

She gave a ghastly smile. ‘I tell you only because you are powerless as you seek nothing more from life. Already, your spirit begins to fade.

Do you know there are many flowers so beautiful that they would take your breath away, but they hold death within them? You shake your head, so I will tell you that the blue flowers that hide aconite or the deceptive, cloying sweetness of pink oleander blossoms are only two of many.

Sit. I’ll make the draught now.’

She pointed to the only seat in the hut. ‘The cost will be ten gold aurei.’

Poppaea nodded. As the poisoner worked, she sat silently watching. Numb with grief, she tried valiantly to reconcile herself to her fate.

There was no doubt that if there was any hint in the way of suggestions or gossip that it would render any marriage to Poppy unacceptable.

When the potion was ready and the money had been paid, Poppaea pulled her hood up over her face once more and crept out into the darkness. A quick glance reassured her that she appeared to be alone. Then she drifted like a wraith in the night towards her carriage.

After she’d gone, Locusta counted the coins again then added them to a filthy old bag hidden under a mound of dirt. She’d soon have enough to buy a respectable home, probably not near the Palatine, but in a good area of Rome. Perhaps, she might also own the school she’d always dreamed of where students would pay her to learn her craft.

Death was going to make her a very wealthy woman.

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Not far away in terms of distance but what could have been a million miles in social class stood the royal palace. Well-guarded, it was a fortress to keep out undesirables, one might say that meant virtually all of Rome.

The Palatine stood high above the masses, an unattainable paradise for royalty, the elite and wealthy. Its gardens were immaculate and the fragrance of its blossoms sublime.

A woman sat unmoving by an open window that looked out onto the lush gardens. She appeared as if in silhouette against the coming night.

Messalina, empress of Rome was alone in the richly furnished room. The curve of her cheek was that of a woman of great beauty. Any who had been fortunate enough to see her closely swore that the colour of her eyes was violet.

Success at the most elite level, for a woman, often depended upon the level of physical beauty she could bring to bear and she possessed all that could ever be required.

But Empress Messalina was frightened. Her hands shook uncontrollably.

Such a statement would have amused or even amazed anyone who knew her or had heard anything about her. She was acknowledged as being one of the two most gorgeous women in Rome. She was also known to be the most arrogant, cruel and coldly ambitious.

Messalina would kill at the slightest provocation.

At the present moment, she was genuinely worried. She pulled the strings of the Emperor, Claudius.

Old, ill and unsuited to rule he could be charmed, or more often bullied into doing exactly what she demanded. She wondered though, how long this could go on for as political pressure increased around her. She was too often to be found at the centre of corrupt deals especially for wealth and property but could usually buy or murder her way out of trouble.

There was one acquisition in particular at the moment that was very much on her mind. The stakes were high especially in terms of its value, but would she survive if she lost the battle?

‘I must be careful, very careful,’ she muttered to herself.

‘There are those who would destroy me if they could.’

Whatever Claudius knew of her corrupt behaviour and extra marital activities he chose to ignore. It was easier that way.

Messalina sighed. For the moment she should be safe but the future was far from secure. The vipers at court and in the senate were gathering and they seemed to be slithering closer and closer towards her.

She rose gracefully and made her way from the room then walked sedately down the palace hallway until entering her luxurious apartment. Elegant and gilded it suited its occupant.

She was sure she could control Claudius and after all, nothing else really mattered.

4

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POMPEII

A pungent breeze drifted from the canal across the city as the boats were tied up to the mooring rings for the night and the cicadas came out to play. The raucous cries of whores upstairs in the bathhouse were heard through open windows nearby as they plied their trade. Near the port the twinkling lamp lights from the stilt houses built in the marshes could be seen from a distance but eventually as night fell, they were lost in its blackness and the city slept.

The boatmen slipped and slid as they climbed the slimy steps that led from the canal to solid land above, adjacent to the Marine Gate. Some looked forward to sleep, others to a night of entertainment. They sang as they climbed.

Either way the day had ended.

‘Damnant