Mistress of Rome (Empress of Rome Series #1) [NOOK Book]

Overview

First-century Rome: a world of depravity, blood, and secrets. The ruthless and enigmatic Emperor Domitian watches over all—and fixes his gaze on one humble young woman….



Thea is a slave girl from Judaea, purchased as a toy for the ...
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Mistress of Rome (Empress of Rome Series #1)

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Overview

First-century Rome: a world of depravity, blood, and secrets. The ruthless and enigmatic Emperor Domitian watches over all—and fixes his gaze on one humble young woman….



Thea is a slave girl from Judaea, purchased as a toy for the spiteful heiress Lepida Pollia. Now she has infuriated her mistress by capturing the attention of Rome’s newest and most savage gladiator—and though his love brings Thea the first happiness of her life, their affair ends quickly when a jealous Lepida tears them apart.



Remaking herself as a singer for Rome’s aristocrats, Thea unwittingly attracts another admirer: the charismatic Emperor of Rome. But the passions of an all-powerful man come with a heavy price, and Thea finds herself fighting for both her soul and her sanity. Many have tried to destroy the Emperor: a vengeful gladiator, an upright senator, a tormented soldier, a Vestal Virgin. But in the end, the life of Domitian lies in the hands of one woman: the Emperor’s mistress.  
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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Quinn convincingly conjures the terrifying reign of Emperor Domitian in her solid debut that follows the travails of Thea, a slave girl and mistress to the emperor. While she is tormented by Domitian, she holds her secrets—a gladiator lover, a young son—close. When these facts are brought to Domitian's attention by Thea's jealous rival, Thea takes drastic actions to secure her family. Quinn's command of first-century Rome is matched only by her involvement with her characters; all of them, historical and invented, are compelling and realistic, and she explores their dark sides without crossing into gratuitousness. Readers will finish eager for a sequel, which is a good thing because Quinn has left the door wide open for a follow-up. This should make a splash among devotees of ancient Rome. (Apr.)
Library Journal
Born a Jew, Thea was one of a handful of people who survived the fall of Masada to the Romans in 73 C.E. As the novel opens, she is crouched over a bowl bleeding from self-inflicted cuts, penance for having escaped death as a child and for her continuing existence as a slave of Rome. It isn't until her spiteful mistress, Lepida, sends her to Rome's most popular gladiator with letters begging for his attention that Thea's life changes. Furious that Arius the Barbarian loves Thea rather than herself, Lepida sells the girl, thus beginning a chain of events that leads Thea from a life of misery to the attention of the Emperor Domitian, who takes her as his mistress. VERDICT Quinn borrows freely, though admittedly not always accurately, from first-century Roman history. Historical fiction fans looking for a more factual account of ancient Rome may wish to pick up the novels of Colleen McCullough or Robert Harris, but for sheer entertainment, drama, and page-turning storytelling, this tumultuous debut novel is well worth reading.—Jane Henriksen Baird, Anchorage P.L., AK
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781101186633
  • Publisher: Penguin Group (USA)
  • Publication date: 4/6/2010
  • Series: Empress of Rome Series , #1
  • Sold by: Penguin Group
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 432
  • Sales rank: 37,856
  • File size: 430 KB

Meet the Author

Kate Quinn attended Boston University, where she earned a Bachelor’s and Master’s degree in Classical Voice. The daughter of a history major, she grew up with anecdotes about Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great, wrote her first story at age seven, and, after seeing Spartacus, resolved someday to write a book about a gladiator. That ambition turned into Mistress of Rome. She is also the author of Daughters of Rome and Empress of the Seven Hills. 
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Read an Excerpt

One
APRIL, A.D. 82

The atmosphere at the Mars Street gladiator school was contented, convivial, and masculine as the tired fighters trooped in through the gates. Twenty fighters had sallied out to join the main battle of the Cerealia games, and fourteen had come back alive. A good enough average to make the victors swagger as they filed through the narrow torch- lit hall, dumping their armor into the waiting baskets.

“. . . hooked that Greek right through the stomach! Prettiest piece of work I . . .”

“. . . see that bastard Lapicus get it in the back from that Gaul? Won’t be looking down his long nose at us anymore . . .”

“. . . hard luck on Theseus. Saw him trip in the sand . . .”

Arius tossed his plumed helmet into the waiting basket, ignoring the slave who gave him cheery congratulations. The weapons had already been collected, of course— those got snatched the moment the fighting was done.

“First fight?” A chatty Thracian tossed his own helmet into the basket atop Arius’s. “Mine, too. Not bad, huh?”

Arius bent to unlace the greaves about his shins.

“Nice work you did on that African today. Had me one of those scrawny Oriental Greeks; no trouble there. Hey, maybe next time I’ll get Belleraphon and then I’ll really make my fortune.”

Arius unlaced the protective mail sleeve from his sword arm, shaking it off into the basket. The other fighters were already trooping into the long hall where they were all fed, whooping as they filed along the trestle tables and grabbed for the wine jugs.

“Quiet, aren’t you?” The Thracian jogged his elbow. “So where you from? I came over from Greece last year— ”

“Shut up,” said Arius in his flat grating Latin.

“What?”

Brushing past the Thracian into the hall, he ignored the trestle tables and the platters of bread and meat. He leaned over and grabbed the first wine jug he saw, then headed off down another small ill- lit hallway. “Don’t mind him,” he heard another fighter growl to the Thracian. “He’s a sour bastard.”

Arius’s room in the gladiator barracks was a tiny bare cell. Stone walls, a chair, a straw pallet, a guttering tallow candle. He sank down on the floor, setting his back against the wall and draining half the jug in a few methodical gulps. The cheap grapes left a sour taste in his mouth. No matter. Roman wine was quick, and all he wanted was quick.

“Knock knock!” a voice trilled at the door. “I hope you aren’t asleep yet, dear boy.”

“Piss off, Gallus.”

“Tut, tut. Is that any way to treat your lanista? Not to mention your friend?” Gallus swept in, vast and pink- fleshed in his immaculate toga, gold gleaming on every finger, magnolia oil shining on every curled hair, a little silk- decked slave boy at his side. Owner of the Mars Street gladiator school.

Arius spat out a toneless obscenity. Gallus laughed. “Now, now, none of that. I came to congratulate you. Such a splendid debut. When you sent the head flying clean off that African . . . so dramatic! I was a little surprised, of course. Such dedication, such savagery, from one who swore not an hour before that he wouldn’t fight at all . . .”

Arius took another deep swallow of wine.

“Well, how nice it is to be right. The first time I saw you, I knew you had potential. A little old for the arena, of course— how old are you, anyway? Twenty- five, thirty? No youngster, but you’ve certainly got something.” Gallus waved his silver pomander languidly. Arius looked at him.

“You’ll get another fight in the next games, of course. Something a little bigger and grander, if I can persuade Quintus Pollio. A solo bout, perhaps. And this time”— a glass- sharp glance— “I won’t have to worry that you’ll deliver, will I.”

Arius aligned the wine jug against the wall. “What’s a rudius?” The words surprised him, and he kept his eyes on the jug. “A rudius?” Gallus blinked. “Dear boy, wherever did you hear about that?”

Arius shrugged. They had all been waiting in the dark under the Colosseum before their bout, nervous and excited, fingering their weapons. Here’s to a rudius for all of us, one of the others had muttered.

A man who had died five minutes later under a trident before Arius could ask him what it meant.

“A rudius is a myth,” Gallus said airily. “A wooden sword given from the Emperor to a gladiator, signaling his freedom. I suppose it’s happened once or twice for the stars of the arena, but that hardly includes you, does it? One bout, and not even a solo bout— you’ve got a long way to go before you can call yourself a success, much less a star.”

Arius shrugged.

“Such a dear boy.” Gallus reached out and stroked Arius’s arm. His plump fingers pinched hard, and his black peppercorn eyes locked onto Arius’s with bright curiosity.

Arius reached out, picked up the tallow candle beside him, and calmly poured a stream of hot wax onto the soft manicured hand. Gallus snatched his burned fingers away. “We really will have to do something about your manners,” he sighed. “Good night, then. Dear boy.”

As soon as the door thudded shut, Arius picked up the wine jug and drank off every drop. Letting the jug fall, he dropped his head back against the stones. The room wasn’t spinning anymore. Not enough wine. He closed his eyes.

He hadn’t meant to fight. He’d meant what he’d told Gallus, standing in the dim passage underneath the arena, hearing the roars of the crowd and the screams of the wounded men and the whimpers of the dying animals. But the sword had been placed in his hand, and he’d gone out with the others in the brisk group battle that served to whet the crowd’s appetite for the solo bouts, and he’d seen the African he’d been paired to fight . . . and the black demon had uncoiled from its self- devouring circles in his brain and roared joyously down the straight and simple path of murder.

Then suddenly he had been standing blinking in the sunlight with another man’s blood on his face and cheers pouring down on his head like a swarm of bees. Just thinking about those cheers brought an icy sweat. The arena. That hellish arena. It spoiled his luck every time. Even slaughtering its guards had failed to get him killed. After that savage beating seven months ago, he had awakened in bed. Not a soft bed; Gallus didn’t waste luxuries on half- dead slaves. Dragging himself painfully into the light, he heard for the first time Gallus’s voice: high, modulated, reeking of the slums.

“Can you hear me, boy? Nod if you understand. Good. What’s your name?”

Hoarsely he croaked it out.

Gallus tittered. “Oh, that’s absurd. A Briton, aren’t you? You barbarians always have impossible names. Well, it won’t do. We’ll call you Arius. A bit like Aries, the god of war. Quite catchy, yes, we can do something with that.

“Now. I’ve bought you, and paid a pretty price, too, for a half- dead troublemaker. Yes, I know exactly why you were sentenced to the arena. You were part of a chain gang making repairs on the Colosseum, until you strangled a guard with his own whip. Very foolish, dear boy. Whatever were you thinking?” Gallus snapped for his little slave boy with the tray of sweetmeats. “Well, then”— eating busily— “you can tell me for starts how you ended up working a chain gang in the Colosseum.”

“Salt mines,” Arius forced out through swollen lips. “In Trinovantia. Then Gaul.”

“Dear me. And how long have you been working in those sinkholes?”

Arius shrugged. Twelve years? He wasn’t sure.

“A long time, clearly. That explains the strength of the arms and chest.” A plump finger traced over Arius’s shoulders. “Hauling rocks of salt up and down mountains for years; oh yes, it builds fine men.” A last lingering stroke. “One doesn’t learn to use a sword in the mines, however. Where did you learn that, eh?”

Arius turned his face toward the wall.

“Well, no matter. Time to listen. You’ll do your fighting for me from now on, when and where I say. I am a lanista. Know what that is? No? I thought your Latin was a little rough. Everything about you is a little rough, isn’t it? A lanista is a trainer, dear boy, of gladiators. You’re going to be a gladiator. It’s a good life as they go— women, riches, fame. You’ll take the oath now, and begin training as soon as those bones patch up. Repeat after me: ‘I undertake to be burnt by fire, to be bound in chains, to be beaten by rods, and to die by the sword.’ That’s the gladiator’s oath, dear boy.”

Arius told him hoarsely what he could do with his oath, and collapsed back into blackness.

It had been days before he could get out of bed, weeks before his bones were whole, and nearly five months before his training in the gladiators’ courtyard was complete. His fellow fighters were petty criminals and bewildered slaves scummed off the bottom of the market: a cheap cut- rate bunch. Arius slid indifferently into the school’s routine: just one more thug with Gallus’s crude crossed- swords tattoo on his arm. Better than the mines.

Rudius. The word came back to him. Sounded like a snake, not a wooden sword. He didn’t see how getting a wooden sword from the Emperor made you free, but the mist- shrouded mountains of home rose up before his eyes, impossibly fresh and green and lovely. A wooden sword. He used wooden swords every day when he trained. He always broke them, hitting too hard. An omen? He thought back to the white- robed Druids of his childhood, dimly remembered, smelling of mistletoe and old bones, reading the gods in every leaf’s fall. They’d call it a bad omen, breaking a wooden sword. But he’d never had many good omens in his life.

He shook off the thought of home. The Mars Street school wasn’t bad. No women and riches as Gallus had promised, but at least no merciless sun, no chains eating the flesh off his ankles, no uneasy sleep on bare mountainsides. Here there were blankets and bread for the days, wine to drown the nights, a quick death around the corner. Better than the mines. Nothing could be worse than the mines. The applause of the games fans flickered uneasily through his mind.

THEA

From the moment I saw Senator Marcus Vibius Augustus Norbanus, I longed to fix him up: give him a proper haircut, get the ink stains off his fingers, take his slaves to task for pressing his toga so badly. He had been divorced for more than ten years, and slaves take advantage when there’s no mistress of the house. I would have bet five coppers that Marcus Norbanus, who had been consul four times and was the natural grandson of the God- Emperor Augustus, poured his own wine and put away his own books just like any pleb widower. “Your name, girl?” he asked, as I offered a tray of little sweet marchpane pastries.

“Thea, sir.”

“A Greek name.” He had deep- set eyes; friendly, penetrating, aloof. “But not, I think, a Greek. Something too long about the vowels, and the shape of the eyes is wrong. Antiochene, perhaps, but I would guess Hebrew.”

I smiled in assent, backing away and examining him covertly. He had a crooked shoulder that pulled him off- balance and made him limp, but it was hardly visible unless he was standing. Seated he was still a fine figure of a man, with a noble patrician profile and thick gray hair.

Poor Marcus Norbanus. Your bride will eat you alive. “Senator!” Lepida danced in, fresh and lovely in carnelian silk with strands of coral about her neck and wrists. Fifteen now, as I was; prettier and more poised than ever. “You’re here early. Eager to see the games?”

“The spectacle always provides a certain interest.” He rose and kissed her hand. “Though I usually prefer my library.”

“Well, you must change your opinion. For I am quite mad for the games.”

“Her father’s daughter, I see.” Marcus made a courtly nod to Pollio.

Lepida’s father swept his eyes with just a hint of contempt over Marcus’s uncurled hair, the carelessly pressed toga, the mended sandal strap. He himself was immaculate: snowy linen pleated razor- sharp and perfume heavy enough to tingle the nostrils. Still, no one would ever mistake him for a patrician. Or Marcus Norbanus for anything else.

“So, you really know the Emperor’s niece?” Lepida asked her betrothed as we left the Pollio house and sallied out into the April sunshine. Her blue eyes were wide with admiration. “Lady Julia?”

“Yes, since she was small.” Marcus smiled. “She and her half- sister were playmates of my son’s when they were very young. They haven’t met since they were children— Paulinus is with the Praetorians now— but I still visit Lady Julia now and then. She’s been very downcast since her father died.”

The wedding morning of Lady Julia and her cousin Gaius Titus Flavius burst clear and blue as we went to watch them join hands at the public shrine— on foot, since the litters would never get through the crowds. I was jostled from side to side by shoving apprentices, avid housewives, beggars trying to slip their hands into my purse. A baker in a flour- sprinkled apron trod heavily on my foot, and I tripped.

Marcus Norbanus caught my arm with surprising agility, setting me on my feet before I could fall. “Careful, girl.”

“Thank you, sir.” I fell behind, chagrined. He really was far too kind to be Lepida’s husband. I’d been praying devotedly for an ogre.

“Oh, look!” Abandoning Marcus’s arm, Lepida elbowed her way to the front of the crowd. “Look, there they are!”

I peered over Pollio’s shoulder. The shrine of Juno, goddess of marriage— and the tall ruddy- cheeked young man beside the priest must be the bridegroom. He was in high spirits, jostling and joking with his attendants. “He’s handsome,” Lepida announced. “Fat, though. Don’t you think?”

Marcus looked amused. “The Flavians tend toward heaviness,” he said mildly. “A family trait.”

“Oh. Well, he’s not really fat, is he? Just imposing.”

The blast of Imperial trumpets brazened in our ears. Servants in Imperial livery began to wind past. The Praetorian Guard lined the road in their ceremonial breastplates and red plumes, making way for the bride. “Is that Lady Julia?” Lepida craned her neck.

I studied the Emperor’s niece curiously— the one who supposedly wanted to be a Vestal Virgin. She was very small, her hair straw- pale, her figure straight and childlike in the white robe. The flaming bridal veil drew all the color out of her face. Her pale lips were smiling, but she didn’t really look— well, bridal.

“She doesn’t have the complexion for red,” my mistress said, too softly for her betrothed to hear. “Her skin’s like an unripe cheese. I’ll look much better at my wedding.”N

The bridal pair joined hands at the shrine, speaking the ritual words: Quando tu Gaius, ego Gaia. They exchanged the ritual cake, the rings.

The marriage contracts were signed. The priest intoned prayers, and a bellowing white bull gave its blood in a gout over the marble steps as a sacrifice to Juno. Usually Imperial weddings were conducted more privately, but Emperor Domitian was a lover of public pomp. So was the public.

“She should smile,” Lepida criticized. “No one wants to see a bride looking like a corpse on her own wedding day.”

Before the procession, the groom had to wrest his bride from her mother’s arms in symbolic theft. Lady Julia’s mother was dead; her uncle stood in for her. She folded the red veil back over her pale hair and walked meekly into his arms. As the bridegroom used both hands to jerk her away, my gaze shifted to the Emperor.

He was a tall man, vigorous and well made, a little more than twice my age, reflecting back the sun in his gold- embroidered purple cloak and golden circlet. Thickset Flavian shoulders that would run to fat in his old age. Ruddy cheeks and broad, friendly features.

My eyes shifted back to his niece, huddled in the arm of her new husband. I felt sorry for her. A slave feeling sorry for a princess— I don’t know why. Then her eyes shifted, falling for a moment on mine, and in the instant before I dropped my gaze to the ground I saw that on the day of her own wedding— a bright and beautiful spring day when the whole world stretched before her— Lady Julia Flavia felt lost and terrified and alone.

“Well, that’s that!” Pollio clapped his hands, and I jumped. “We’d better go on to the arena. The first show is very splendid, I assure you. I found a dozen of the strangest striped horses from an African trader; he called them zebras— ”

On Senator Norbanus’s suggestion, we took a hired litter on a shortcut through Mars Street. I trotted behind on foot while Lepida squeezed in beside her betrothed, hanging on his every word, looking up at him through long black lashes. A spider reeling in the fly.

Pollio was still droning on about how clever he had been to buy twenty tigers at a bargain price from India when the litter was forced to pull up short. A huge cart blocked the road, ironbound and padlocked, and a litter borne by six golden- haired Greeks. As we watched, a gate barred like a prison swung open and a team of men marched out. Armor gleamed beneath their purple cloaks as they climbed into the wagon, and their faces were somber under their helmets. Gladiators, on their way to the Colosseum.

“Gallus’s fighters.” Pollio twitched back the curtains for a better look, frowning. “ Third- raters, all of them. Still, they make good bait for the lions. So would Gallus himself, if you ask me. That’s him in the litter.”

A fat man with a fringe of oiled curls around his forehead leaned out through the orange silk curtains to shout through the gates. “You’re holding us up, dear boy.”

Out through the gates of Gallus’s school strode a big man, russet- haired, a Gaul or a Briton. He wore heavy iron plates over his shins, a green kilt, an absurd helmet with green plumes. A mail sleeve protected his fighting arm, the leather straps passing over his unprotected chest and scarred back. His face was granite- still— and I knew him.

The slave. The one who had fought back in the games of the Emperor’s accession months ago. I remembered weeping a little for him, the same way I wept when the lions fell in the arena with spears through their great chests. I’d thought he was dead. Even after the Emperor decreed mercy, they’d had to drag him out on a hook like they did the dead lions. But he wasn’t dead. He was back: a gladiator.

“Hurry up, Arius,” the lanista called impatiently from the litter. “We’re blocking the road.”

He caught the side of the wagon and vaulted up. Arius. So that was his name.

For once, I was longing to see the games.

The underground levels of the Colosseum hummed like the pipes of an aqueduct. Slaves rushed through the torch- lit passages, some with whetstones to sharpen the weapons, some with sharp sticks to prod the animals into a fury before they were released up into the arena, some with great rakes to scrape up the dead. Somewhere a lion screamed, or maybe a dying man.

“The main battle’s in two hours,” a steward barked at Gallus in greeting, eyes raking over the gladiators. “Keep them out of the way till then. Which one’s the Briton? He goes after the tigers finish off those prisoners.”

A few hissed words from Gallus, and Arius found himself shunted down a dark passage. Spring warmth never penetrated the bowels of the Colosseum; the passages were dank and cold. Fine clay dust filtered down, shaken loose by the vibrations of the cheers.

A pulley carried Arius to the upper levels; a slave led him to a gate and hastily shoved a sword and heavy shield at him. “Luck to you, gladiator.” Arius waited, rasping a mailed finger up and down the edge of the blade. Against the darkness he saw a wooden sword. The applause died down. Dimly he heard the voice of the games announcer: “And now . . . wilds of Britannia . . . we bring you . . . Arius the Barbarian . . . playing the part of . . .”

With a clank of machinery the heavy gate cranked up. Blinding sunlight flooded the passage.

“ACHILLES, THE GREATEST WARRIOR IN THE WORLD!”

The cheering hit him like a wall as he strode out into the sunlight. Fifty thousand voices shouting his name. A blur of bright silks and white togas, pale circles of faces and black circles of open mouths, backed by a roof of dazzling blue sky. He’d never seen so many people in his life.

He caught himself staring, and slammed down his visor. No need to know who Achilles was, or what kind of part he was playing. Killing was killing.

The demon uncoiled joyfully in his gut.

The announcer’s voice again, hushing the cheers. “And now, from the wilds of Amazonia, we bring you fitting opponents to the mighty hero Achilles— ”

The gate at the other end of the arena rumbled. Arius shrugged his cloak off and his sword up, shifting into a crouch.

“THE QUEEN OF THE AMAZONS AND HER CHAMPIONS!” Arius’s blade faltered.

Women. Five women. In plumed golden helmets and crescentmoon shields and gold anklets. Breasts bare for the audience to leer at. Slim bright swords raised high. Lips clamped into hard lines. The demon rage drained away. Left him cold and shaking. His sword point dropped, brushed against the sand.

The red- plumed leader let out a kestrel shriek as she swooped down toward him.

“Oh, damn it,” he snarled, and brought up his sword.

He picked them off one at a time. The smallest first. No older than fourteen. She stabbed at him with more desperation than skill. He killed her quickly. Then the dark- haired one with the birthmark on her shoulder. He clipped the sword out of her hand, turning his eyes away as he hewed her down. Every stroke lasted a century.

In extreme slow motion he saw the leader cry out, trying to pull them together. She knew what she was doing. Charging together, they might have brought him down. But they panicked and scattered. And, to the raucous enjoyment of the crowd, he chased them down one at a time and slew them.

He just tried to do it fast.

The leader in her brave scarlet plumes, she was the last. She put up a good fight, catching his sword again and again on her slim shield. Her blade landed twig- light against his own. Her eyes showed huge and wild through the visor.

He knocked her sword aside and drove his shield boss against her unprotected breast. Her neck arced in agony. She crumpled to the sand like a broken clay figurine.

Not dead. Not yet. Just strangling on her own blood, crushed ribs trying to expand. He took a tired step forward to cut her throat.

“Mitte! Mitte!”

The cry assailed his ears, and he looked up dumbly. All across the tiers of spectators, the thumbs called for mercy. The cheers were good- natured, the opinion unanimous: mercy for the last of the Amazons.

His eyes burned. Sweat. He flung the blade away and dropped to one knee to slide an arm under her shoulders. She was bleeding everywhere—

Her eyes swept him feebly. A swaying hand reached up to tilt back his visor. And then he was jolted all the way down to his bones as she spoke to him in a language he had not heard for more than a dozen years. His own language.

“Please,” she rasped.

He stared at her.

She choked again on her own blood. “Please.”

He looked down into those great, desperate eyes.

“Please.”

He slid his hand up into her hair, turning her head back to expose the long throat. She closed her eyes with a rattling sigh. He eased his blade into the soft pulse behind her jaw.

When her crushed body was cold in his arms, he looked up. His audience had gone silent. He rose, stained all over with her blood and weighed down by unbelieving eyes.

The demon’s fury roared up, and with all his strength he hewed his sword sideways against the marble wall. He struck again and again, feeling the muscles tear across his back, and at last the blade snapped in two with a dissonant crack. He flung the pieces away, spat on them, then ripped the helmet from his head and flung that after.

Rage surged up in his throat and he shouted— no curses, just a long wordless roar.

They applauded him.

Applauded.

They cheered, they shouted, they screamed praise down on his head like a stinging rain. They threw coins, they threw flowers, they surged upright and shrieked his name. They stamped their feet and rocked the marble tiers.

It was only then that he wept, standing alone in the great arena surrounded by the bodies of five women and a thousand downward- drifting rose petals.

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  • Posted June 11, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    Escape To Ancient Rome

    A friend recommended I read this book, so I picked it up and was immediately thrilled to see it was about a gladiator. It's an impressive debut novel with a sweeping story of the lives of the scheming Lepida Pollia, the beautiful slave girl, Thea, and the super-gladiator, Arius. I stayed up into the wee hours finishing the book because I couldn't put it down.

    Thea is a slave girl to Lepida, who wants the gladiator for herself. When she learns Thea has beaten her to him, she sells her off to a brothel. Thea, though, remakes herself into the singer Athena, bears Arius's son, and lives a quiet life with her kind master. But Lepida's scheming and trouble-making is far from over. Now determined to become the Emperor's mistress, she will do anything and everything possible to get to him. Until she realizes Thea has once again beaten her to it.

    The characters are wonderfully drawn, the story is engrossing and the details of the setting and the history are woven so masterfully, you forget you're reading. This is definitely going on my keeper shelf. I look forward to reading more from this author.

    5 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted May 28, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    WOW!

    I love this book! I was trying to find more books by this writer and was very shocked to learn that this was her first one... Bravo!

    The way she told this story was like watching a movie. I couldn't put it down. The fighting scenes are gory but that was very accurate to the time period. Can't wait for another great read by this writer.

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 23, 2010

    Sadomasochistic

    If you like blood dripping from 2/3 of a book's pages, you'll like this. Quinn describes constant swords ripping people's bodies in the most ugly detail throughout the book. While Rome was cruel, so is Quinn. She seems to get some personal satisfaction from gratuitous gore when much less would have served the plot better. Cliched characters abound, she attempts to make an utterly unredeemable main male character sympathetic--impossible given his behavior and lack of conscience, and a heroine who doesn't quite jell. Whether or not her research is accurate, she has mishandled it badly. While I like reading about history, this book plays to the lowest common denominator. Its plot isn't much, depending solely on cruelty; and overall isn't worth the price or a read.

    4 out of 15 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 6, 2012

    Amazing!

    It was intruiging and filled with suspense!

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 9, 2012

    Truly has it all.

    Before I begin, I want to start by saying I'm a picky reader regarding what I like. Mistress of Rome is the perfect book, depending on where your interests lie---which for me was dead on! Part romance, part action thriller, part history, MOR has something for everyone. The romance was beautifully developed and challenging. The action refused to let me put the book down. And the history was detailed, yet light enough that I was never bored.

    Now, I will say: I am not a history buff. I don't care how accurate the book is as long as it is good. Quinn always puts a section in at the end explaining where fact ends and fiction begins. Honestly, I usualluly tend to prefer the fiction aspects anyways. Those like mr, I STRONGLY recommend you read Susan Carroll's The Dark Queen series next rather than taking B&Ns recommendations. Flat, historical reads tend to be put in the same category as MOR despite the huge differences!

    MOR is fictional story set in a real time. It tends to fill in gaps of history with made up characters. It does not retell boring stories we've all heard before like most historical novels. READ IT!

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 25, 2013

    Mistress of Rome

    I absolutely love this book! I will always continue to read this book, as for Kate Quinn brings this book alive so vividly described as if you're in the story---feeling what they are feeling, ---thinking what they are thinking---and acting what they are acting---only they can't see you. You will absolutely love this book and read it forever!

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 26, 2012

    Love this book

    Amazing from start to finish

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 11, 2012

    Trip thru time!

    I liked this book, though I got a little bored at some points, it was entertaining and ends well. The villain is so easy to hate through the whole story. I enjoyed how well the history is brought together. However, some of the modern lanquage seems out of place. I have a 1st gen nook and the formatting didnt work in some places, but I was still able to read.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted May 18, 2012

    Okay I bought this book 4 days ago ( mind you I only can read wh

    Okay I bought this book 4 days ago ( mind you I only can read while working out) and I finished it last night. FANTASTIC book, I will be buying the other in the series. I usually read Virginia Henley, Catherine Coulter and Ms. Lowell so this was the first read by this author and I was NOT disapointed, actually I was alittle when it ended!

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted August 1, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    Fantastic book set in Ancient Rome

    It's been a while since I've read a very good historical fiction This is one of the best I've read so far. There is lots of fighting action (gladiator fights), romance, and lots of drama. Just the way I like it in historical fiction. However, what I love about this book is, that it moved me in many ways. The emotions in this book was like a roller coaster. You were happy one minute, the next you were sad, and then you were boiling in rage (usually because Lepida is such a ...witch..to say the least). The plot was well done and well written. It's been broken into several point of views of different characters so you get to see the story in different angles which is certainly nice to see and adds more to the book.

    The characters in this novel were excellent. The chemistry between potential pairings were really well done and well written. Of all the characters, I liked Thea and Vix. Marcus also held a soft spot for me too. I was glad Thea wasn't written out as a damsel in distress type of heroine. I noticed as the story progressed, she became stronger and I admired her even more for standing up to Domitian and to not to give in to what he wants. What I also enjoyed reading was, every female in this book had their strengths (and of course weaknesses) but their strengths were much more prominent and focused in the book.

    Vix made me laugh, because although he was a brat, he had the best insults and comebacks I have ever read. I liked how he wasn't afraid of Lepida, even though she had the means to get back at him and potentially kill him.

    I hated Lepida. Oh wow did I ever hate her. I've hated some characters in the past but Lepida wins all the medals for being villain of the year. She's scheming, cruel, nasty, evil, vile, all the names you can think of that are negative. In fact, Calpurnia sums it up by saying that she's "the most criminal wife in Rome". Calpurnia actually calls her several colorful names which I enjoyed reading and laughing at. (Lepida gets what's due to her in time so reading the book and seeing her fall is quite a treat).

    The only criticism I find in this book is it shifts from first person to third person quickly and I'm not sure why it's been done this way. It's a little strange but it's not enough to distract the reader from reading and enjoying the story. Some readers might find that a little irksome - however it didn't bother me.

    So far, I think this is one of the best historical fiction novels I have read in 2010. It'll be hard to top this one off. Fans of Ancient Rome will love this novel and will become attached to this story as I am. I think this book is definitely a keeper. From the historical note at the end, there maybe another story coming featuring some characters from Mistress of Rome. I can hardly wait to see the next one if it does come out!

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 13, 2013

    Love it !

    Love this book & the rest of the series. Kate Quinn is an amazing writer.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 10, 2012

    Great

    This book would make a great movie. I'm on to the sequels.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 9, 2012

    I will never forget this book. It is an amazing story that I kno

    I will never forget this book. It is an amazing story that I know I will want to reread again and again. This book should be made into a movie!!!!!!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted January 23, 2011

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    What a Great Book!

    Mistress of Rome is one of the best historical fiction novels I have ever read. It was teeming with historical detail and events of huge impact, but Kate Quinn gave the story accesible characters to make the reader emotionally involved. I loved the writing style; it was very unique with alternating first person narrators and portions of the book written in the third person. I couldn't put this book down and if you read it you won't be able to either.

    The novel is centered around a Jewish slave girl, Thea. When the story begins Thea is owned by a spiteful Roman heiress Lepida Pollia. When a handsome gladiator, Arius the Barbarian, catches Lepida's eye it's Thea's duty to deliver her mistress's love letters. But instead of Arius responding to Lepida's affections he falls for Thea and their romance is the only spark of happiness in their otherwise brutal lives of slavery. When Lepida learns of their love she puts an end to it and seperates them. The rest of the novel follows Thea's journey from slave to singer to Emperor Domitian's mistress and follows the stories of a varied cast of characters that include a powerful senator's family and the gladiators of the arena. Kate Quinn weaves all the different threads of the story seamlessly and juggles the differing perspectives with ease.

    When I was reading Mistress of Rome I felt like I was there in ancient Rome, alongside all of the action. Quinn's writing really brought the time period and setting to life. The reader can see Rome in all its depraved, brutal, extravagent glory and witness a time in history like they are tourists of that time. The characters were wonderful and I loved or loved to hate them all. I can't recommend Mistress of Rome enough. Read it!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 19, 2011

    Something for everyone

    If you're a Roman history buff, you'll love the attention to detail Quinn gives every scene, whether it's the atmosphere in a gladiator practice ring or the dishes that might be served to the Emperor. If you love action and adventure, the gladiatorial scenes will make you incredibly happy. If you like political thrillers, you'll be fascinated by the skullduggery going on during the reign of Domitian. If you like romances, the central love story will captivate you. I appreciated this on every level and can't wait for the sequel! (And don't worry -- though the door is open for a sequel, this plot wraps up in very final, very meaningful fashion. You will be satisfied!)

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted September 2, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    Ancient Roman Thriller

    Looking at the photo of the sweet-faced author on the inside back cover, you'd never guess she could write scenes of such gore and bloodshed. But she does, and with relish. Ms. Quinn's descriptions of gladiators' battles, executions, and other mayhem in the Colisseum are vivid and unsparing. Ancient Roman culture was one in which little value was put on human life - and neither rich nor poor were spared nasty and untimely deaths. The aristocracy wasn't any safer from a domineering Emperor than an offending slave was - especially if there was a hint of treason. Even in this toxic environment, a tender love story unfolds between the gladiator Arius and Thea, a beautiful slave who eventually becomes the Emperor's mistress. Much of the tale unfolds in the context of a plot to assassinate the Emperor Domitian, an able but paranoid ruler with questionable and painful sexual preferences when it comes to the unfortunate Thea. Spicing things up is the vixen you love to hate, the vicious and treacherous Lepida, who has a longstanding grudge against Thea and Arius. The story moves at a breathtaking pace - and fortunately, it looks from the author's endnote as if a sequel is in the works. I don't want to miss it!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 28, 2013

    Barely Readable

    I found it very hard to read this book. The characters were so overdeveloped, with no subtlety whatsoever, that they were rendered completely unbelievable. A skilled writer gives his audience enough credit to discern for themselves who are the protagonists and the antagonists in his tale. Every player in this book was written so obviously that I found myself distracted by the artlessness of their portrayal. They were caricatures. Several times I found myself wanted to give up but was encouraged by the reviews of other readers enough to grit my teeth until the end. Ultimately, however, the caricatures in this work, coupled with a flimsy plot line and sophomoric dialogue, lead me to describe this book as barely readable.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 22, 2013

    Top 5

    I almost never read a book more than once, but this book is so engrossing that every time I pick it up it's like I'm reading it for the 1st time. All of the characters are like old friends and it's nice to see how they develop in the other books.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 11, 2012

    Thea & Arius

    The beginning remainds me of Hadasa from " A voice in the Wind" ( Jewish slave, Briton gladiator) but that's were the similarities stop. As much as I loved Hadasa and Marcus, Thea and Arius were amazing also. Their story was touching and kept me up most of the night... who wants to go to bed when you have a crazy emperor, a brava slave and cunning empress?

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  • Posted September 15, 2011

    Perfect

    Stunning and beautiful, can't wait to read the next book!

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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