Shadows in the Ashes

by Christina Courtenay

Genres: Romantic Fantasy; Action & Adventure; Viking Romance

Synopsis

The next stunning dual-time romance from Christina Courtenay, transporting listeners from the present day to ancient Pompeii.

Brimming with romance, adventure and vivid historical detail, Christina Courtenay's gripping dual-time novel travels from the present day to the fires of ancient Pompeii.

The sunlight caught her gold bracelet, sending a flash that almost blinded her.

She closed her eyes, but jumped when the earth started shaking and there was an almighty boom behind her.

Present Day
Finally escaping an abusive marriage, Caterina Rossi takes her three-year-old daughter and flees to Italy. There she's drawn to research scientist Connor, who needs her translation help for his work on volcanology. Together they visit the ruins of Pompeii and, standing where Mount Vesuvius unleashed its fire on the city centuries before, Cat begins to see startling visions. Visions that appear to come from the antique bracelet handed down through her family's generations...

AD 79
Sold by his half-brother and enslaved as a gladiator in Roman Pompeii, Raedwald dreams only of surviving each fight, making the coin needed to return to his homeland and taking his revenge. That is, until he is hired to guard beautiful Aemilia. As their forbidden love grows, Raedwald's dreams shift like the ever more violent tremors of the earth beneath his feet.

The present starts eerily to mirror the past as Cat must fight to protect her safety, and to forge a new path from the ashes of her old life...

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Just some of the rich praise for Christina Courtenay's pacy, evocative and romantic novels including Echoes of the Runes, The Runes of Destiny and Promises of the Runes, out now:

'I've been looking forward to this book . . . and it far exceeded my hopes and expectations. Romantic, fascinating and gripping, it's one of my favourites of the series' NICOLA CORNICK

'Seals Christina Courtenay's crown as the Queen of Viking Romance' CATHERINE MILLER

'This epic romance is sure to sweep you off your feet!' TAKE A BREAK

'An absorbing story, fast-paced and vividly imagined' PAMELA HARTSHORNE

'A love story and an adventure, all rolled up inside a huge amount of intricately-detailed, well-researched history. Thoroughly enjoyable' KATHLEEN MCGURL

(P) 2024 Headline Publishing Group Ltd

Release date: January 18, 2024

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 368

Sample

Frisia, AD 73

‘Why do you want to go this way? We should be getting back before dusk.’ Raedwald frowned at his younger half-brother, Osbehrt, who seemed inordinately pleased with himself.

‘I think I saw that big stag here yesterday. You know, the one everyone’s talking about with the huge antlers. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we manage to kill it and bring it back to Father? He’ll be so proud of us. Come, it was this way.’

Osbehrt didn’t slow his pace and Raedwald had no choice but to follow. He’d always been told to watch over his younger half-siblings. As the eldest, it was his duty, but sometimes, like now, it was a chore he could well do without.

It wasn’t as though anyone gave him credit for it either, least of all their father, Raedwulf. After the early death of Raedwald’s mother, he’d quickly remarried, and had fallen completely in thrall to his new woman. She’d done everything she could to promote the interests of her own offspring, while Raedwald was given all the hard or boring tasks. The only thing she hadn’t been able to persuade his father to do was to have Osbehrt declared his heir instead of Raedwald. Some stubborn part of Raedwulf refused to give in on that point, but that didn’t mean he liked his eldest son. Far from it – he was forever criticising, making Raedwald do more weapons training than anyone else, and expecting him to be at the beck and call of his stepmother in between.

It was unbearable, and Raedwald hated the pair of them, but he took it in silence. That was the only way he could thwart her – by not showing that she was affecting him in any way, nor giving up his rights as the heir. If she could, he was sure she’d insist on him being made a sacrificial offering to the gods. Fortunately, that wasn’t up to her.

He sighed now as he trudged behind his brother. ‘If you saw the stag yesterday, who’s to say he’ll still be there now? Deer roam far and wide. No doubt he’ll be long gone.’

‘No, no, it’s not the first time, actually. I’ve spotted him several times, and there’s a small lake nearby so he probably goes there to drink. It’s not far now, I promise.’

Raedwald rolled his eyes, but Osbehrt wasn’t looking so he didn’t see that. Honestly, this was probably a wild goose chase, but best to let the boy learn that for himself.

The youth – a mere fifteen winters to Raedwald’s eighteen – raced ahead as if eager to reach their goal. From time to time, he glanced over his shoulder to check whether his brother was following, but he didn’t slow his pace. This was becoming very tedious, and it would soon begin to get dark. Not to mention that the tide would be starting to come in. The man-made island – or terp – they lived on, near the seashore, could only be reached at ebb across marshland that was treacherous at the best of times. They had left the coastal area behind and entered a forest inland, but they should definitely be turning back, not going forward.

Just as he had decided he’d had enough, Raedwald suddenly felt something hard connect with the back of his skull. Shadowy figures materialised from the trees and surrounded him, one of them throwing some sort of net over his head while he was still stunned from the blow. What in the name of all the gods . . .?

‘Run, Osbehrt, run!’ he yelled, anger making his voice soar among the trees.

He tried to fight his way free of the net, galvanised into action by a fear for his brother, but although he was strong, he didn’t stand a chance. They were too many against one, and he was grabbed from all sides and held in a tight grip while someone tied his hands behind his back. His head was pounding from the vicious blow. He squinted against the fading light as he looked up to see whether his brother had managed to escape. To his surprise, Osbehrt was standing in front of him, grinning, while tossing a clinking pouch from one hand to the other. Realisation hit him harder than that thump on the head.

‘What have you done?’ he growled, a fury greater than any he’d ever felt surging through him. Why, the little rat . . .

‘Sold you. Mother thought it best.’ The rat in question looked unrepentant. Triumphant, even. ‘These men will take you away and sell you to the highest bidder, and they’ve guaranteed we’ll never see you again. Father’s hall and all his domains will be mine, as they should be. You’ve always thought you are so much better than me, but you’re wrong. I’ll make a great chieftain. And perhaps with you gone, Father will finally train me as he ought instead of giving all his attention to you.’

‘You’ll regret this, you little worm, and your bitch of a mother too. I will come back and kill you, brother, one way or another. You have my oath on it.’ Raedwald spat on the ground and watched as Osbehrt jumped back, glaring at him.

Some of his swagger had left him, and there was uncertainty lurking in the youth’s gaze, but he lifted his chin. ‘No you won’t. These men will see to that. You’ll die in a Roman arena somewhere, torn to pieces by wild beasts. I only wish I could be there to watch. Farewell. I’ll tell Father not to mourn you.’

‘Don’t be too sure.’ Raedwald made his voice as menacing as he possibly could and had the satisfaction of seeing Osbehrt flinch. ‘From now on, you’d better watch your every step, because one day I will be right behind you, ready to slit your throat. May the gods curse you!’

Another blow to the head cut off the sight of the snivelling little snake, but that was probably just as well or Raedwald would have choked on his rage. Oblivion was preferable for now.

North London, 10 April 2022

‘What did you buy at M&S today?’

Derek dropped his briefcase on the floor with a thump, and Cat flinched, then swallowed hard, trying to make herself speak normally. She plastered on a fake ingratiating smile, hating herself for it, even though she knew it was necessary.

‘It . . . it was just a hoodie for Bella. They were on sale, really cheap, and she’s grown out of everything else. She’s been so cold these last few days. Who knew it would snow in April – crazy, right?’

He didn’t so much as acknowledge her reply, but scowled at their three-year-old daughter, who took one look at his face and wisely ran to hide in her room. Even at such a young age, she’d learned that retreat was the better part of valour. And Cat hated that it had to be this way.

Derek continued in the arctic voice she knew meant big trouble. ‘Didn’t I warn you about not making any extra purchases? We’re trying to save up for a holiday abroad, remember?’

Cat stayed silent and willed her limbs to stop trembling. She wanted to run and hide somewhere far, far away, and take Bella with her, but that wasn’t an option. Having lost touch with her family and friends, she had nowhere to go, and no money of her own to live off. Besides, she was convinced he’d find them, and then things would be even worse. This evening he had swept into the house looking like an avenging Fury; Armani suit crumpled, tie askew. Now he was pulling on the top button of his shirt as if it was choking him. She could tell he’d had a bad day at work. His boss, who was a mean bastard at the best of times, must have been extra demanding today, and she was about to pay for it. Every particle of her body went cold at the mere sight of his expression.

She had tried to make light of the matter, but inside her the knot of dread was building to epic proportions. She’d known he would notice the purchase – he checked their bank accounts just about every day and made her give him all her receipts – but she’d had to do it for Bella’s sake. The poor little mite had been trying to play huddled inside her duvet the day before. She’d not wanted to come out because the house was too cold. Another of Derek’s ‘economies’.

‘No need to have the heating on during the day, is there?’ he’d decreed back in November. Maybe it seemed unnecessary to him, as he was at work all day. But she and Bella spent most of their time here, and although the house was newly built, it didn’t have much in the way of insulation. She suspected cowboy builders who had cut corners whenever they could. That must have been why the property was so cheap when they bought it.

Cat hadn’t wanted to buy it at all. She disliked modern houses and would have preferred an old-fashioned property with original features and some character. But Derek had insisted. He saw no need for ‘curly bits and draughty old fireplaces’ when you could have plain walls and a gas fire. It was much more practical.

She’d almost told him it was soulless, but managed to bite her tongue in time. After all, it didn’t matter where they lived – whatever the shape of it, their home would always be her prison. No point getting attached to it either, as he could decide on a whim that they were to move somewhere else. He’d already done that twice during their five-year marriage.

‘And it was hardly cheap,’ he was saying now. ‘Eight pounds for an item that probably only cost a few pence to make? And in that vile shade of pink too. You know I hate pink!’

She did, but it wasn’t the colour so much as the fact that he’d never forgiven her for giving birth to their beautiful daughter, when all he had wanted was a son.

‘But it’s Bella’s favourite col—’

He cut her off. ‘Either way, you should have asked me first.’

Although she’d been expecting it, the punch came from out of nowhere, catching her next to her left eye. It was a favourite spot of his and she sometimes worried she’d go blind on that side if it happened too often. A numb sensation spread from her temple down her cheek. She caught her breath with a hiss. Opening her mouth, she tried to flex her jaw to see whether it was still intact. It was, but a lightning bolt of pain shot down the whole length of it. She stifled a moan, knowing that would only earn his scorn.

‘Well? Are you going to remember in future?’ Derek loomed over her as if ready to repeat the punishment.

‘Mm-hmm.’ She wasn’t sure she could open her mouth again just now, so the mumbled reply was all she could manage.

‘What was that? I can’t hear you.’ He raised his fist and she cringed away from him, but he followed and hit her again. ‘Speak up, Catherine!’

‘Y-yes, I’ll remember,’ she said through teeth that had exploded with agony. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Good. Now where’s my dinner? Is it too much to ask that you have it ready when I come home? It’s not as if you do anything else all day, is it?’

Cat swallowed the angry retort that rose to her lips. She worked from home and had spent the day juggling an Italian translation job with trying to keep Bella occupied and happy. And dinner was ready. It was only that he’d prevented her from serving it by attacking her the minute he came through the front door.

‘It won’t be a moment. Please take a seat,’ she said, turning to busy herself with extracting the casserole dish from the oven.

Please God, let it be tasty so he didn’t have cause for complaint about that too, she prayed silently. And although she’d long ago given up on her mother’s Catholic faith, she made a surreptitious sign of the cross when Derek wasn’t looking. It couldn’t hurt, could it?

Bella had the sense to stay out of the way; she’d already had her supper anyway. Derek felt children shouldn’t join the adults until they were older and more civilised, as he’d put it. Cat ran upstairs to quickly check that her little girl was OK before taking her own seat. Derek hadn’t waited for her, but was halfway through his portion already. They ate in silence, the meal apparently passing muster. When he’d finished, he stood up and announced that he was off to meet some workmates for a drink.

Once he was gone, instead of getting on with clearing up after the meal, and putting Bella to bed, Cat headed outside to the garden to breathe in some fresh air. She needed to calm down, stop her body from shaking, and for that to happen she had to be outside her prison. The house was suffocating her.

Drawing in the cold spring air, and pulling her cardigan tightly across her body, she closed her eyes and felt the metaphorical bands that were binding her chest loosen. The worst was over for now, and although she’d have to wear heavy make-up for a few days, she would have a reprieve until the next time Derek found fault with her. Thankfully, it only happened a couple of times a month. That was still too many, but . . .

‘You really should leave him, you know.’

The quiet voice coming from across the hedge made Cat jump, and she forgot to cover her face as she swung round to see who was talking to her. Her neighbour, Suzanne, a woman in her late fifties or early sixties, was peering over the clipped yew. Her expression of quiet compassion turned into one of concern when she caught sight of Cat’s rapidly swelling eye and cheek.

‘The utter bastard!’ she hissed. ‘Honestly, what is it that makes some men think they can act however they like?’

‘No, no, I . . . tripped. It was my own fault,’ Cat whispered, putting up a hand to protect her face from view. ‘Really, it was nothing.’

She’d had worse, but she’d never admit that, especially not to the only person in the neighbourhood who ever talked to her. They’d chatted occasionally across the fence, just small talk about the weather and such, but it made Cat feel slightly less isolated. And she had helped Suzanne out a few times by accepting deliveries on her behalf when she’d been out at work.

‘Hmm.’ The non-committal noise conveyed the woman’s scepticism, and Cat cringed inwardly. How had it come to this? Why was she lying to protect a man who mistreated her? But she had no choice if she wanted to keep Bella from harm. If she wanted to keep her, full stop. So far, he had never hurt their daughter, but should she try to divorce him, he would be given shared custody of the little girl. Knowing him, he would use that to torment Cat endlessly. Perhaps even turn the child against her through bribery and lies as she grew up. She simply couldn’t risk it.

‘I’d better go inside. If I put some ice on it, the swelling will soon go down.’ She turned away, wanting nothing more than to escape now. The embarrassment of being caught looking like this was more than she could bear.

‘No, wait! Please, let me take a photo. It might help . . . one day, when you’re ready to walk away. And I’d be happy to testify on your behalf any time you need me.’ Suzanne shrugged and gesticulated towards their adjoining semi-detached properties, modern and purpose-built. ‘These houses weren’t made with thick walls, were they, so I’m afraid I hear a thing or two . . .’

Cat swallowed hard. This was getting worse and worse. ‘Oh God,’ she muttered, but then a small spark of defiance lit up inside her and she turned back towards Suzanne, lifting her chin a fraction. ‘OK, then, take a photo if you want, but I doubt I’ll use it. I can’t. My daughter . . .’

Suzanne snapped a couple of quick pictures with her phone camera and nodded in sympathy. ‘I understand. What’s her name again? I’ve seen you with her in the garden, of course.’

‘Isabel, but we call her Bella. She’s, um, named after her grandmother, so we don’t want to confuse the two.’

She shuddered at the thought, and sincerely hoped her daughter would be nothing like her mother-in-law when she grew up. The woman was as cold as a hoar frost; a control freak who had raised her son with an iron fist. It was no wonder Derek thought violence was acceptable, really, although it was still no excuse. From what Cat had gathered, he’d been subjected to corporal punishment from an early age. He had been just ten when his father had died, and from that moment on his mother had expected him to ‘be a man’. No excessive emotions allowed. No weakness either. In fact, she’d done a fine job of turning him into an insensitive brute. It was a shame Cat hadn’t realised that until it was too late.

‘She’s very pretty, your little girl. Is she asleep?’ Suzanne asked.

Cat glanced up at the window of her daughter’s bedroom. ‘Not yet. She’s probably watching a movie or cartoon She’s a good girl.’

‘I’m sure she is. I hardly ever hear her cry.’ Suzanne put her phone in her pocket. ‘Now, please, will you do me a favour? Whenever something like this happens, come out here and call for me and I’ll take a photo. I’m usually in the kitchen or living room, so I’ll hear you. I’ll download the photos to my computer and date them, then if you ever want to, er . . . break free, I’ll send them to you. Deal?’

She held out her hand across the low hedge and Cat felt compelled to shake it. There was something firm and reassuring in Suzanne’s grip, giving her a tiny spark of encouragement. And an even smaller flicker of hope.

‘Deal,’ she whispered.

‘And just in case you were wondering, you’re not alone. I was in a similar situation some years back. It might feel hopeless right now, but it is possible to get away, trust me.’

Cat blinked away a sudden rush of tears and nodded. She’d probably never have the courage to leave Derek, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared. Perhaps keep a few essential things ready to grab in case she ever had the opportunity to escape. Hide the few pieces of jewellery she owned in a safe place. There was no way she could take photos herself to keep for future use – he had access to both her phone and her email account and checked them regularly – but Suzanne was a different matter. He’d never even suspect her involvement, because he’d written her off as a ‘dried-up old spinster’ the one and only time they’d said hello across the fence. Cat was sure Suzanne was a lot more than that.

It had been so long since she’d talked to anyone properly. Since anyone cared. Her former friends had fallen by the wayside and she’d allowed it to happen. And she hadn’t spoken to her mother in over a year. It was easier that way. If she kept them at a distance, no one needed to know the truth about her situation. She’d never had a best friend, and former college and workmates were easy to lose touch with, accidentally on purpose. Everyone was busy. But here was someone who seemed to see all too clearly what was happening in Cat’s life. She wasn’t sure whether that was a good or bad thing, but at least it was some form of human contact. A ray of light in the dark loneliness of her existence.

Perhaps she could do it. Break free. One day. But not just yet. ‘OK,’ she murmured. ‘Th-thank you, Suzanne.’

She was too tired to say anything else, and just whispered a quick goodbye before heading back indoors.

Derek could come back from the pub at any time, and it would be best for both of them if she and Bella were in bed asleep when he did.

Pompeii, 7 September AD 79

‘Rufus, Rufus, Rufus!’

The cry echoed round the amphitheatre arena and Raedwald closed his eyes for a moment, grounding himself. It was as though he was in the middle of some strange dream, and none of it was real. Rufus was the name he’d been given here – his mane of long red hair had made it a foregone conclusion – and now an audience of at least fifteen thousand people were egging him on to kill a man dressed in a ridiculous outfit.

With a crested helmet, bare torso, colourful loincloth, arm guards and greaves – armour that protected the shins – as well as a small, square shield and a curved sword called a sica, the so-called thraex, or Thracian, wasn’t a worthy opponent in Raedwald’s mind. Neither was the fighter next to him, the retiarius, who was even more naked, and carrying a fishing net and a trident. Luckily Raedwald wasn’t expected to engage with him today, and if it hadn’t been his task to hurt the thraex, he would have laughed at them both.

But this was not a jest; it was a matter of life and death.

Raedwald and the other gladiators of Pompeii were taking part in the Ludi Romani games, and blood needed to flow. Copiously. Apparently this would somehow appease the Romans’ ancestors, although how or why, Raedwald had no idea and cared even less. He was tired and sore after a long afternoon of combat, and wanted nothing more than to go back to the gladiator barracks and sleep. Sweat poured down his back in rivulets. Like the thraex, he wore long metal greaves on top of quilted padding on his legs, and his helmet had large cheek guards and a long brim at the back protecting his neck. Heavy and made of bronze, it was making his head ache and his scalp itch with perspiration. Even though the hottest months of the year were behind them, it was still humid and much too warm for him. It had been over six years since he’d left Frisia, but he hadn’t stopped longing for the cold, fresh air of his homeland. He had kept the memories alive in order to spur him on to withstand everything his so-called masters put him through. He also fuelled the flames of hatred towards Osbehrt and his mother constantly. Every indignity and any physical pain could be endured, as long as he used his determination and thirst for revenge as a shield to numb him from the inside out. He was going to punish them, but in order to do that, he had to survive this bout and the next few months.

And he would. He was Rufus the Barbarian, and he always won.

‘I need to borrow some more of your jewellery. The taxes are due and the profits from the estate still haven’t arrived.’

Aemilia Licinia turned to look at her husband, Lucius, who had snuck up behind her without her noticing. They’d not long been back from the gladiatorial games, and she had just begun the work of putting together bunches of herbs to hang up to dry in the room she used for preparing tisanes and ointments. It was a task she enjoyed greatly, but the contentment she’d felt but a moment ago evaporated instantly. As did her daydreams of the handsome gladiators she had watched earlier . . .

‘There isn’t much left. You took most of it last time.’ She tried to keep her voice even, although they both knew he’d promised faithfully to bring every last item back as soon as he was in funds and could retrieve them from the moneylenders. That hadn’t happened, and wasn’t likely to either. She’d never see those pieces again.

There was no point arguing with him, though. He was the paterfamilias, the master of the household, and everyone had to do as he commanded, Aemilia included. She put down her shears and, without waiting to see whether he followed, headed towards her cubiculum. The sleeping chamber was a small, dark room situated off the peristyle garden. It contained nothing more than a bed covered in a colourful quilt, a chair, a couple of shelves and two wooden chests. The walls were painted in plain ochre with red and black borders, and there was a small mat on the otherwise mosaic-covered floor.

She bent to lift the lid of her clothes chest. Nestled at the bottom was a small casket that had once held quite a lot of jewellery – all inherited from Lucius’s mother, Flavia. He’d been her only surviving child, and she had insisted her new daughter-in-law should have her possessions.

Not that she’d been allowed to keep them for long.

What would Flavia have said if she’d known her son was going to pawn the lot? Nothing, probably, as she’d doted on him. It was no wonder he acted like a petulant child half the time, even though he was ten years Aemilia’s senior.

She handed him the casket and watched as he surveyed the pitiful amount left – two pairs of earrings, an amulet and one arm ring of silver. Everything else had gone to pay his debts already. How he managed to spend so much was a mystery to her, but they were forever short of funds. She kept wondering how long they could remain here in Pompeii. They might be forced to go and live on the estate north of here that she had brought to the marriage as her dowry – the one that was supposed to be yielding enough produce for them to live off comfortably – and sell this house. She wouldn’t mind, as she loved the countryside, but Lucius would hate it. His whole world was here in this small provincial town where he’d grown up.

‘Are you certain this is all there is?’ He grabbed her upper arm with fingers that dug painfully into her flesh. ‘You’re not hiding any of it elsewhere?’

‘No! Why would I? There is nothing to hide,’ she protested, gritting her teeth against the pain. She bruised easily, and the marks of his fingers were bound to show later. That meant she wouldn’t be able to go to the public baths for days, not until they faded. It was a small price to pay, though, because in truth she was hiding things from him. And she’d suffer a lot more rather than admit it.

The last time her father, Titus Aemilius Licinius, had visited them, just before his death, he’d passed on her own mother’s jewels. ‘Keep them safe, Aemilia,’ he’d told her. ‘You won’t inherit anything else from me, as you’ve had your dowry. I’m afraid I’ve used up all my wealth and there is nothing left but debts, but I kept these for you.’

‘Thank you, Father.’ She’d been extremely grateful. No matter what happened, she’d have a dowry for her own daughter when the time came. As long as she could keep it hidden from Lucius, and she would.

A sharp stab of guilt assailed her, but she suppressed it. She had to think of her child first and foremost. Lucius had already had more than enough from her family. The fact that he’d squandered it somehow was not her fault, and she hardened her heart. He glared at her now, his face mere inches from hers as he invaded her personal space with barely controlled aggression. His grip on her tightened even further and she drew in a hissing breath.

‘You’d better not be lying to me. Things are becoming desperate. I had to sell a slave this morning just. . .