Vespasian has been made Governor of Africa. Nero, Rome's increasingly unpredictable Emperor, orders him to journey with his most trusted men to a far-flung empire in Africa to free 200 Roman citizens who have been enslaved by a desert kingdom. Vespasian hopes to return to Rome a hero and find himself back in favor with Nero. But when he reaches the city, he discovers a slave population on the edge of revolt. It isn't long before tensions spill over into bloody chaos. Vespasian must escape the city with all 200 Roman citizens and make their way across a barren desert with a hoard of rebels at their backs. Meanwhile, back in Rome, Nero's extravagance goes unchecked. All of Rome's elite fear for their lives as Nero's closest allies run amok. Can anyone stop the Emperor before Rome devours itself?  "Fabbri does an excellent job with this scintillating source material." — Times "A stonking read." — Classic FM  "Fabbri's Vespasian novels have been creating quite a stir." — The History Girls "Historical fiction at its best! More please!" — Historical Novels Review Robert Fabbri is an assistant director and has worked on productions such as Billy Elliot , Hellraiser , Hornblower, and Patriot Games .  Rome's Sacred Flame By Robert Fabbri Atlantic Books Ltd Copyright © 2018 Robert Fabbri All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-78239-704-5 CHAPTER 1 IT WAS NOT the city of Garama itself that impressed Vespasian most but, rather, the environment in which it was set. Fields of wheat and barley interspersed with orchards of fig trees and grazing pastures were not an uncommon sight in most parts of the Empire; but here, four hundred miles across scrag and desert, beyond Rome's frontier to the south of Leptis Magna in the province of Africa, it was surely a work of the gods. Just over an hour after dawn the previous day, shortly before the caravan had made camp to sleep away the hours of burning sun, following its night-march, the line of distant hills could be discerned as being verdant. Now, as the sun rose a day later and the caravan was forty miles further south, the full beauty of this unlikely oasis could be enjoyed. For at least ten miles to either side of a high-towered city, not more than a couple of miles away, perched on a hill three hundred feet above the desert floor, was nothing but arable land; and within that sea of green, gangs of tiny figures laboured. 'That's a sight that's about as unlikely as seeing a Vestal doing the splits naked.' Vespasian looked at the originator of the remark, a battered man in his early seventies with the cauliflower ears and broken nose of an ex-boxer, sitting on a horse next to him and sporting, as did Vespasian, a floppy, wide-brimmed straw hat. 'And what makes you so sure, Magnus, that Vestals don't go in for nude gymnastics?' Magnus turned to Vespasian, one eye squinting against the rising sun, the other just reflecting its glow, for it was but a glass replica – and not a very good one at that, Vespasian had always found himself thinking. 'Well, I ain't saying that they don't cavort naked and do all sorts of interesting stretches, leaps, acrobatics and the like; all I'm saying is that I'm unlikely to see them do it, if you take my meaning?' 'I'm sure I do and you're probably right: even if they did allow spectators you look far too unsavoury to be allowed in.' Vespasian grinned, his dry lips cracked, causing a stab of pain; he winced and put his hand to his mouth. 'There; that serves you right for your constant mockery, sir.' Magnus gave a satisfied nod and leant forward to address the man on the other side of Vespasian. 'Does he ever accuse you of unsavouriness, Hormus? Or is he politer to his freedman than he is to his oldest friend?' Hormus scratched his wispy beard that part concealed an undershot lower jaw and then gave a shy grin. 'Seeing as I have no wish to see females naked, Vestal Virgins or not, it would make no difference to me whether the master thinks me un savoury or not.' 'That didn't answer my question.' 'I know.' Magnus grunted and then returned his attention to the wonder before them. 'So, under those hills is a sea?' Vespasian sucked a drop of blood from his finger. Sweat trickled down from under his hat, catching in the heavy growth on his chin and cheeks, causing it to itch; his eyes squinted against the sun making the strained expression that he constantly wore on his rounded face seem even more tense. 'A sea or a big lake; who knows? But what is certain is that they have hundreds of wells that feed an irrigation system that runs through buried pipes and so that water must come from somewhere.' 'Well, I wish it didn't and then we wouldn't be here.' 'And I thought you liked visiting new places.' 'Bollocks I do.' Magnus rubbed his back and groaned. 'At my age the only new thing I like to see is a new day.' Vespasian, for the sake of his lips, refrained from smiling at the joke made by his friend of nigh on thirty-eight years; instead