A Day Of Fire: A Novel Of Pompeii - Plot & Excerpts
The mere sight of the chipped arch funneling us into the city—the knowledge that I was that much closer to her—made my body respond in a most embarrassing way. I did not need my tented tunic announcing to the world my business in Pompeii. Thank Priapus for the pressure of the cloth. The line into the city inched along like a bloated leech. I shook my head to clear the image from my mind. My uncle’s insistence on regular bleedings drove me to distraction. “Balancing your humors will help clear the spots on your face,” he’d said. “And it will help you grow. Some boys don’t finish growing until they are in their twenties,” he added with undisguised hope. I resisted scratching the spot on my back where the last of the little suckers had been removed after the physician bled me, and I suppressed a shudder at the memory of that glistening, slimy body swollen with my own blood. So far, my uncle’s “plan” to help me grow bigger had failed miserably.
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