The Baths in Ancient Rome were rowdy! Also sexy. Read on to find out how

The Roman philosopher Seneca lived over a Roman baths in ancient Rome. He complained in letters about the noise!

Things he really hated:

Men exercising hard at the baths and grunting as they did so.

Hair-pluckers wandering about the baths, yelling for customers and then making their customers yell as they plucked out their arm-pit hairs with tweezers. (Ouch!)

Men 'dive-bombing' into the plunge pool.

Cake and sausage sellers shouting about their goodies all round the baths.
However, Roman baths could also be sensual, sexy places - as you will discover if you pick up a copy of my Roman historical romance, FLAVIA'S SECRET, now available as a free download until Valentine's Day.

http://www.bookstrand.com/flavias-secret

Here's another excerpt from the novel, taken from the great bath in Aquae Sulis (Roman Bath at Bath in England, where the novel is set.) Here the hero and heroine, Marcus and Flavia, are together while the baths are quietening, having encountered the corrupt Decurion, Lucius Maximus.

EXCERPT:


As they walked side by side back through the great bath, Marcus said, `An impatient man, and cruel. Detestable.' He cracked his fists together.

`He's hiding something,' Flavia said. `Why else was he so concerned about Lady Valeria's papers and that fictitious journal?'

`Ah, so you knew I had made that up!' Marcus put an arm about her shoulders and steered her towards the shimmering waters. `You are right, though, and so was Valeria. That is not a man to be trusted.'

`I wonder why he warned you off politics.'

`I'm wondering that myself.'

As they closed on the top step of the great bath, Flavia sensed a new kind of danger and tried to forestall possible trouble. She lifted the small wax tablet attached to her belt. `Should I make a note of anything, sir?'

`I think not.' Gently, but inexorably, Marcus turned her to face him. `Thank you for shackling my temper, little Celt.' He bent and kissed her forehead. `When he spoke of my mother -' His fingers tightened around her shoulders, instantly relaxing as if he realizedwhat he was doing. `Forgive me.'

To her own amazement, impelled by a sense of sympathy she hardly dare acknowledge, Flavia touched a hand against his chest. `There is nothing for you to be sorry about,' she whispered.

His hand brushed against her head. `Amazing stuff,' he said, running a loose tendril of her hair through his fingers. `Like foam.' He lightly kissed her nose and then, as she laughingly protested, her mouth.

A passing bather made a ribald comment, which Flavia did not hear. She was in Marcus' arms again, her own arms floating shyly around his middle, tightening as he groaned and gathered her closer. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the kiss, her lips becoming ever more sensitive as their embrace deepened. His arms were locked about her, his sensual mouth both taking and offering, his tongue tracing her teeth, the inside of her lips.

`Flavia,' he breathed, as his hands spread across her back and waist,one dipping lower and stroking exquisitely slowly over her bottom.

She gasped aloud, wanting yet not wanting to break free.

`Hey, soldier!' yelled another bather. `Have pity on the rest of us!'

Horrified, suddenly aware again of exactly where they were, Flavia tried to draw back, but Marcus followed her, his mouth smiling against hers. `Not yet,' he murmured, `Just one more.' He kissed her again and lifted her in his arms, half-threatening to drop her into the great bath.

`No, please!' Flavia squirmed, the rising steam dampening her clothes as she was lowered helplessly close to those pale green waters. `I will bite your arm!'

`Do that, my girl, and your backside will regret it,' growled Marcus,sitting on a marble bench close to the top step with Flavia on his lap. `Now be still a moment and stop scandalising the bathers - the few that are left.'

`The baths close soon after sunset here,' Flavia reminded him,leaning her head against his shoulder. She felt a disturbing mixture of shame and exhilaration, but overall she was grateful for the respite, a breathing space for her overwhelmed senses. Watching the emptying waters of the great bath with Marcus, she told herself that
she could not afford to be close to him. Yet she had heard of masters who had freed and married their slave girls, a beguiling thought.

Marcus watched her, taking in her warm, bright eyes, her flushed face and prettily reddened lips. She dovetailed so snugly in his lap it was a pity to move. Delicate, he thought, watching the shadow of her
long lashes falling across her high cheekbones, but surprisingly passionate. A water spirit, very much in keeping with their surroundings.

He scowled, disquieted by his own thought. He had never been sentimental before. He remembered Drusilla his wife, an honored spouse, whom he had treated from the very beginning with respect, good-will, and loyalty. This girl was not even his own race.

She licked her lips, one hand absently pressed against her stomach.

`Thirsty?' he asked. `And hungry no doubt.'

`Not for any delicacy provided by Lucius Maximus,' the girl said quietly. Marcus applauded her principles: she had great spirit.

He patted the marble bench. `Wait here. I will find us a drink, at least.'

`Thank you, sir.'

She left his knee and although that was what he had asked for, Marcus was frowning again. She had called him the slave`s term of respect, as was his due, but he was disquieted as he set out through the rapidly emptying baths in search of a wine-seller. He had discovered that he did not really want Flavia to call him 'Sir'.

Best wishes, Lindsay
Lindsay Townsend: FLAVIA' S SECRET
How Far Dare You Trust Your Lover? Especially when he is also your master?

http://www.lindsaytownsend.net/

Kiss Week at HEA! A shy kiss....

As writers of romance and readers of romance, we all savor that 'first kiss' moment. Here as a celebration of romance and sweet kisses, we are each posting a kiss excerpt from out novels all this week.

Here is mine, taken from the ancient world historical romance, 'Bronze Lightning'. The heroine Sarmatia and the hero Fearn are now reunited after many trials, but both are still a little shy of each other.

(The sacred hill mentioned in this excerpt is based on where I live. I can see it from my window.)

EXCERPT
One hill was separate from the rest. It rose out of a wooded valley and lay like a curved shield upon the land, with no tree or bush growing on its sides to mar its smoothness. Sarmatia was looking at the hill sidelong. The view pleased her. The hill was so open. Mist and rain had obscured it before, but now she could see far in this amber-colored air. 'What's that hill called? I'd like to go there.'
Without a glance, Fearn did not look up. 'You can't. We're going to the Mushroom Wood today.' He finished tying the leather thongs of his shoes and rose, turning to damp down the fire embers.
Sarmatia was annoyed. Fearn did not usually stamp out the fire but let it die naturally. Then there was his refusal to take her where she had asked to go, his curt response to her questions. She drummed on the hurdle gate with her fingers. 'But I'd like to go. Why not?'
'We need more food. I know where there's plenty in the wood.' He would not have spoken so to one of his warriors, thought Sarmatia.
'We can do both: search the wood this morning and climb the hill at noon.' Sarmatia stepped away from the gate to open it.
Fearn whipped round and reached her in a few strides. He threw the gate shut, standing before it. 'Remember, Sarmatia, that I'm no more your slave than you're mine. The hill is sacred. We can't go there for your pleasure.'
Sarmatia sank back against the sharp hurdles. She had not seen Fearn like this, harsh, like a king, like Carvin. Despising her own fear, she spat back, 'Fine. You should have told me at once!'
Fearn gave a bark of laughter, the hard planes of his face dissolving. 'You're right, that was unfair. It's just—' He stopped, coloring up slightly.
Moved by his shyness, understanding now why he was on edge, Sarmatia put her hands up towards him. 'Fearn?'
She could ask no more. He drew her close, lifting and sitting her on top of the gate post. 'Shall we begin again? Now that you've said my name, which you speak so rarely and I listen for so hard.'
As though it had never been, his ill humor had vanished. Fearn held her lightly, one hand at each side of her waist, and from being afraid, Sarmatiafelt she was floating. Impulsively, feeling like a bubble, she leaned forward to kiss Fearn. She missed and bumped noses, her lips resting on his moustache. She could feel his heart quickening, his fingers tightening round her middle. 'You'll not span my waist with your hands.' Her face pressed hotly against his cheek. She had tried to kiss him! And he was not moving or speaking. Was she wrong? Did he feel only pity for her?
'No, Sarmatia!' Fearn rebutted her thoughts. 'No, Sarmatia.' His beard pricked and tickled against her mouth and then his lips, gentle at first and fumbling. They told her she was beautiful to him. Sarmatia closed her eyes and gave herself to the kiss, winding her arms around Fearn's neck.
When they broke apart both were shivering. 'We'd best stop.' Fearn spoke in Atterian, his voice furred, but Sarmatia understood. She too, was ready to stop, a little nervous, though she put her lips to him again, teasing him. His mouth was fresh. He hadn't kissed many women before her. She hadn't kissed many men. They would learn together.
'That's enough!' Laughing, Fearn lifted her from the post and set her down, turning then to make a dash for the summer house with a muttered excuse about forgetting something. Sarmatia was not displeased by this. She hung her flute across her back on its thong and pushed the four wooden armlets past her elbows to her wrists, so she might feel them rub together on her flesh. Then she went to fetch the horses.

The cover and buy details can be seen here:
http://www.bookstrand.com/product-bronzelightning-13933-223.html

' The past is another country...

...They do things differently there.' (L. P. Hartley, The Go-Between)

Setting any story in the distant past brings its own delights and perils. For me it allows my heroines to be engaging and ingenious, sometimes accepting historical society's conventions and restrictions, sometimes going against them, but always provoking inner or outward conflict. Heroes can be shown off to great advantage, really doing something - protecting, rescuing, struggling with great war-horses, battling the elements or the bad guys.

However, the backdrop against which all this high-stakes, high-adventure romance takes place needs to be carefully drawn and considered. Fashions are different, right down to underwear (or lack of it). Transport, law, weapons, animals, trees, climate, customs - these can all be very different from the present.

My oldest book, in both creative genesis and the date at which it is set, is Bronze Lightning. This is set in the Bronze Age, before the eruption of Thera (the modern Greek island of Santorini), the island shown below in a Bronze age fresco. Some structures, such as the pyramids and Stonehenge, were already old when the story opens in 1562 BC, although these also looked different. The pyramids I have imagined with their wonderful limestone covering, which would have made them gleam a brilliant white in the landscape. Stonehenge was also complete and not yet fallen into the decay already familiar when Constable created his painting of it.

Ritual places are not the only things that were different in the distant past. Some activities, such as the smelting of metals, farming, brewing, the making of clothes, were all different from what came later and very different from our own time.

Beliefs and religion were also very different and, given the few written sources we have from Bronze Age Europe, must be inferred from archaeology and other means. Fearn the hero believes in a Sky God who has some characters that are similar to the later Viking God Thor: all later religions tend to have 'clues' of past faiths in them. He also undergoes a trance state where he sees symbols that modern shamans have also reported seeing in trances and which have been painted by cave painters.

In Bronze Lightning I bring the heroine Sarmatia right to my own doorstep. The winter house she lives in is set where my parents' house is now, and the wild apple and cherry trees she sees in blossom are ones I have known since childhood. Lots of other details are changed, however, because the distant past truly is another country.

In the Bronze Age, the climate in England was warmer and drier than today. There was much more woodland, and animals such as beavers, bears, wolves and wild boar in the woods. We have lost all these creatures excerpt for the boar, which has escaped from farms in southern England and is making its home in woodland again. Lime trees flourished, and orchids and other flowers that are rare or extinct today. The sheep Sarmatia care for were more like Soay sheep, that do not flock and whose fleece is not at all like the thick fleeces of modern breeds. The cattle were smaller or completely wild. Even the stars she followed were different. Even the polar star hung in a different place in the Bronze Age.

I exploit these differences to show the past in my story, to remind my readers that they are in another time, another place... where magic and romance do truly go hand in hand.

Lindsay