The Devil’s Treasure
Richard Blake (pseudonym of Dr Sean Gabb)
Endeavour Press Ltd, 2017

Richard Blake’s The Devil’s Treasure is an compelling exploration of the brutal world of early mediaeval Italy. Set in 619 AD, it’s a story of espionage and survival, woven together with the kind of historical accuracy and narrative energy that’s rare in the genre. The book is as sharp in its prose as it is intricate in its plotting, and its portrayal of a crumbling post-Roman Italy is as vivid as it is brutal.

That said, I must disclose that “Richard Blake” is a pseudonym of Dr Sean Gabb, who happens to be my Latin teacher. This makes writing a completely impartial review a challenge, but I’ll do my best to give the novel the attention it deserves.

At the centre of the story is Roderic of Aquileia, or Rodi, a young intelligence agent caught between competing powers in a fragmented Italy. The Byzantine administration, led by Eleutherius, a ruthless and cunning eunuch, holds Ravenna in its grip. Meanwhile, the Lombards, with their own brand of brutality, push from the north. Rodi’s mission—to uncover a counterfeit coin operation threatening the region’s stability—quickly spirals into a deadly web of treachery and deceit.

The plot twists are relentless but never feel contrived. Each betrayal and revelation builds on the last, creating a story that feels both tightly plotted and utterly unpredictable.

One of Blake’s greatest strengths is his ability to bring history to life without lecturing the reader. His portrayal of early medieval Italy is meticulous, capturing the decay of once-great cities and the desperate pragmatism of a society on the edge. For instance, Ravenna is described as:

“A city that once glittered with imperial splendour now staggered under the weight of its own decay. The mosaics gleamed still, but the streets reeked of filth, and the air carried the heavy stench of a world in decline.”

This isn’t the romanticised Italy of Renaissance fiction—it’s a place where survival depends on quick wits and moral compromise.

Rodi is a fascinating protagonist. He’s resourceful and intelligent but also deeply flawed. His moral struggles—balancing his duty with his humanity—are some of the most compelling parts of the novel.

Then there’s Eleutherius, the Exarch of Italy, whose presence looms large over the story. He’s no mere bureaucrat; he’s a eunuch who has risen to become one of the most powerful men in the region. His ruthlessness is tempered by a calculating mind, making him one of the most memorable characters in the book. As Rodi observes:

“Eleutherius was not a man to forget an insult or forgive an enemy. His eyes held the cold calculation of a man who had clawed his way to power and had no intention of letting it slip through his fingers.”

Even minor characters are given depth. The Lombard nobles, for example, are not caricatures but individuals shaped by their circumstances—pragmatic, brutal, and cunning.

Blake’s writing shines in its ability to blend action with reflection. A particularly striking passage comes during a tense negotiation in Ravenna:

“The Exarch’s chamber was a place where words carried the weight of swords. Every sentence was a gamble, every pause a potential opening for attack. Rodi sat in silence, his hands steady but his heart pounding, knowing that a single misstep could cost him everything.”

Another standout moment is Rodi’s internal reflection after witnessing yet another betrayal:

“In a world like this, where loyalty was a word for fools and honour a luxury no one could afford, what mattered was survival. And yet, deep down, he felt the sting of shame—a reminder that some part of him still cared.”

These passages highlight Blake’s ability to delve into the psychological toll of life in such a brutal era.

While the novel’s historical setting feels authentic, it occasionally demands close attention to follow its intricate plotting. The dense web of alliances, betrayals, and motivations is not for casual readers, but those willing to invest their focus will find it richly rewarding.

Another small flaw is the occasional overuse of description, particularly in scenes where the atmosphere has already been well established. That said, these moments are rare and do little to detract from the overall impact of the story.

The Devil’s Treasure is a gripping and deeply immersive novel that combines historical accuracy with a relentless, twisting plot. Richard Blake’s ability to recreate the past is matched only by his talent for creating characters who feel both real and deeply flawed.

Highly recommended for readers who enjoy historical fiction that doesn’t shy away from the darker corners of human nature. While my connection to the author might make me slightly biased, I’d wager that this book would win over even the most sceptical reader.

It’s a story that lingers long after you’ve turned the final page—a reminder of just how rich and rewarding historical fiction can be when done right.