by Ben Kane
In my mind, the Centuriate’s refusal to ratify the Senate’s first motion for war with Macedon was entirely understandable. After seventeen years of brutal war with Hannibal, peace must have appealed to most men. Huge amounts of politicking and backstreet deals will have taken place in the months after; the violence is my invention, but political thuggery was a common theme in the Republic. Galba’s speech to the Centuriate is recounted by Livy in vivid detail. Among the references in it were Hannibal’s siege of Saguntum, a city in Spain allied to the Republic, an act which began the second Punic war, and the Mamertine mercenaries, who provided the spark for the outbreak of hostilities of the first Punic war (264–241 BC).
When the Romans advanced towards Macedon in autumn 200 BC, the praetor Lucius Apustius had elephants with him, as well as Numidians. It isn’t clear if Antipatreia was taken using ladders, but Syracuse fell thanks to this method just a few years before. The brutal sacking of the town would have been a common reply to resistance. At thirteen, girls were women two millennia ago; distasteful as it is, rape of such females was widespread. So too was the cruel practice of leaving disabled, ill or female babies to die of exposure. It is worth mentioning Felix’s dreams here. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD, was almost unknown in ancient times – there is no body of evidence to suggest otherwise. The reasons for this must have been manifold but serve to show us how different from us ancient peoples were – we want to think that Romans were like us, but in so many ways, they weren’t. Two thousand years ago, life was brutal. Death was ever-present – think infant and child mortality rates of 40–60 per cent by the age of ten, and a life expectancy of under thirty for women (thanks to childbirth), and about forty for men. Slavery and horrific public executions were normal throughout the Mediterranean; so too was widespread slaughter in war. In other words, the average person, whether Roman, Macedonian or Greek, was used to a great deal more violence and death than pretty much anyone is today.
Philip’s crazy attack on Athens typified the man. The statues of youths outside Greek city walls venerated war dead, so the Athenians would have been enraged by his order to pull them down. No one knows what the mountain passes between Illyria, Epirus and Macedon were called; ‘the dirty gates’ is the translation from Turkish of one. ‘The camp of Pyrrhus’ is another location mentioned by Livy in this area. The clashes at Ottolobus and Pluinna unfolded as I described. Philip was lucky not to be killed at the former. I made up his men equipping themselves with Roman mail shirts taken from the dead, but Hannibal’s soldiers did this after the battle of Lake Trasimene. The level of intrigue and the rivalry between Flamininus and Galba is my invention, but the two tribunes’ opposition to his candidacy as consul is fact. Consuls were not elected by their fellows, but by the Centuriate. I felt a scene in the Senate would be more dramatic, however. Philip is known to have had spies in Rome; I like to think that Flamininus might have had the same throughout Greece but have no proof.
Aristophanes was a noted Greek playwright; Frogs is one of his most famous works. A bawdy comedy, its text survives. The assassination attempt at the theatre is my invention; so too is Herakleides’ involvement. The Tarentine was a real person; a lot of intrigue is ascribed to him, but it was my choice to put Herakleides in league with the Aetolians. His fate is unknown. During the winter of 199 BC, dissatisfied Roman veterans mutinied in Apollonia. When Flamininus arrived, he at once relieved Villius of his command. Soon after, he advanced up the Aous valley to meet Philip, where a forty-day standoff resulted.
Night attacks were rare, but did sometimes happen; Alexander the Great used them to great effect. The confrontation between Flamininus and Philip took place across the Aous. The standoff in the valley only ended when Charops, a local Epirote chieftain, guided a Roman force up and around the Macedonian position. Attacked from front and rear, Philip’s army broke. The campaign progressed as I described, with Phacium, Phaloria and Gomphi all falling to the Romans and Thessaly being burned. Accounts of the battle at Atrax are scant, but in the confined space of the fortress’s walls, Philip’s phalangists were victorious over the legionaries.
The Macedonian phalanx was a formidable battle formation; by the time of Philip V, all Greek city states had adopted it. Cavalry had reverted to their earlier role, that of being subsidiary to the infantry. The structure of the phalanx is, like so much to do with the ancient world, open to debate. Thanks to the Greek historian Polybius, we are fairly sure that the basic 256-man unit (16 men wide, 16 men deep) was called the speira. Four speirai formed a battalion, which may have been called a chiliarchy, and four chiliarchies formed a strategia. Philip’s phalanx was often referred to as having a strength of 10,000 men; Connolly and others have suggested therefore that his two strategiai each had five chiliarchies. Some of Philip’s units were called white shields and brazen shields; copying Connolly, I decided to make these full strategiai in size. There is almost no historical evidence for phalangists engaging in training; the exception is Philip V, who insisted his soldiers train during this war. Trumpets were used to relay commands at distance, as with the Romans.
The oath taken by new recruits to the legions was known during the Principate; I think it logical to assume a similar one was used during the Republic. Legionary training lasted perhaps two to three months, and was brutally tough. The sword of the time, the gladius hispaniensis, was lethal, and it wasn’t just a stabbing weapon. Livy describes how scared Philip’s soldiers were of these blades, because of the ease with which they removed limbs. Romans used inches, feet and miles (the last was only a little smaller than the imperial mile). Greeks used feet – different to the Roman one! – and stadia.
Philip’s helmet with ram’s horns is attested. Peritas was a dog owned by Alexander the Great. Pankration was a brutal sport, much respected by all Greeks; Spartans were known for their gouging. Greek drinkers flicked wine at statues for fun; they diluted their wine less than the Romans. Weights shaped like bulls’ heads were used in Greece. Lions were rare but still present in Philip’s kingdom. The rooms I described in his royal palace were excavated in Pella, and probably date to the time of Philip II, Alexander’s father. A stadium hasn’t yet been found in the city, as far as I know. Nor has a theatre. It stands to reason, however, that such structures would have existed. Leprosy was common in ancient times. So were fires in Rome, where the upper storeys of larger buildings tended to be built of wood. Official fire brigades didn’t come into existence until the first century AD. It’s not known if ‘million’ was used by the Romans, so I used the term ‘a thousand thousand’ instead.
Despite what some people believe, people in ancient Rome cursed just as much as we do today – perhaps more so. Proof exists in the plentiful, lewd graffiti in Pompeii and bawdy Roman poetry. You might be surprised to know that the ‘C’ word was one of the commonest swear words. So too was ‘cocksucker’. ‘Fuck’ is less well attested, but there is a Latin verb futuere, which means ‘to fuck’. My more frequent use of the ‘F’ word compared to the ‘C’ word is nothing more than an attempt to spare blushes.
The Greeks were fond of swearing too. I liked the expressions ‘dusty footed’, ‘sheepskin wearer’ and ‘tent sulker’ too much not to use them. I also love ‘mouse in the pitch pot’ and ‘knee high to a grasshopper’. Looking a gift horse in the mouth is a little controversial: it was first described around 400 AD, and we know that the Greeks didn’t know how to age a horse by its teeth, but it’s such a great expression I decided to use it anyway. The lines from the drinking song (‘Pipe, pipe away . . .’) are from ancient Greece. The orator Demosthenes’ derogatory comments about Philip, Alexander the Great’s father, come from his famous Philippics. Although the word ‘barbarian’ is often thought of as Roman, it derived from the Greek barbaros, which means foreigner, or someone who doesn’t speak Greek. I love the theory that the word might have come from how non-Greek speakers sounded: ‘bar-bar-bar’.
Titus Pullo was a centurion in Julius Caesar’s army; he also featured in the excelle
nt HBO series Rome: I found it amusing to name a character after him. Sarmentus and Messius Cicirrus were famous Roman clowns. Melancomas was a boxer famous for avoiding his opponents’ punches. Tiberius Claudius Nero and Marcus Servilius Pulex Geminus were consuls at the time I described. So too were Villius and Sextus Aelius Paetus Catus. Minucius Rufus, Scipio Africanus, Gaius Cornelius Cethegus, Lucius Furius Purpureo and Cato were all politicians of the period. Perseus was Philip’s son. Amynander of Athamania was a real man; the generals Philokles and Sopater served Philip.
There is a homage to the film Gladiator in the book – this one’s easy to spot. I have again given a nod to Joe Abercrombie, the master of dark fantasy – ‘laying someone in the mud’ is my favourite of his phrases. The expression ‘shoulder to shoulder’ may have been used by Roman soldiers, but my intent in this book was to honour the modern-day warriors who play rugby for Ireland. I am a fanatical supporter of the boys in green, and the hashtag #ShoulderToShoulder is used on social media when showing support for the Irish team. The discus thrower is perhaps the most famous statue from ancient times; its sculptor Myron was famous even in antiquity.
The ancient texts are indispensable to an author of Roman and Greek historical fiction. Without Livy, Pausanias and to a lesser extent Polybius, Hesiod, Xenophon, Aristophanes and Diodorus, my task of writing this book would have been nigh-on impossible. Their words must be taken with a pinch of salt, but they are vital when describing events that took place more than two millennia ago. I own many texts, but I also make extensive use of the Lacus Curtius website, which has English translations of many surviving texts. My thanks, therefore, to Bill Thayer of the University of Chicago, who runs it. Find Lacus Curtius here: tinyurl.com/3utm5.
The modern texts on my desk when writing Clash of Empires include A History of Greece by J.B. Bury and R. Meiggs; Roman Military Equipment by M. C. Bishop and J. C. N. Coulston; Greece and Rome at War and The Greek Armies by Peter Connolly; Conway’s The Age of the Galley; Greek and Roman Mythology by D.M. Field; Ancient Greece by Robert Garland; The Complete Roman Army by Adrian Goldsworthy; Atlas of the Greek World by Peter Levi; Roman Conquests: Macedonia and Greece by Philip Matyszak; A Companion to Greek Religion edited by Daniel Ogden; Everyday Life in Ancient Greece by Nigel Rodgers; The Hellenistic Age by Peter Thonemann; Philip V of Macedon by F.W. Walbank (without this superlative text, I would have been utterly lost); Warfare in the Classical World by John Warry; Taken at the Flood by Robin Waterfield (whom I am also grateful to for his help with planning a visit to Albania). Publications by Osprey and Karwansaray are often helpful, and I couldn’t do without the Oxford Classical Dictionary (thanks to my father for that!). Thanks also to my friend Harry Sidebottom, a fellow author and Roman academic, for casting his eagle eye over the book. I’m relieved to say that he found just two errors, only one of which was embarrassing.
Many of you will know that I support the charities Combat Stress, which helps British veterans with PTSD, and Médecins sans Frontières (MSF), which sends medical staff into disaster and war zones worldwide. If you’d like to know more about one of the money-raising efforts I made with author friends Anthony Riches and Russell Whitfield, look up ‘Romani walk’ on YouTube. The three of us walked 130 miles/210 kilometres in Italy, wearing full Roman armour. The documentary is narrated by Sir Ian McKellen – Gandalf! Find it here: tinyurl.com/h4n8h6g – and please tell your friends about it.
More recently I have been helping Park in the Past, a community-interest company which plans to build a Roman marching fort near Chester, in north-west England. It’s the most amazing project. Find it here: parkinthepast.org.uk. Thanks to all of you who continue to donate, support and help with the fundraising. Two readers who’ve been especially supportive in recent months appear in this book: Philippos is based on the inestimable Bruce Phillips, one of life’s true gentlemen, and Livius is based on the wonderful Lesley Jolley. Thank you both. Kimon and Antileon are affectionate depictions of two of my oldest friends, Killian Ó Móráin and Arthur O’Connor. Here’s to another three decades of comradeship! I am grateful to the ever-generous Robin Carter of Parmenion Books (check out his website!), and the many books he has donated to ‘the cause’.
Thanks to my two new editors, Jon Wood and Craig Lye of Orion Publishing. Finishing this book sometimes seemed impossible, but you managed to extract it from me without toooo much pain. It’s a more toned, pedigree beast because of your input – gratitude to you both. I’m thankful to my foreign publishers, in particular the team at Ediciones B in Spain. Other people must be mentioned too: Charlie Viney, my wonderful agent and friend. Steve O’Gorman, my copy editor, a true professional. Claire Wheller, my fabulous sports physio, who keeps my RSIs at bay; Chris Vick, masseuse extraordinaire, who ensures that my back doesn’t seize up. Thank you all.
And so to you, my fabulous readers. You keep me in a job, and I am always appreciative of that. I will say it again: anything not to go back to veterinary medicine! Please keep sending your emails and comments/messages on Facebook and Twitter. Look out for the signed books and Roman goodies I give away and auction (for charity) via these media. I should mention that after you’ve read my books, leaving a short review on websites such as Amazon, Goodreads, Waterstone’s and iTunes is really important. Historical fiction is currently a shrinking market, sad to say. Times are way tougher than they were when I was first published in 2008, and an author lives and dies on their reviews. Just a few minutes of your time helps me more than you know – thank you in advance!
Last but not least, I want to thank my wife Sair and my amazing children Ferdia and Pippa for the oceans of love and joy that they bring into my world.
Ways to contact me:
Email: [email protected]
Twitter: @BenKaneAuthor
Facebook: facebook.com/benkanebooks
Also, my website: benkane.net
YouTube (my short documentary-style videos): tinyurl.com/y7chqhgo
GLOSSARY
Abydos: a town on the Asiatic side of the Hellespont/Bosphorus. Abydus to the Romans.
Acarnania/Akarnania: an isolated area of north-west coastal Greece, allied to Macedon.
Achaea/Akhaia: a region on the northern coast of the Peleponnese.
Acrocorinth/Akrokorinth: the mighty Macedonian fortress sited at the neck of the Peloponnese; one of the ‘Fetters of Greece’ (see separate entry), it controlled access to the mainland.
aedile: a Roman magistrate tasked with running cities, water supplies and markets.
Aegean Sea: the body of water between Greece and Asia Minor, modern-day Turkey.
Aeolus: ruler god of the winds.
Aeschylus/Aiskhylos: a famous Athenian playwright of the sixth and fifth centuries BC.
Aetolia/Aitolia: a region in west-central Greece; an implacable enemy of Macedon.
agora: a Greek term for the place where people gathered. Typically in the centre of towns or cities, its Roman equivalent was the forum.
Ambracian Gulf: an enclosed bay between Epirus and Acarnania.
Antiochus III/Antiokhos III: the Seleucid ruler of Syria, a vast kingdom that had emerged after the death of Alexander the Great. An energetic and clever ruler, he reconquered large areas lost by his forebears. It will come as no surprise that he was on Rome’s radar, as it were, at the time of the war with Philip.
Antipatreia: modern day Berat, Albania.
Aous, River: the modern-day Vjosa river.
Aphrodite: the goddess of sexuality and reproduction.
Apollo: son of Zeus, the god of healing, prophecy, poetry and music.
Apollonia: a city sited at the mouth of the River Aous; it allied itself with Rome in 229 BC and served as the main base for the military campaigns against Macedon.
Apsus, River: the modern-day Devoll river in Albania.
Ares: the Greek god of war, embodiment of the destructive but often useful aspects of war; his sons were called Fear and Terror.
Aristotle: one of the greatest Gre
ek philosophers; he is known to have tutored the young Alexander the Great.
Artemis: the Greek goddess of women’s and men’s rites of passage, and of hunting.
Asia Minor: modern-day Turkey.
Asklepios/Aesculapius: the god of medicine. A major shrine to the god, the oldest in Greece, existed in Trikka, modern-day Trikala.
aspis/aspides: the small, round shield used by Philip’s phalangists. Sheathed in bronze with a wooden core, the face was usually embossed. In shape it was a little concave, and about eight palms in diameter. The aspis was controlled with a band for the left arm, and a neck strap. Modern reconstructions weigh about 5 kg.
asses (sing. as): small copper coins, each worth a sixteenth of a denarius.
Athamania: a small region to the east of Epirus and the west of Thessaly.
Atrax: a vitally important Macedonian fortress situated in the Thessalian plain, east of Gomphi.
atrium: the front hall of a Roman villa, a courtyard with a pool to collect rainwater at its centre.
Attica/Attika: the territory belonging to the city of Athens.
Bacchus: the Roman god of wine. See also entry for Dionysos.
Bargylia: a town in western Asia Minor, north of Bodrum in modern-day Turkey.
Boeotia: a region of central Greece. Pronounced ‘Bee-o-sha’. One of the most stylish and recognisable helmets from ancient times was the Boeotian, worn by cavalrymen.
Brundisium: modern-day Brindisi.
caltrops: the ancient precursor to the spiked chain used by police today to stop speeding vehicles. Four-pronged pieces of iron varying in height from 5 to 15 centimetres/2 to 6 inches, they were designed when thrown to land with one point uppermost. The Romans used them at the bottoms of ditches and on the battlefield.
Campus Martius: the Field of Mars was an open area just to the north of Rome where public meetings took place, and young men trained. During the Principate, it was built on.
