A special feature of the Roman world was the water organ, or hydraulus, which so fascinated Nero. It appears in art and on coins, generally played by a smart young lady, which may have been its appeal. A water organ springs the plot of Last Act in Palmyra. My friend Rosalie’s uncle, Dr Laurence Picken, a Cambridge musicologist, suggested gently that a water organ might not have been quite so loud as I described.
The Baths
The strenuous types are doing their exercises, swinging weight-laden hands about … some ball player comes along and starts shouting out the score … someone starting up a brawl, and someone else caught thieving … the man who likes the sound of his voice in the bath … people who leap into the pool with a tremendous splash … the hair remover making his client yell for him … the man selling drinks, and one selling sausages, and the other selling pastries …
SENECA
The baths were central to Roman life, an institution that probably came from the East. Supplied by the aqueducts, ornamented with statues and mosaics, they were heated by hypocausts and wall flues. Turkish baths or old-fashioned European spas give the idea. The public baths offered all kinds of social intercourse, though I suspect many people tried to keep to themselves. The classic client trick was to try to meet someone who would invite you to dinner.
You paid your quadrans, stripped and left your clothes on hooks or shelves in the apodyterium (hoping they would not be stolen). Sandals were useful on the hot floors.You could exercise first, then move through a series of rooms; how many depended on the size and luxury of the baths. The basic three were the tepidarium (warm), caldarium (hot), and frigidarium (cold); many baths also had a plunge pool or swimming pool.
Strigils (found in Roman baths)
Cleanliness was achieved through scented oils, scraped off with a strigil, either managing yourself, or having a slave (yours, or hired) do it. Professional masseurs were available. So were poems and pies, manicurists and barbers. Painful kinds of depilation were practised – though not by Falco. In Nemesis a vain man with louche tastes avails himself of the ancient version of ‘back, sac and crack’, as attested by Persius:
On your jaws you keep a length of rug which you comb and perfume;
So why is your crotch plucked smooth around your dangling worm?
Though half a dozen masseurs in the gym uproot this plantation,
Assailing your flabby buttocks with hot pitch and the claws
Of tweezers, no plough ever made will tame that bracken.
It can only end in tears.
Money and Measurement
It was enough for these Roman small-change fiddlers to prey gently on dopey provincials who did not know the difference between a dupondius and an as (both brass, but on a dupondius the Emperor wears a radiate crown instead of a wreath – of course you knew that!). [OB]
Do you not realise what money is for, what enjoyment it gives?
You can buy bread and vegetables, half a litre of wine,
And the other things which human life can’t do without.
Or maybe you prefer to lie awake half dead with fright, to spend
Your days and nights in dread of a gang of burglars or fire
Or your own slaves, who may fleece you and disappear?
HORACE
These were the coin denominations in Falco’s day:
Aureus = 25 denarii (gold)
Denarius = 4 sestertii (silver)
Sestertius = 4 asses (brass)
Dupondius = 2 as (brass)
As = 2 semises (copper)
Semis = 2 quadrantes (brass)
Quadrans (copper)
Basic pay annually for a legionary was 225 denarii, and they were well paid (though subject to deductions for uniform, burial club, etc.). An aureus would have been a rare sight; the unit of account was the sestertius, but even those would chink infrequently in most purses. Coins in daily use on the streets would be ‘coppers’. A famous price list from Pompeii offers wine for an as, best wine for two or Falernian for four (though it might be fake). A loaf would be a dupondius, a tunic fifteen sestertii (Falco probably owns too many tunics, incidentally; perhaps he claims them as expenses, under ‘disguise’).
Measurement
Weights and measures tables are easy to find. I’ll just mention that the Roman foot and therefore the Roman inch, or in Falco phraseology, digit, were slightly shorter than ours, as was the Roman mile; when Falco mentions miles, I try to work out Roman miles but it is rough and ready.
All decent markets had sets of standard weights and measures. Most sellers probably cheated strangers, though not old ladies unless the sellers were extremely stupid.
Clothes and Accessories
Clothes were woven on looms, so the tunic was the basic garment: a rectangle, long for women, short for men, very short for male re-enactors who want to show off their legs. The neck-hole was a weak point, prone to tears and ladders. Shaping is difficult on a loom, hence togas, with their curved edges, were a sign of the élite. Sewing flat braid on to a curve is a nightmare too. And togas took an enormous amount of cloth. Look elsewhere for diagrams of how to don a toga; you dropped one end down your front, wrapped the other end behind your back, then down under your arm and across your front, then slung it back over your left shoulder; this left your right hand free to hold a scroll or make dramatic gestures. Togas were heavy and men made a fuss, longing to leave them off (they could in the country).
Most clothes were made of wool, so were hot, hard to wash, and prickly to sensitive skins. On the other hand, southern people wore more than North Europeans would, just as Mediterranean men nowadays wear summer vests. Augustus, a sickly chappie, wore several layers of tunic.
Neither aniline dyes nor dry cleaning had been invented, with the results you would expect. Colours were natural, but tended to leak in the wash, getting paler each time. Body odour is earthy in a world without antiperspirants.
There were all kinds of cloaks, hats and shoes. Women, and some men, loved jewellery; cheap stuff was basic (stones on a string) while the best had astonishing craftsmanship, filigree gold, pearls and precious stones – though facet-cutting was difficult so coloured gemstones predominate over diamonds. Wigs were worn by both sexes (human hair, often imported, like extensions today). Everyone knew blondes had more fun.
Make-up existed, with a tendency to be composed of wine-lees and dung, or wicked substances like antimony and lead. There are books on Roman fashion; or just look at frescos and tombstones. Personally, I am no fan of the brief vogue for the Flavian ladies’ curly court hairstyle.
In my period good Romans were clean-shaven. No honest Roman wears a beard. Access to good razors is what singles us out from the barbarians. [AL]
Falco mentions all this because style helps him evaluate witnesses’ and suspects’ status and character. Hats and boots have been clues. Hats and cloaks have been disguises. A painted face always provides a chance to purse disapproving lips, while – in Falco’s case – probably smacking them.
A court beauty having a bad hair day
Latin Words and Pronouncation
I was asked to discuss Latin words. I don’t know why, because I use very few. I write to be accessible to people who know neither Roman history nor Latin. I like to use the original names for places and people, because that adds period flavour; I get twitchy over my Spanish and Italian translations, where national convention is rigidly followed instead, so Falco is ‘Marco Didio’.
Otherwise, I loathe books where show-off authors repeatedly use foreign phrases, so I shun that. Everything has to be understandable in context. (First, I have to understand it myself!)
I did intend to include a pronunciation guide, honest. There are various types of oral Latin: classical, church, singers’ Latin which differs according to period … You can find instructions in books and on websites. You can play with it for hours.
The problem is not just that we don’t know for certain how classical Latin was pronounced. We can make deduct
ions from inscriptions and the rhythms of poetry, though this may only give the sound of the educated classes. Think how pronunciation has changed just from early films to now. Throughout the Empire there would be wide variations; even in Rome, the man in the street might be unintelligible to a senator – and vice versa. Vespasian, who was born not so very far from Rome, was mocked for pronouncing the word for ‘wagons’ as ‘plostra’ rather than ‘plaustra’.
Trying to be ‘correct’, you fall at almost the second consonant: ‘c’ should be hard. Julius Caesar should be pronounced like Kaiser Bill. It gets worse: ‘i’ should be ‘y’ and certain syllables are long – so Helena’s nice brother mutates into Yusteenus. Yuk. When I was at school, a new system had been introduced which included saying ‘v’ as ‘w’. This would make my emperor ‘Wespasian’. Even if true, I refuse to do it. I have always in mind the consoling history of Sellar and Yeatman:Julius Caesar … set the memorable Latin sentence ‘Veni, Vidi, Vici’, which the Romans, who were all very well educated, construed correctly. The Britons, however, who of course still used the old pronunciation, understanding him to have called them ‘Weeny, Weedy and Weaky’, lost heart and gave up the struggle, thinking that he had already divided them All into Three Parts.
Ginny sent me her teaching-guide, but not all of it fitted what I learned, which is, mostly, how I still speak. When I tried her rules, redolent with long ‘a’s where I think they are short, I was soon pronouncing Latin with a Texan accent.
A novel should tell a story, smoothly and naturally, so the sense takes precedence and you are not held up by oddities. Even though I hear the words as I write, I am listening to their rhythm as it imparts ideas and jokes; I’m not being picky about vowels. Half my vowels are Brummie anyway if I get excited. People who ask for guides don’t want the Corieltauvi dialect.
So my advice is, don’t worry. Never put the stress on the last syllable. Roll your ‘r’s if you can. Then say what seems natural and just pretend you live in a barbarian province where the elocution teachers haven’t yet been sent out from Rome.
Frequently Asked Questions
These are perennials from my postbag.
Would you write a prequel (about Falco and Petro in the army in Britain)?
No.Two reasons: I would not want to write a book that could not include Helena. And I myself don’t want to address whether Falco and Petronius were as laddish as they both make out. Some things are better left open. Other authors write books about a couple of blokes who are best pals, bonding and fighting. It is not my style. Falco and Petronius are the kind of men real women like: grown-ups.
Is Festus really dead?
Yes.
Might he not be secretly in hiding somewhere?
No.
But he’s one of life’s survivors; wouldn’t it be fun if …
Nope. I couldn’t stand the bloke for five minutes. I don’t have to do this!
What will happen when Vesuvius erupts?
I am loath to write about the eruption. Pliny described it so well (his classic and very famous description is still used by vulcanologists); there is nothing left for a descriptive novelist to say. And this was a real tragedy. The Boxing Day tsunami sealed my view that such an event is unsuitable for light, entertaining novels.
How will Falco survive under Domitian?
Stoically.
Will you ever kill off Falco?
No. Nor Helena.
What is fish-pickle? What is silphium?
See the section on Roman food and drink.
Ashes were already falling, hotter and thicker as the ships drew near, followed by bits of pumice and blackened stones, charred and cracked by the flames …
Meanwhile on Mount Vesuvius broad sheets of fire and leaping flames blazed at several points, their bright glare emphasised by the darkness of night.
PLINY THE YOUNGFR
How do Roman names work?
See Some Other Aspects of Roman Life.
Is Falco telling the story from some future time/writing his memoirs?
I suppose Falco is writing his memoirs but I’m not sure why some readers get so intrigued by this. First-person narratives are just a convention in some novels. I don’t think about it.
An extended joke is that Falco is bound by rules of confidentiality to ‘protect his sources’. As the project manager of Fishbourne, he is silenced by the Roman equivalent of the Official Secrets Act: A problem arises when working for clients who demand confidentiality clauses: the investigator is required to keep silent forever about his cases. Many a private informer could write titillating memoirs, full of slime and scandal, were this not the case. Many an imperial agent could produce a riveting autobiography, in which celebrated names would juggle in shocking juxtaposition with those of vicious mobsters and persons with filthy morals of both sexes … Want to hear about the Vestal, the hermaphrodite and the Superintendent of Riverbanks? You won’t get a sniff of it from me. [BBH]
If this were other than irony, we would have no Falco novels.
I do always remind people that the books are fiction – but fiction written by a fairly laid-back, and perhaps mischievous author (well, two of them: him and me both). I reserve the right to bury Falco in Vesuvius ash and say the books are really written by Helena afterwards. Or indeed (and how tempting this is!) that they are scrawled by Anacrites in some psychologically weird wish to emulate. However, to become Falco’s Boswell requires Anacrites to survive whatever adventures await him …
When will Falco and Helena get married?
I think they are married. So do they, which is what matters.
From the moment Helena turns up with her luggage in Venus in Copper they are married in the strict sense. If the situation seems unclear after that, it reflects both the state of the author’s research and their mutual insecurity. The definitive scene occurs at the end of Poseidon’s Gold.
Subsequently Falco gives extra explanation to soothe the perturbed: We were both free to marry and if we both chose to live together that was all the law required. We had considered denying it. In that case our children would take their mother’s social rank, although any advantage was theoretical. As long as their father lacked honorific titles they would be stuck in the mud like me … So when we came home from Spain [i.e. after the birth of Julia] we had decided to acknowledge our position publicly. Helena had stepped down to my level. She knew what she was doing; she had seen my style of life, and faced up to the consequences. Our daughters were debarred from good marriages. Our sons stood no chance of holding public office, no matter how much their noble grandfather the senator would like to see them stand for election. The upper class would close against them, while the lower ranks would probably despise them as outsiders too. [THF]
Falco refers to his wife in The Silver Pigs. Does anybody really want to imagine this is not Helena?
Will you do the Christians?
I affirm not.
I doggedly stand by my tenet that those of my characters who would have been pagans stay that way. I want to correct all those earlier, Christian, novelists who implied that every First Century Roman was bursting for conversion.
While writing Last Act in Palmyra at a furious pace, Jehovah’s Witnesses interrupted. I particularly resent being evangelised in my home. As soon as they smiled and said how pleasant it was to meet us, we knew they were bastards … So, When the fanatical sales-talk moved to offering us a guarantee of eternal life, we beat the Christians up soundly and left them whimpering.
‘There, there, Cornelius, don’t cry; they wouldn’t have hurt you. They just like to smile and tell you they have found the answer.’
‘The answer to what?’
‘To the question.’ [SDD]
Emboldened by Christians sneakily liking that scene, I did have Falco refuse to buy a Christian slave. ‘They drink their god’s blood while they maunder about love, don’t they?’ My late brother Festus encountered these crazy men in Judaea and sent home some lurid stories. ‘I’
m looking for a children’s nurse. I can’t have perverts.’
‘No, no, I believe they drink wine … These Christians just pray a lot, or try to convert the master or the mistress of the house to their beliefs.’
‘You want to get me arrested because some arrogant slave says everyone should deny the sanctity of the Emperor?’ [BBH]
Now at rock bottom, the slave master can only offer a Briton instead …
Why are you so rude about Britain?
Because the Romans were.
Americans, with their dangerous ideal of ‘My country, right or wrong’, find it hard to grasp that Britons love most what they disparage most. I illustrate the Roman view of the impossibly remote place they invaded. Take it from Tacitus: The climate is wretched, with its frequent rains and mists, but there is no extreme cold. Their day is longer than in our part of the world. The nights are light, and in the extreme north so short that evening and morning twilight are scarcely distinguishable … The soil will produce good crops, except olives, vines, and other plants which usually grow in warmed lands. They are slow to ripen, they shoot up quickly – both facts due to the same cause, the extreme moistness of the soil and atmosphere.
We know from the Vindolanda Tablets that Britain was a hard posting whence officers desperately begged for more beer for the lads, while the lads themselves requested underpants. So Falco sees Britain according to the stereotype, a stereotype he has experienced: The fine mist that tangles sticky as fishglue in your hair; the cold that leaps straight into your shoulders and knees; the sea fogs and hill blizzards; the dreadful dark months when dawn and evening seem hardly separate … [SP]
We liked Britain more than Marcus Didius admits. I think if ever informers are barred from Rome we might even retire there; Marcus dreams of a quiet farm in a fertile river valley … [THF]
Lucius shows his bottom (and grows up to hate family sculptures)
I spent long childhood holidays camping on Holy Island, off Anglesey. When it comes to weather I know what I’m talking about.
Falco: The Official Companion (A Marcus Didius Falco Mystery) Page 31
