I owe two great incidents to my friend, fellow-writer Deryn Lake. First, after we had been to the theatre in London, she was harassed by horrible football fans who tried to hijack her car in a lonely station car park. Her response was to land a straight hook to one of the louts, then speed off through the ‘No Exit’. This inspired Terentia Paula: The furious ex-Vestal let fly at her nephew with a straight-armed, right-handed punch that came all the way from the shoulder. I heard his jaw crack. His head jerked back. Scaurus looked at the ceiling abruptly. Then he went down. [OVTM]
After I discussed my plans for the well rescue, Deryn asked: Did the Romans wear underpants? – an issue of moment which had to be addressed (see FAQs).
I believe the scene where Falco is lowered upside down into the crumbling well is the most terrifying I have written. The great journalist Katharine Whitehorn pointed out that I inflict dark enclosed spaces on Falco as a frequent horror. Is the fear mine, she wonders? I once had claustrophobia briefly in an underground dungeon, but my fear would be that I’d lack the physical stamina to carry off such an exploit when needed.
Richard helped me with technical aspects, for instance, This is a bearer and brattice job. But the scene and its writing are mine, and I am proud of it. Apart from the suspense – will little Gaia be brought out alive? – my intention was to round off the three ‘Partners’ books with a very special incident. Falco’s descent is only possible with aid from his three partners. Helpless on those dangerous, stretching ropes, he has to trust them absolutely; meanwhile, they have to draw on all their loyalty and physical strength to keep him safe. Even Anacrites is moved by the situation and counts as a friend. Petronius and Aelianus are indispensable.
So these four very different men work as a team, on a task they dread will be hopeless. The focus is a child, always representative of hope for the future. At risk are not just her life, but the stability of her mother and other relations, plus the life of Falco and all who care for him – including his helpers. The scene is about absolute courage and indestructible morality. We have to try – is that agreed? No other option for them – and for me, of course, their success is the only option too.
Although I know the result, when they collapse exhausted on the turf together, even I have to wipe away a tear.
Ode to a Banker
First published 2000
This book is indeed about banking. It was written when I finally earned enough money to care very much how my bank might handle or mishandle it. I have been both severely poor and newly cash-rich; my views on banking had firmed up sternly. In the following decade people would suffer much more from the greed and incompetence of financiers, but I already had plenty to go on.
However, the main theme of the book is patronage, such a big feature of Roman life, particularly in the literary field. This enabled me to examine ancient authorship and publishing, a wonderful subject. If you listen to people who commission material, they have a lively stable of writers and are expecting shortly to ruin their competitors. The competitors, however, will accuse them of teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. If you ask the scroll shops, life is a long struggle; manuscripts are hard to come by at reasonable prices and customers don’t want to know. If you look around, people are nonetheless reading – although probably not reading what the critics are praising. [OB]
Uniquely, this time I knew from the start who would die: a publisher. And who would do it: a disappointed author. I am afraid it is a savage killing too!
I managed to discuss why people write, why so many wannabes are failures, and why the talented few should continue despite all setbacks. Ode was my thirteenth published book; I no longer felt like a lucky interloper but was beginning to speak boldly about my craft and the life it had brought me. I am particularly fond of the scene where Falco and Rutilius give their public reading. The terrible sentence ‘I have not read any of her work; I don’t suppose any of you here have’ was actually said once by a man (not sober) who was introducing me as an after-dinner speaker.
You will finally read this stuff
From a public platform, carefully combed, in a new white toga,
Flashing a gem on your finger, rinsing your supple throat
With a clear preparatory warble, your eyes swooning in ecstasy.
PERSIUS
Despite the cynical tone throughout, a potential bestseller is discovered, Gondomon, King of Traximene. A shining new talent. A breathtaking story, written with mystical intensity. An author who will sell and sell … [OB] Every writer needs to believe this is possible.
The scene where Avienus is found hanging under the Probus Bridge alludes to the strange death of Roberto Calvi, the Vatican banker who was discovered beneath Blackfriars Bridge in London after apparently committing suicide. I knew Blackfriars well; it was my train terminus for years, so I had always felt a particular interest. Of course the Banco Ambrosiano should not be identified with the Aurelian Bank of Chrysippus, any more than my own bank.
He’s the first suicide I ever saw who climbed under a bridge – when most desperate people jump off the top. Then he not only tied himself to the stonework in a very awkward position, but roped a massive bundle of roof tiles to himself. Now it could be in case his nerve failed and he suddenly wanted to climb back up –’
‘Or not!’ [OB]
Structurally, this book shadows Agatha Christie, with a ‘body in the library’. (Would that be his Greek or his Latin Library?) At the end, there is an epic scene where Falco gathers all the suspects together, back in that library (he and Fusculus have discussed tips for cleaning the blood off the marble floor mosaic). With everyone assembled, Falco and Helena talk through the clues until, after an inevitable false confession, they identify the murderer. I found this scene tricky to write and frankly I wouldn’t do it again without a good reason. But the body in the library motif would recur. There is something about the contrast between violence and the hushed atmosphere that is classical in every sense.
A Body in the Bath House
First published 2001
Two great loves of mine feature here: archaeology and public administration.
Model reconstruction of Fishbourne Roman Palace (showing Togi’s trees)
I first heard of Fishbourne Roman Palace at school. How it was unearthed by a mechanical digger during water-main construction and how the mosaics were preserved through a local benefactor’s generosity is a great story in the development of archaeology. The main excavation began in 1961 and it must have been fairly soon afterwards that my teacher Elys Varney persuaded the then young Barry Cunliffe to come and talk to our school archaeological society. I remember him saying he believed it could be an enormous palace, although he was still reticent. Even now there are many questions about why such a wonderful building was built in that position.
I am allowed to be positive; well, in a novel you have to be. To me, there is no doubt that this was a reward to King Togidubnus for giving the Romans a foothold for invading Britain. Other people still debate whether the troops sent by Claudius landed at Fishbourne or at Richborough on the Isle of Thanet. In my opinion they probably came to both, but a friendly king, in a place where evidence says there already was a Roman base, would have been a logistical godsend.
We found Magnus, the surveyor, pottering. His groma was plunged in the ground, a long metal-tipped stave with four plumb bobs hung from two metal-cased wooden bars; it was used for measuring out straight lines and squares …
…A sturdy post supported a revolving rod set in a circular table, marked out with detailed angles. The whole circle could be tilted using cogged wheels. Magnus was underneath, tinkering with the cogs and worm screws that set it. Some distance away another assistant waited patiently beside a twenty foot high sighting rod with a sliding bar, ready to measure a slope. [BBH]
The various stages of the palace had been studied enough for me to be confident that around AD75 a major redevelopment occurred. This chimed perfectly with my experiences as a home-own
er and the age of TV home-makeover programmes! As Fishbourne was expanded to the plan we know so well today, craftsmen and materials were sent from all over the Empire. It must have been organised from Rome, the equivalent of projects I had dealt with in the civil service:
Feasibility: the client proposes a project, which everyone can see will never happen. Work is held in abeyance. Some disciplines do carry out independent preliminary work, failing to inform the project manager that they are doing so. The scheme then revives unexpectedly, and is thrown into the formal programme with inadequate planning … [BBH]
All the problems Falco faces were hideously familiar – going over budget and over time, restraining the client’s extravagance and even the frauds, like those which beset my own department.
Archaeologists don’t speculate in print about why a Roman villa at nearby Angmering should have been built with identical materials and similar techniques to Fishbourne, but I was strongly reminded of a certain senior architect who was notorious for using expensive materials to adorn his own house … Like other ‘bent’ staff and contractors, he was never charged; I speculate that the problems and diplomatic excuses have not altered for two thousand years.
This was another novel where I relied heavily on just one book for research, Barry Cunliffe’s Fishbourne Roman Palace. It supplied many details, including the fact that some fragments of wall painting resemble famous finds from Stabiae, which was destroyed when Vesuvius erupted (this was where Pliny the Elder died on the beach). So I brought over nephew Larius, no longer a dream-struck fourteen-year-old but holding his own with the two Camillus brothers as they fling themselves into bad behaviour. A favourite moment is when the three lads are getting ready for a night on the town.
This is where we see Perella, the dangerous but no-longer-young agent, perform her mesmerising dance. My inspiration came from flamenco troupes, where of course the spotlight falls on the beautiful young women, though often one or more older dancer belongs to the group.
I had visited Fishbourne when I first began writing Roman stories, long before I conceived Falco. I revisited to research this book, sneaking around shyly incognito. Luckily the novel was well received. I’ve been back many times; I have given readings, and watched progress with exemplary new facilities. This was the first time I devoted a whole book to a single site; I am thrilled, and very proud, that a wonderful warm relationship came out of it.
She was aware of her maturity and challenging us to notice too. She was the queen of the room because she had lived more than most of us. If her joints creaked, nobody would notice. And unlike the crude offers purveyed by younger artists, Perella was giving us – because she had nothing else to give – the erotic, ecstatic, uplifting, imaginative glory of hope and possibility. [BBH]
The Jupiter Myth
First published 2002
‘This place should never have been rebuilt.’
‘Disaster has that effect, man. Volcanoes, floods, avalanches – bloody massacres. They bury the dead, then rush to reconstruct in the danger area …’
‘The end of the road! It’s a bugger to police. This place is a draw to scum, Falco.’ [JM]
In February 2001 I was a Guest of Honour at the Left Coast Crime mystery convention, which was being held in Anchorage, Alaska. It took me three planes and nearly twenty-four hours to get there (the same back!) and, curiously, it left an impression that helped form this book. Even today Alaska sees itself as different, off-side on maps, still an outsider among the US states because of its remote location and its unique social make-up. Was this how Britain was regarded by the Romans, and perhaps regarded itself? In my conference ‘goodie-bag’ was the biography of a mobster in early Anchorage, when its frontier nature encouraged gangsters and the sex trade. It was an easy step to seeing Londinium as similar: turned into the capital after the Boudiccan Revolt, it is rapidly expanding, benefiting from two-way trade and the assets of ‘civilisation’, yet a magnet for all types: not just entrepreneurs like innkeepers and lawyers, but bad men who want to exploit it. Fun to give them the very latest hand-held weaponry!
They had an armoury none of us expected: two full-sized ballistae which they pushed quickly over the threshold, and set up to guard the entrance, plus several rare, hand-held crossbows. I heard soldiers gasp. This was staggering firepower. Most legionary footsloggers had seldom been so close to artillery, and never when it was in opposition hands …
… Maia had found and raised the ready-primed crossbow. Then she lifted the safety claw, snapped up the trigger pin, and shot Norbanus in the back. [JM]
Coincidentally, before I began there had been significant new archaeological finds, supervised by the Museum of London where curators and archaeologists are Falco-friendly. Not all archaeology was helpful; the history of the Roman bridge (by modern London Bridge) was so involved I wrestled to make sense of it via the sustained ‘permanent/temporary’ joke. Finding the Roman amphitheatre (at the Guildhall) was super for me; then, while I was actually writing, redevelopment of a site in Gresham Street in September 2001 brought to light the fabulous waterwheels that feature, trundled by Myron. My details were taken from the very first press release. Later a working model was built at the Museum and theories of how the wheel worked were adjusted; with a deadline at the end of October, I couldn’t wait for rethinks! Most significant to the plot was a re-used giant wine barrel in which the first body is found drowned. It was inspired by an exhibition called High Street Londinium, where a row of Roman shops was reconstructed, including this kind of cask, probably imported from Germany, used to line a well.
Another fascinating discovery in 2001, in Southwark, was a woman’s grave containing items that might mean she was a gladiatrix, or at least interested in the sport; there are doubts, so I had my Chloris buried elsewhere (in the Roman cemetery that’s now under the Old Bailey) rather than support an idea that may be untrue. Chloris is that old Tripolitanian girlfriend Falco has always harped on about; her role is not simple sensationalism but to make him muse on his own development, by now crucial to my series: I had moved on – way, way into another life. Face to face with what was expected of my old self, I felt awkward. I had loyalties nowadays; I had standards. As Petronius had said to Maia earlier, once you make huge decisions, you cannot go back. The shock is the way other people fail to see how much you have altered. [JM]
Not to mention our lady fencers –
We’ve all seen them, stabbing the stump with a foil,
Shield well advanced, going through the proper motions …
JUVENAL
I never forget that people are reading for what happens to my characters. Yes, this is a book about a city, the city that has become important to me personally, but against that background, we want to learn of Gaius, Camilla and Frontinus in their diplomatic work; Petronius pursuing his gangster; Petronius pursuing Maia; and Falco pitting himself against the demands of work and family – enjoying both, balancing them, even risking them when it is morally essential to do so.
The Accusers
First published 2003
Fifteen books in, I wanted to do a ‘courtroom drama’. By chance, I had just found Steven Rutledge’s book on Roman informers, which suggested aspects of my plot. First, as Falco says right at the beginning, the story treats of what informers do: In popular thought we were all parasites, bent on destroying respectable men. It appears that the ‘respectable’ Metellus family are politically corrupt; they have been convicted of abuse of office but their prosecutor may lose his compensation because Metellus senior seems to have killed himself. Rutledge gave me this idea: In the very next year we find two prosecutors complaining to the consul when Cremutius Cordus committed suicide before his prosecution ended, asserting that it was a deliberate attempt to deprive them of their reward. I did enjoy the concept of a lawyer whose best advice to his client is to die!
I had further fun with the theme of ‘ambulance-chasing’ for bequests: delatores … were notorious for trying to lay claim to
the legacies of others, says Rutledge. And it’s instructive to know just how big the rewards could be: Justice has a price. In the informing community the price is at least twenty-five per cent; that is, twenty-five per cent of all the condemned man’s seaside villas, city property, farms, and other investment holdings … Since the minimum estate of a senator is a million sesterces – and that’s poverty for the élite – this can be a nice number of town houses and olive groves. [AC]
His father
Breaks promises, mis-spends
His business partner’s capital, hoodwinks his friends
And busily puts by
Money for an unworthy heir.
HORACE, bewailing the
decline in modern morals
As the complex plot develops, Roman Law provides a delicious series of legal twists, before eventually Falco exposes the conniving senatorial informers, Silius Italicus and Paccius Africanus; they have chillingly set up the Metelli in a vicious series of scams, planned for years. At the heart is a secret about birth that can only come from Roman social snobbery. It is a sad situation, where a man who has everything loses it and becomes a non-person, through no fault of his own.
As the informers manoeuvre, Falco himself acts as a courtroom prosecutor. He has previous experience, though not at this level. I am proud of the Ciceronian debate (I had read part of Cicero’s Pro Sexto Roscio as a set text at school; intriguingly, it is about a son accused of murdering his father). Falco has to cast doubt on the character of his opponent, Paccius Africanus, a real-life orator who had become notorious under Nero. Helped by his father-in-law, Falco is able to remind the jury of the incident that, for me, not only colours Paccius but illustrates the public’s low opinion of informers. Rutledge writes that The senate now drew up an oath, which fellow senators were forced to take, swearing that they had imperilled no man’s safety under Nero and received no reward nor office from any man’s misfortune. Known delatores who attempted to take the oath were convicted of perjury. In the book Paccius, being powerful and skilled, is bound to fight back nastily. It was fascinating to relate what we know of Falco’s own professional and personal history, putting the worst possible gloss on each aspect (see Appendix).
Falco: The Official Companion (A Marcus Didius Falco Mystery) Page 9