by Assaph Mehr
A last note in relation to women is the ages of the characters. Felix is 34 years old, a man in his prime. Aemilia is 19, an age a patrician woman would have been married already. It was very common for women of the higher socio-economic classes to marry men much older. Aquilius, at 27, would be considered a reasonably young husband — a choice Aemilia can get away with, as her father passed away and there was no need to marry her to one of his peers for political alliances. Cornelia would have married at a younger age as well and had her children soon after. That places her in her early-to-mid forties (Aemilia was not her first child, but the only one to survive to adulthood). Given Cornelia’s family background and the death of her husband, she managed to acquire a formal status of sui iuris. She is rather happy to take lovers but in no rush to marry again and come under the rule of another man.
Lead and Curse Tablets
When Felix describes the uses of lead around Egretia, he is referring to our historical usage of the metal. Beyond the more mundane uses such as in ink and cosmetics, or in the ingenious contraption for transporting live fish (a real archaeological find — link on my website), I think the most surprising use for modern users is in food production.
With honey being the only natural sweetener available, grape juice or other fruit juice was boiled down in pots and kettles to what was referred to as defrutum or sapa, depending on the level of concentration. The result was used mainly as a sweetener and wine preservative, as Romans liked their wines sweet and spicy. It was also added as a general sweetener in other dishes. The kettles used in defrutum production were made of bronze, copper, or lead. Some enterprising Romans realised that using lead pots created a sweeter end result, and after some experimentation found out that lead acetate could be used directly as a sweetener. Hence its name “sugar of lead”.
More relevant to our story are the curse tablets. Those were prevalent throughout the Mediterranean region for centuries. Though other forms, such as clay, are known, lead was the best surviving medium. From Athens, we have examples of their usage in courts, where someone has requested that the opposing counsel falter, and from Bath in England we have all those wonderful examples of the common people seeking justice against those who pilfered their towels.
Naturally, in the construction of a fantasy world those curse tablets assume actual effectiveness. Similarly, the voces mysticae — words and symbols not related to any known language — that we find on real-world examples become magical symbols and words of power. I did try to maintain their spirit, with various daily usage and supplications to the gods as the driving force.
Gods and Religion
The curse tablets provide a segue to the other important thread of the novel, the relationship of religion and magic. In a world where wizards can call on the power of nature and rain fire on people, it is hard to argue with the existence of the gods. Not that Romans ever argued such existence. In fact, early Christians were named ‘atheists’ because they did not have a proper multitude of gods. For Romans, gods were to be found everywhere, controlling and influencing every aspect of life. They took a rather practical approach to their gods, though, and continually beseeched and consulted them to gain some influence over their lives.
An example is Cato the Elder’s De Agricultura, from where I took the details of the suovetaurilia. It is a mixed collection of notes on anything relating to farm life — from animal husbandry to religious rites and from cooking recipes to advice on handling slaves.
Ancient religion was not the canonical, organised thing that we perceive in modern terms. It was a loose collection of temple cults and folk lore which varied greatly between people, regions, and time periods. Hence, the often seemingly conflicting multitude of gods and goddesses might perform very similar functions.
When looking at Roman religion, some of core terms that can be used to describe it are as pervasive, performative, and contractual — gods are everywhere, with great to minor deities influencing everything, and there is an emphasis on ceremonies, some of whose origins were lost in time. Essentially, one continually bargains with gods through ceremonies, and their favour or displeasure evident ipso facto them granting the desired result. It is this spirit that I tried to capture in the novel.
Of the gods mentioned in the novel, one can draw the distinction between the major and minor ones. The main gods mentioned — such as Iovis Pater (the early name for Iuppiter, or Jupiter), Mars, Ianus (Janus), Fortuna, et al — were those that influenced the big world, the city. But as Felix describes, the divine spirits did not end there. While it is often hard to gauge exactly how the ‘average citizen’ would have viewed things from the fragmentary sources we have, there is enough evidence to show the pervasiveness of divinities around the home. The three gods of the doorway are mentioned by St Augustine in the Christian polemic against the ‘multitude of gods,’ and the list of gods involved in conception and childbirth Felix rattles off is indeed only a small fraction. It’s not only we who often have only the name and some vague conjecture on role and origins — some of those were lost to the Roman themselves in later years. Religion has mutated and evolved in the thousand years from pre-Roman pastoralism to Christianity.
The household gods — or dii familiares — were a class of ancient deities involved in domestic affairs. These originated around ancestor or animistic worship and were concerned mostly with protection of the living ‘little universe’ of the home. The city itself had its version of them, public lares that fulfilled the same protective function for the whole.
The Romans recognised several broad classes of these: the di penates, or gods of the pantry; the lares, or guardian deities of places and many other domains; the manes, representing deceased ancestors; and the genius of the paterfamilias, the singular guardian angel (for women, the Juno spirit). Each family and place had their own set and when a family moved, some went with them while others were bound to the house. It was the responsibility of the paterfamilias to maintain proper worship of these gods, and in return they granted protection and success for the household. The other important deity in this regard was Vesta, goddess of the hearth. Though her public worship centred on the Vestal Virgins, the women of each household maintained their own ceremonies.
Which leads us to the female divinities mentioned in the novel — Bona Dea, Maia, and Magna Mater. Maia is an archaic Latin goddess of growth. She was later conflated with the Greek Pleiad of the same name, with Terra (Earth), and with the Bona Dea. The Bona Dea — good goddess — herself is a bit of a mystery as well. Possibly imported to Rome during the early republic, she was at times identified with Maia, Cybele, or other female divinities such as Ops and Ceres. Cybele, whom the Romans named Magna Mater — great mother — was an import during the Punic wars, which would make it a relatively recent event in Egretian history. Originating in the east, her statue — made from meteorite stone — was brought to Rome due to an ancient prophesy in the Sibylline Scrolls. It must have worked, as Rome came out victorious of the Punic Wars.
All this leads to an obvious confusion to the modern reader, with their expectation of well-defined gods and domains. Mythology was a living thing, evolving over the centuries. People often worshipped in local temple cults, that were only thinly collected into pantheons. I have chosen a simplified, better-delineated definition of these goddesses to highlight the public attitudes to divine beings and worship. Religion was as much a thing of politics as of piety in Rome and Egretia.
A similar evolution and confusion exists with the chthonic gods — Dis Pater, Hades, Orcus, Dea Tacitia, Trivia, Proserpina, etc. Again, I have chosen a simplified version and froze it in time for Egretia. In other cases, such as the Arval Brethren mentioned by Aemilia, I have taken obscure organisations and co-opted them into service of the magia.
Other Obscure References
Following are a few pieces of trivia (unrelated to the goddess Trivia, though that’s where the word originated), in no part
icular order.
Fans of Felix will recognise his old mentors, Gordius et Falconius, as my homage to two of the greatest fictional Roman detectives: Steven Saylor’s Gordianus the Finder and Lindsey Davis’ Marcus Didius Falco. A third detective makes a guest appearance in this book. The medicus Felix relies on to fix his broken leg is none other than the Egretian version of Ruth Downie’s Gaius Petreius Ruso. Both he and Tilla are older than in the charming Medicus Roman Mysteries books, trying for a while to build a practice in Egretia before retiring back to the country. Their appearance here is with Ms. Downie’s permission and approval.
After Felix breaks his leg and decides to earn some cash by casting horoscopes for sailors, he’s relying on the works of Thrasyllus. The real Thrasyllus of Mendes was a friend of the emperor Tiberius and acted as his court astrologer. His son later was astrologer for Claudius, Nero, and Vespasian. It is said that when Tiberius was in exile, Thrasyllus predicted he would later become emperor. Tiberius was about to throw him off a cliff when Thrasyllus pointed at a ship coming into the harbour — a ship that happened to carry the recall of Tiberius to Rome. His astrological text Pinax influenced generations of astrologers, though it did not survive.
When Felix meets Aemilia, he tells her the story of Athenodorus and the ghost in chains. This tale of Athenodorus Cananites is mentioned in a letter by Pliny the Younger towards the end of the first century CE. This is one of the oldest known ‘real’ haunted-house stories. Plautus, another favourite of Felix, uses it as a comedic ploy in Mostellaria, and there are earlier Greek plays around this concept. This reference, and the one above on Thrasyllus as well as Cicero’s mention of murdered boys, were graciously pointed out to me by Philip Matyszak, whose books on Roman history I cannot recommend enough.
The statue of the boxer at Cornelia’s garden, the one later coming to life, is known as Boxer at Rest, or Boxer of the Quirinal after the location in Rome where it was found. It is of Greek origin and dates to the mid-to-late Republican era. It was carefully buried a few centuries later, which accounts for its amazing preservation. Bronze statues of antiquity were often later melted to reuse the material. As well as its historical significance, the craftsmanship of Boxer at Rest is astounding. Pictures of it are available through Wikipedia or the Metropolitan Museum, where it was on display a few years ago.
When Felix passes through the purgamenta, or city dumps, in search of Araxus, he makes a comment regarding “A veritable hill made of shards of discarded amphorae.” This is the Monte Testaccio in Rome, containing the estimated broken remains of around 53 million amphorae from the imperial era. The one at Egretia isn’t quite as large yet, but is there to illustrate the demands of a city of a million people — both in consumption and in waste disposal.
Iamblichus, in whose writing Felix finds clues about the ‘true’ curse tablets, was a late-3rd to early 4th century Syrian mystic, mathematician, and philosopher. He was a Neoplatonian, though followed mainly the Pythagorean mysticism. He was influential on generations of later philosophers.
The dice game Aemilia and Felix play against Crassitius is known as tali. Since the ‘dice’ were made from actual sheep’s knuckles, they had uneven sides. The number value was therefore not evenly distributed, which accounts for the different value of throws. Several variations are known or conjectured about the exact rules. This game is well-known all across the Mediterranean and evidence for it can be found in anywhere from crude graffiti to fine marble statues.
The two greybeards in the Forum who provide us with running commentary about the trial — Statilius and Valdrius — are based on the Muppets’ Statler and Waldorf. After ‘Animal’ they were my favourite Muppets. They capture well the public-performance nature of Roman trials.
Though he has no spoken lines in this work, the charioteer that Numicius buys for the Red faction — Gaius Appuleius Diocles — is important to show Felix that perhaps he and Numicius share some things in common. The original Diocles was a second century, Lusitania-born charioteer (modern Portugal), who has gone to earn over 35 million sesterces by winning 1,462 of the 4,257 quadriga (4-horse chariot) races he participated in. Translated into modern terms, that would make him the highest paid race driver, and probably athlete in general, of all time.
Some of the ceremonies Felix uses to combat the evil spirits — clanging black beans, smearing a fish head with tar and calling on Tacita — are taken from Ovid. The juniper smoke to ward off bees is courtesy of Nikki “Bee” Williams — a friend, bee keeper, and fellow horror author. The psilocybe mushrooms are more commonly known as ‘magic mushrooms’, and their effects as hallucinogens has been known throughout the ages.
One might note that Numicius’ ship was rowed by slaves, where the galley owned by Quinctius in Murder In Absentia was rowed by marines. That is a common distinction in the ancient world — navy craft were rowed by free men and citizens, while merchants might employ slaves. The conditions and life expectancy of the two groups varied wildly, as can be imagined.
Lastly, when Felix is relaxing at home — or trying to — with poetry, he is reading the latest of Catullus poems. Those of you familiar with the real-world’s poets work might recall that he wrote them to one Claudia Metelli, born of the Claudia Pulchra clan. Whether this bears any relation to Valerius’ wife, is yet to be revealed.
More of Felix
Felix and the others will return in the next novel in the series, In Victrix. Please visit http://egretia.com for more information, including short stories, news, an expanded glossary and high-resolution maps.
Bonus Material
When I write the stories and novels, I make a point that the antagonists be more than just villains. They are people, with their own lives, desires, agendas — which just happen to be at odds with our protagonist. They have their own stories. And one of the best ways to get to know people, is to let them tell their stories in their own words.
So, without further ado here is what Numicius told me, roughly at the time the novel starts.
***
I am Gaius Numicius. My family is the plebeian branch of the Numicii, not related to the patrician Numicii Prisci. Our family originated in Tusculum, though we have lived in Egretia for several generations. My father was a praetor, and I intend to reach the consulship.
My mother passed away this spring, during Martius. A more noble Egretian matron you could not find anywhere. Devoted to the gods and to my late father, never a trace of scandal associated with her.
I wish to build a shrine in her memory, dedicated the Bona Dea. She believed in our old Egretian gods, saw their numina everywhere. She objected to the rise of foreign goddesses like the Magna Mater.
For this I need a sizable plot of land. I wanted to buy a crumbling insula somewhere on the outer slopes of the Meridionali, raze it, and build the shrine there as a beacon against the tide of foreign gods seeping through the quarters of the poor. Giving those people access to our old gods, showing them the right way, integrating them into the Egretian life by accepting it rather than diluting it. A worthy legacy for my mother, keeping her shade safe in the underworld.
At the same time, I was trying to get the senate to vote funds for extending the Egretian road from Helva to Arbarica, following my return from my year of praetorship in Arbarica last year. Valerius Flaccus has opposed this motion, notionally on the grounds that public contracts are the purview of the censors, but also attacking me personally, besmirching my good name. While true that I would gain from the improved trade routes that might pass through my rural holdings in the Montes Arborii, the language and accusations he used were altogether too personal. Him, a cynical and impious man, a hypocrite with his own rural estates benefiting from spurious legislation of his cronies, a traitor to his Egretian ancestry, dared call me a lupae filius and worse, and bring my mother into his.
I spent the year away in the service of our city, came back to find my mother on her death-bed, and w
as keeping up with my senatorial duties. Political rivalries aside, insulting a man’s dying mother is a step too far for anyone.
It was then that my man Ambustus offered me a way to kill two birds in one stone. His suggestion gave me means to force some public humiliation upon Valerius and his idiotic insistence on rental-properties-only for senators. I shall bring down the wrath of the gods upon his holdings, cause him to appear as a negligent landlord, embarrass him, and also get one of his insulae on the cheap. What better way of getting back at that supporter of foreign gods, than erect a monument to our true divinities on grounds he failed to protect?
Now this G. Hirtuleius Ambustus is a bit of a loathsome character, but if anyone could get Valerius tenants to abandon him quickly and in screams, he’s the man. I admit I didn’t care to look too closely at his methods — his word that he will make it appear as if the gods intervened against Valerius was all I wanted to know.
This just leaves getting my hands on said insula without Valerius knowing. A bit of help from my bankers, a few willing intermediaries, and an agent to approach him at just the right moment. He will be more than happy to sell — not knowing that in so doing he is leaving himself open to public embarrassment. On the one hand, my family’s tenets of piety to our original deities would prevail and my mother’s memory will be honoured, and on the other Valerius will appear as both blasphemous and inept in the execution of his duties.
All will be revealed to Valerius when I decide it so. I shall give a speech in the senate like never before and will make his humiliation public and complete.