Mark Knowles's Blog
July 12, 2018
Fantastic 1977
I was born in 1977 and Elvis died but, for billions of people, these were not the reasons it will be forever memorable: 'Star Wars' was released. This film was not an immediate blockbuster: only a few dozen theatres showed it for its opening weekend, during which it was out-earned by 'Smokey and the Bandit'. Fearing a flop, George Lucas had booked a vacation in Hawaii and Harrison Ford reflected upon it being "ridiculous", not least because of "this giant guy walking around in a dog suit." Within a few months, however, it had grossed more than 'Jaws' and went on to surpass every other film ever made, with the exception of 'Gone with the wind', which has a 38 year head start in earnings.
1977 also heralded the publication of Terry Brooks' epic fantasy novel 'The Sword of Shannara', which sold more than 125,000 copies in its first month and went on to become an international multi million best-selling series (and which premiered on MTV in 2016). Brooks began writing 'Shannara' in 1967, reportedly as a means of "staying sane" whilst studying law, and was contracted by Del Rey Books, an imprint of Ballantine Books in 1974. The book was not without its vocal critics, however, who decried its close similarities to 'The Lord of The Rings', both in terms of plot and characters: a year after its release, the American fantasy editor Lin Carter denounced 'The Sword of Shannara' as "the single most cold-blooded, complete rip-off of another book that I have ever read". Brooks himself never denied his debt to Tolkien and cited it - along with the worlds depicted by Alexandre Dumas, Walter Scott and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle - as his inspiration.
So was it just a coincidence that a book and a film - one a work of science fiction, the other fantasy - scored such stellar successes in 1977? Both were pitched at the YA market. Was there at the time a particularly escapist zeitgeist, perhaps fired by this sector, which provided such an extraordinary connectivity? There have been cogent attempts to explain the appetite for 'feel good' fiction as a psychological antidote to the Vietnam War (which ended in 1975) and The Cold War (which was ongoing), and thematic references in both works to the growth of dark empires will inevitably invite such explanations, as 'The Hobbit' and 'The Lord of The Rings' did in the context of Word Wars 1 and 2 respectively.
Wars specifically and political events in general well might provide culturally attractive reference points for entertainment but I really don't think this is what actively drives people to part with their cash now or in 1977. The whole purpose of fantasy is to be transported in time and place, and to emote with protagonists that are both similar and different. The theme of Destiny was central to the blockbusters of 1977, as of course it is to many other works. There is clearly something very compelling about the concept of wrestling with control of our fate and, in so doing, discovering something of the inner hero (as well, perhaps, as learning more about our fears and limitations.)
It's quite sobering to think that I first picked up 'The Sword of Shannara' 25 years ago at an outlet of WH Smith in Manchester Airport as a teenager en route to Corfu with my family. Much as I love my folks and my sisters, I probably fancied a bit of escapism on the balcony of that small apartment as a gangly teen. On a nostalgic whim a few weeks back, I bought the first trilogy of 'Shannara' to welcome the long summer holidays, hoping to be put under the same spell as I was a quarter of a century earlier as well as, perhaps, to learn something by comparison to my younger self.
The verdict? Terry Brooks can tell a very compelling story, without a doubt. Who cares if the plot follows the narrative arc of 'The Lord of The Rings'? To an extent, all fiction is derivative and there are enough differences to keep the reader emotionally invested in the plot and its protagonists without constantly wondering if s/he is in fact in Middle Earth. I was glad I revisited the book and, on many occasions, experienced real excitement when I turned the page to encounter long-forgotten - and brilliantly drawn - characters, such as the flashy thief Panamon Creel and his rock troll companion Keltset. The middle-aged pedant in me couldn't help but notice this time around the excessive deployment of adverbs, the sage advice of my agent Ian Drury ringing in my ears, "If the verb's vivid enough, why do you need one?" The repeated epithets can become a bit niggling too (e.g. 'the stocky valeman') but without being off-putting. If I get round to reading the sequels, it'll be interesting to see how his writing style evolves.
Teen me on that balcony - awestruck - would unhesitatingly have given 'Shannara' a 10/10. When I got back home, I encouraged my best mate at school to read it and he was hooked instantly, and went on to read more books by Brooks than I ever did. Now... I think I'd give it a firm 8/10, though I'd quite freely admit that the missing '2' is more a criticism of my crabbier self than any deficiency with the book!
1977 also heralded the publication of Terry Brooks' epic fantasy novel 'The Sword of Shannara', which sold more than 125,000 copies in its first month and went on to become an international multi million best-selling series (and which premiered on MTV in 2016). Brooks began writing 'Shannara' in 1967, reportedly as a means of "staying sane" whilst studying law, and was contracted by Del Rey Books, an imprint of Ballantine Books in 1974. The book was not without its vocal critics, however, who decried its close similarities to 'The Lord of The Rings', both in terms of plot and characters: a year after its release, the American fantasy editor Lin Carter denounced 'The Sword of Shannara' as "the single most cold-blooded, complete rip-off of another book that I have ever read". Brooks himself never denied his debt to Tolkien and cited it - along with the worlds depicted by Alexandre Dumas, Walter Scott and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle - as his inspiration.
So was it just a coincidence that a book and a film - one a work of science fiction, the other fantasy - scored such stellar successes in 1977? Both were pitched at the YA market. Was there at the time a particularly escapist zeitgeist, perhaps fired by this sector, which provided such an extraordinary connectivity? There have been cogent attempts to explain the appetite for 'feel good' fiction as a psychological antidote to the Vietnam War (which ended in 1975) and The Cold War (which was ongoing), and thematic references in both works to the growth of dark empires will inevitably invite such explanations, as 'The Hobbit' and 'The Lord of The Rings' did in the context of Word Wars 1 and 2 respectively.
Wars specifically and political events in general well might provide culturally attractive reference points for entertainment but I really don't think this is what actively drives people to part with their cash now or in 1977. The whole purpose of fantasy is to be transported in time and place, and to emote with protagonists that are both similar and different. The theme of Destiny was central to the blockbusters of 1977, as of course it is to many other works. There is clearly something very compelling about the concept of wrestling with control of our fate and, in so doing, discovering something of the inner hero (as well, perhaps, as learning more about our fears and limitations.)
It's quite sobering to think that I first picked up 'The Sword of Shannara' 25 years ago at an outlet of WH Smith in Manchester Airport as a teenager en route to Corfu with my family. Much as I love my folks and my sisters, I probably fancied a bit of escapism on the balcony of that small apartment as a gangly teen. On a nostalgic whim a few weeks back, I bought the first trilogy of 'Shannara' to welcome the long summer holidays, hoping to be put under the same spell as I was a quarter of a century earlier as well as, perhaps, to learn something by comparison to my younger self.
The verdict? Terry Brooks can tell a very compelling story, without a doubt. Who cares if the plot follows the narrative arc of 'The Lord of The Rings'? To an extent, all fiction is derivative and there are enough differences to keep the reader emotionally invested in the plot and its protagonists without constantly wondering if s/he is in fact in Middle Earth. I was glad I revisited the book and, on many occasions, experienced real excitement when I turned the page to encounter long-forgotten - and brilliantly drawn - characters, such as the flashy thief Panamon Creel and his rock troll companion Keltset. The middle-aged pedant in me couldn't help but notice this time around the excessive deployment of adverbs, the sage advice of my agent Ian Drury ringing in my ears, "If the verb's vivid enough, why do you need one?" The repeated epithets can become a bit niggling too (e.g. 'the stocky valeman') but without being off-putting. If I get round to reading the sequels, it'll be interesting to see how his writing style evolves.
Teen me on that balcony - awestruck - would unhesitatingly have given 'Shannara' a 10/10. When I got back home, I encouraged my best mate at school to read it and he was hooked instantly, and went on to read more books by Brooks than I ever did. Now... I think I'd give it a firm 8/10, though I'd quite freely admit that the missing '2' is more a criticism of my crabbier self than any deficiency with the book!
March 4, 2018
Rome: city of soldiers
The ongoing - and, at least from an archaeological point of view, highly fruitful- construction of Rome's third Metro line C has unearthed yet another astonishing secret. A 300 square metre building has been discovered some 12 metres below street level during work on the metro station sited on the Via dell'Amba Aradam, less than a kilometre south east of the Colosseum. It abuts a set of military barracks, excavated in just 2015, and its opulent decor has earned it the title of 'the house of the commander.' There seems to be little doubt that the two structures together comprise a sizeable miltary precinct, dating to Hadrian's reign at the beginning of the 2nd century AD, though the evidence that specifically posits a senior military officer there is circumstantial. The focus of the structure is a central courtyard and fountain around which there are 14 rooms. A staircase apparently constructed in the latter stages of the building's life suggests either a suite of officers or, more likely, dormitory rooms on the upper floor. I get the impression that the very well-preserved watchmen's barracks in Ostia are similar in this respect, and not atypical of miltary buildings of the period.
Very rarely for this era, a good deal of woodwork in the form of joists and planks has been preserved in addition to precious elements such as gold rings andan ivory-handled dagger, amulets and bricks that allowed the dating of the artifacts and renovations.
The discovery of this site sharpens the image, for at least the duration of the 2nd and half of the 3rd century AD, of this particular area of the city, the Caelian Hill district, bristling with military personnel and their families. In a zone of roughly just 50 acres (0.2 square kilometres) 5 barracks are now believed to have been contemporaneously active. Starting from the Basilica di Santo Stefano and following the route plotted on the map, below, towards the Scala Santa, a traveller would have passed the following buildings:
* (Under the modern Piazza della Navicella) the Watch House of Cohort V of the vigiles (night watchmen).
* (Under the Basilica di Santo Stefano Rotondo) the Castra Peregrina, which housed soldiers from provinical armies on special detachment (and, in all likelihood, a contingent of frumentarii, notionally supply prospectors but also something akin to our security services).
* (Less than 300 metres away, under the Via dell'Amba Aradam) the barracks complex recently excavated.
* (c.600 metres away, under the Basilica di San Giovanni in Laterano) the Castra Nova Equitum Singularium, the newer of two barracks built to accommodate the expanded mounted imperial bodyguard.
* (c.300 metres away, under the Via Tasso by the Scala Santa) the older Castra Nova Equitum Singularium.
There is mention in the articles relating to these latest finds that the buildings housed a division of the elite Praetorian Guard. Roughly 2.5km to the north east lay the imposing Castra Praetoria, built in AD 23 at the suggestion of Tiberius' treacherous Prefect Sejanus, and later incorporated into the Aurelian Walls. It was because of its role in the assassination of his predecessor Pertinax (and their vital force in power politics) that the emperor Septimius Severus disbanded the original Praetorian Guard and created his own. These 5000 men were selected from the very forces that he himself had led to victory against the Pannonians in the late 2nd century AD and, to ensure their loyalty, he had raised their pay by half.
Sharing the Castra Praetoria were nine divisions of Urban Cohorts (roughly 4000 men at their peak), whose role seems to have been that of a heavy duty public order force but who were plainly also a handy counterweight to the overbearing power of the Praetoriani. Therefore, it remains to be seen - if the newly-excavated barracks did indeed house Praetorians - why additional accommodation was required. It could have been to cope with occasional fluctuations in numbers or it may even prove to have been a barracks for Urban Cohorts, in which case the mosaics, fountains and richly decorated walls might have belonged to the City Prefect, who commanded them.
I think the dense concentration of thousands of vigorous, well-trained men within the walls of the city goes some way to explaining just how paranoid emperors would have been of res novae, the euphemistic term for revolution. There were certainly plenty of precedents for both attempted and successful coups by ambitious Praetorian Prefects. Even lowly night watchmen were regarded with some suspicion who, despite their organisation under paramilitary lines, are only known to have served as soliders on one occasion. In the early 2nd century AD, Pliny, the governor of Bithynia, received a telling reply from the emperor Trajan regarding a request to establish a local fire department. Trajan agreed to the proposal but urged keeping the recruits under 'proper regulation' because '...for whatever purpose they may be founded, they will not fail to form themselves into factious gatherings.'
I can't help but wonder, when I recall the mayhem of policing a busy city centre on New Year's Eve or other major events, just how rough and ready the Regio II district of Rome must have been! Rome in general, especially at night, like many pre-industrial cities was not a place for the faint-hearted. Irrespective of how many edicts the authorities might issue to curb late-night drinking and gambling and public disorder, men are men - and innately tribal - and soldiers are trained killers. At best, there was no love lost between soldiers of the Urban Cohorts and the significantly better paid Praetorians, and tensions must have been particularly high during periods of political instability and challenges to the throne. Walking the same streets we also have numerous mounted guardsmen, who might well have regarded themselves as the creme de la creme within military circles, as well as legionaries from the provinces, whose linguistic and cultural differences might have marked them out as easy targets to wind up. Factor in a sizeable number of night watchmen, disparagingly nicknamed 'Spartoli' ('bucket carriers'), many of whom doubtless got fed up with being looked down upon by everyone. To make matters even more interesting, we also have cohorts of spies paying close interest to everything and everyone. Men on leave or out of the rotation, ego, points to prove and reputations to maintain, old grudges, strong drink, public holidays, hot summers and short tempers.... a toxic and potentially explosive mix. Who'd have been an inn-keeper in those parts!?
Images and full article can be viewed a:
http://mark77knowles.wixsite.com/thew...
Very rarely for this era, a good deal of woodwork in the form of joists and planks has been preserved in addition to precious elements such as gold rings andan ivory-handled dagger, amulets and bricks that allowed the dating of the artifacts and renovations.
The discovery of this site sharpens the image, for at least the duration of the 2nd and half of the 3rd century AD, of this particular area of the city, the Caelian Hill district, bristling with military personnel and their families. In a zone of roughly just 50 acres (0.2 square kilometres) 5 barracks are now believed to have been contemporaneously active. Starting from the Basilica di Santo Stefano and following the route plotted on the map, below, towards the Scala Santa, a traveller would have passed the following buildings:
* (Under the modern Piazza della Navicella) the Watch House of Cohort V of the vigiles (night watchmen).
* (Under the Basilica di Santo Stefano Rotondo) the Castra Peregrina, which housed soldiers from provinical armies on special detachment (and, in all likelihood, a contingent of frumentarii, notionally supply prospectors but also something akin to our security services).
* (Less than 300 metres away, under the Via dell'Amba Aradam) the barracks complex recently excavated.
* (c.600 metres away, under the Basilica di San Giovanni in Laterano) the Castra Nova Equitum Singularium, the newer of two barracks built to accommodate the expanded mounted imperial bodyguard.
* (c.300 metres away, under the Via Tasso by the Scala Santa) the older Castra Nova Equitum Singularium.
There is mention in the articles relating to these latest finds that the buildings housed a division of the elite Praetorian Guard. Roughly 2.5km to the north east lay the imposing Castra Praetoria, built in AD 23 at the suggestion of Tiberius' treacherous Prefect Sejanus, and later incorporated into the Aurelian Walls. It was because of its role in the assassination of his predecessor Pertinax (and their vital force in power politics) that the emperor Septimius Severus disbanded the original Praetorian Guard and created his own. These 5000 men were selected from the very forces that he himself had led to victory against the Pannonians in the late 2nd century AD and, to ensure their loyalty, he had raised their pay by half.
Sharing the Castra Praetoria were nine divisions of Urban Cohorts (roughly 4000 men at their peak), whose role seems to have been that of a heavy duty public order force but who were plainly also a handy counterweight to the overbearing power of the Praetoriani. Therefore, it remains to be seen - if the newly-excavated barracks did indeed house Praetorians - why additional accommodation was required. It could have been to cope with occasional fluctuations in numbers or it may even prove to have been a barracks for Urban Cohorts, in which case the mosaics, fountains and richly decorated walls might have belonged to the City Prefect, who commanded them.
I think the dense concentration of thousands of vigorous, well-trained men within the walls of the city goes some way to explaining just how paranoid emperors would have been of res novae, the euphemistic term for revolution. There were certainly plenty of precedents for both attempted and successful coups by ambitious Praetorian Prefects. Even lowly night watchmen were regarded with some suspicion who, despite their organisation under paramilitary lines, are only known to have served as soliders on one occasion. In the early 2nd century AD, Pliny, the governor of Bithynia, received a telling reply from the emperor Trajan regarding a request to establish a local fire department. Trajan agreed to the proposal but urged keeping the recruits under 'proper regulation' because '...for whatever purpose they may be founded, they will not fail to form themselves into factious gatherings.'
I can't help but wonder, when I recall the mayhem of policing a busy city centre on New Year's Eve or other major events, just how rough and ready the Regio II district of Rome must have been! Rome in general, especially at night, like many pre-industrial cities was not a place for the faint-hearted. Irrespective of how many edicts the authorities might issue to curb late-night drinking and gambling and public disorder, men are men - and innately tribal - and soldiers are trained killers. At best, there was no love lost between soldiers of the Urban Cohorts and the significantly better paid Praetorians, and tensions must have been particularly high during periods of political instability and challenges to the throne. Walking the same streets we also have numerous mounted guardsmen, who might well have regarded themselves as the creme de la creme within military circles, as well as legionaries from the provinces, whose linguistic and cultural differences might have marked them out as easy targets to wind up. Factor in a sizeable number of night watchmen, disparagingly nicknamed 'Spartoli' ('bucket carriers'), many of whom doubtless got fed up with being looked down upon by everyone. To make matters even more interesting, we also have cohorts of spies paying close interest to everything and everyone. Men on leave or out of the rotation, ego, points to prove and reputations to maintain, old grudges, strong drink, public holidays, hot summers and short tempers.... a toxic and potentially explosive mix. Who'd have been an inn-keeper in those parts!?
Images and full article can be viewed a:
http://mark77knowles.wixsite.com/thew...
January 5, 2018
The man who played trains: review
I received this free (and quite sizeable) review copy courtesy of Matthew, MD of Urbane Publications. He suggested it might suit my interests and he was absolutely right!
SYNOPSIS
The Man Who Played Trains
Mining engineer John Spargo is distraught when his mother is attacked in her home and later dies from her injuries. Her home has been ransacked. Determined to track down her killer and discover the truth behind her death, John finds a connection between his late father's wartime mine and the wreck of a U-Boat. The connection deepens when he discovers the diaries of the U-Boat captain and a wartime mission to spirit Göring to safety along with a fortune in stolen art. When John's daughter Jez is kidnapped, he is contacted by a mysterious consortium her life hangs in the balance unless he can find the stolen art. What is the link with his father's abandoned mine? Who was the U-Boat captain? Did he survive and hide Göring's treasures? John races against time to discover the truth...and in doing so may unearth secrets that were better left buried...
THE VERDICT?
Despite being a veteran of many thrillers, I still made the mistake of wondering where the author was going with the opening description of Spargo's troubling dreams and whether or not I was going to care enough to get to the end. I'm certainly glad that I did because I really did not see the story returning to these visions in the very moving way that it did. Yes, it takes a few pages to get going and really to grab your attention but it is well worth the engagement. The dual narrative - not always easy to read and a real pig to write effectively - was woven into the modern narrative intricately and very intelligently. I note that it took the author a fair while to settle upon rendering the scenes set at the close of WW2 into the vivid present but I think he made the correct decision. It varies the tone and pace very nicely and creates tension throughout as the reader steps blindly - and simultaneousy - into the same dicey situations as does the U boat commander Theo Volker. The two narratives converge at express pace as the story moves towards its gripping climax and I did have problems putting the book down until well into the night. Also, as a former cop myself I was glad that he police procedural elements were plausible and well observed but not at all distracting or overplayed (as they can sometimes be in this genre). Because this book combines elements of a detective-led whodunnit, historical fiction and WW2 material, not to mention a healthy dose of conspiracy theory, it casts a broad appeal.
My only gripe is with the editing of the text: there are quite a few omissions of single words and one or two misspellings (e.g. 'feint' for 'faint'). Fortunately, these don't notably impede the story: I only had to re-read two sentences to ensure I had the sense right. That said, the proofreader might have done a slightly better job because the book is otherwise nicely presented. This is the only factor preventing a full 5...
4.8 * for a hugely satisfying page-turner!
SYNOPSIS
The Man Who Played Trains
Mining engineer John Spargo is distraught when his mother is attacked in her home and later dies from her injuries. Her home has been ransacked. Determined to track down her killer and discover the truth behind her death, John finds a connection between his late father's wartime mine and the wreck of a U-Boat. The connection deepens when he discovers the diaries of the U-Boat captain and a wartime mission to spirit Göring to safety along with a fortune in stolen art. When John's daughter Jez is kidnapped, he is contacted by a mysterious consortium her life hangs in the balance unless he can find the stolen art. What is the link with his father's abandoned mine? Who was the U-Boat captain? Did he survive and hide Göring's treasures? John races against time to discover the truth...and in doing so may unearth secrets that were better left buried...
THE VERDICT?
Despite being a veteran of many thrillers, I still made the mistake of wondering where the author was going with the opening description of Spargo's troubling dreams and whether or not I was going to care enough to get to the end. I'm certainly glad that I did because I really did not see the story returning to these visions in the very moving way that it did. Yes, it takes a few pages to get going and really to grab your attention but it is well worth the engagement. The dual narrative - not always easy to read and a real pig to write effectively - was woven into the modern narrative intricately and very intelligently. I note that it took the author a fair while to settle upon rendering the scenes set at the close of WW2 into the vivid present but I think he made the correct decision. It varies the tone and pace very nicely and creates tension throughout as the reader steps blindly - and simultaneousy - into the same dicey situations as does the U boat commander Theo Volker. The two narratives converge at express pace as the story moves towards its gripping climax and I did have problems putting the book down until well into the night. Also, as a former cop myself I was glad that he police procedural elements were plausible and well observed but not at all distracting or overplayed (as they can sometimes be in this genre). Because this book combines elements of a detective-led whodunnit, historical fiction and WW2 material, not to mention a healthy dose of conspiracy theory, it casts a broad appeal.
My only gripe is with the editing of the text: there are quite a few omissions of single words and one or two misspellings (e.g. 'feint' for 'faint'). Fortunately, these don't notably impede the story: I only had to re-read two sentences to ensure I had the sense right. That said, the proofreader might have done a slightly better job because the book is otherwise nicely presented. This is the only factor preventing a full 5...
4.8 * for a hugely satisfying page-turner!
November 22, 2017
Murder in Ancient Rome
Murder in Ancient Rome
Posted online November 22, 2017 by EndeavourPress
By Mark Knowles
Looking at how authors’ plots were first conceived within various blogs makes for very interesting reading. I remember mine vividly. I was a relatively inexperienced supervisor stood half frozen on a crime scene one morning by a canal in central London. I was discussing with another officer how such scenes might have been handled in early Victorian times, when The Metropolitan Police was still in its infancy. He told me a story (possibly an urban myth) about a constable who had once prodded a body he had found to the other side of a canal so that it entered another borough’s jurisdiction. I can only assume that this officer had a severe aversion to paperwork!
This got me thinking about how – or indeed if – murders were dealt with in Ancient Rome by the city authorities. ‘vestigia‘ means ‘footprints’ or ‘traces’ in Latin, from where we get the modern concept of an investigation, but there is really no evidence, written or otherwise, that tells us anything about basic procedures at scenes of crime. We do know, though, about various punishments that could be meted out to offenders, suggesting that there were at least some means of getting them into court in the first place. I decided on my next set of rest days to become a member of the British Library to research the ‘vigiles‘, the night watch, and the concept for the book really came from there.
The world of Roman criminal and civil law is a forbidding one for outsiders. Fortunately, the efforts of the Byzantine emperor Justinian to compile a digest of laws, and to resolve their frequent clashes, make the job a little easier. Stern reprimands and fines could be issued against minor breaches of criminal law, just as they are today. At the other end of the spectrum, however, crucifixion was still employed. Arguably even worse, though, was the poena cullei, which was reserved for parricides. This involved the offender being sewn up in a sack with a motley assortment of animals, such as dogs, vipers, cockerels and even monkeys.
Whilst The Consul’s Daughter doesn’t feature too many animals, it does try to evoke a sense of the atmosphere and danger that was part of life within a sprawling pre-industrial city, especially during the hours of darkness. My early experiences as a uniformed beat officer walking the streets of London, especially the cobbled variety lit by streetlights barely more powerful than gas lamps, gave me a sense of what it might have been a bit like for my early Victorian counterparts. It is hard to project back much further than this, though, especially into ancient history. Part of the joy of writing the novel was to imagine, using my own experiences along with all the available archaeological and literary evidence, what life would have been like for patrolling night-watchmen in that fascinating but deadly city.
Posted online November 22, 2017 by EndeavourPress
By Mark Knowles
Looking at how authors’ plots were first conceived within various blogs makes for very interesting reading. I remember mine vividly. I was a relatively inexperienced supervisor stood half frozen on a crime scene one morning by a canal in central London. I was discussing with another officer how such scenes might have been handled in early Victorian times, when The Metropolitan Police was still in its infancy. He told me a story (possibly an urban myth) about a constable who had once prodded a body he had found to the other side of a canal so that it entered another borough’s jurisdiction. I can only assume that this officer had a severe aversion to paperwork!
This got me thinking about how – or indeed if – murders were dealt with in Ancient Rome by the city authorities. ‘vestigia‘ means ‘footprints’ or ‘traces’ in Latin, from where we get the modern concept of an investigation, but there is really no evidence, written or otherwise, that tells us anything about basic procedures at scenes of crime. We do know, though, about various punishments that could be meted out to offenders, suggesting that there were at least some means of getting them into court in the first place. I decided on my next set of rest days to become a member of the British Library to research the ‘vigiles‘, the night watch, and the concept for the book really came from there.
The world of Roman criminal and civil law is a forbidding one for outsiders. Fortunately, the efforts of the Byzantine emperor Justinian to compile a digest of laws, and to resolve their frequent clashes, make the job a little easier. Stern reprimands and fines could be issued against minor breaches of criminal law, just as they are today. At the other end of the spectrum, however, crucifixion was still employed. Arguably even worse, though, was the poena cullei, which was reserved for parricides. This involved the offender being sewn up in a sack with a motley assortment of animals, such as dogs, vipers, cockerels and even monkeys.
Whilst The Consul’s Daughter doesn’t feature too many animals, it does try to evoke a sense of the atmosphere and danger that was part of life within a sprawling pre-industrial city, especially during the hours of darkness. My early experiences as a uniformed beat officer walking the streets of London, especially the cobbled variety lit by streetlights barely more powerful than gas lamps, gave me a sense of what it might have been a bit like for my early Victorian counterparts. It is hard to project back much further than this, though, especially into ancient history. Part of the joy of writing the novel was to imagine, using my own experiences along with all the available archaeological and literary evidence, what life would have been like for patrolling night-watchmen in that fascinating but deadly city.
