by marthamarks | Travel
Writing The Viper Amulet sent me on an Internet voyage to discover how first-century travelers managed to navigate their way around the Mediterranean Sea… a water-world of islands, inlets, rocks, shoals, and sandbars surrounded by—and occasionally interspersed with—chunks of terra firma. Many ancient ships sank in the Mediterranean, so sailing must have been an immensely dangerous endeavor.
The information I turned up was fascinating, but putting it to good novelistic use required imagination and shrewd powers of deduction. Fortunately, I have plenty of each!
I learned that there was little dependable navigational guidance available until late in the life of Emperor Claudius (10 B.C. – 54 A.D., which ended a year after Rubies of the Viper begins). Sailors apparently followed the coastlines as closely as they safely could. Venturing without modern aids across the biggest body of water in their known world must have taken great courage.
In 43 A.D., Pomponius Mela, an Iberian geographer living in Rome, “published” a short book (ie, a scroll) describing in words a bare-bones outline of the Mediterranean Sea. He had access to some older sources, mostly Greek texts, which he combined and elaborated on. Logically, for someone born in southern Spain, his description begins with the Straights of Gibraltar; moves east along the north-African coast, northeast along Judea and Syria, and north to the Black Sea. Eventually, his description makes its way around Greece and Italy and winds up back in Spain.
Other than their general shapes, Mela did not describe the land masses surrounding the Mediterranean. Places whose size and shape were generally unknown at the time (eg, Africa) are greatly reduced from what we moderns know to be their actual size.
If you’d like to see a graphic portrayal of Pomponius Mela’s vision of the world, click here.
So… Pomponius Mela provided an overall geographical description of the Mediterranean. But how did all that verbiage translate into something useful for naval captains and ordinary sailors and fishermen, most of whom must have been illiterate and none of whom would have possessed a one-of-a-kind manuscript?
Here’s where my powers of deduction come in.
Pomponius Mela’s geographical description certainly made it into the hands of Emperor Claudius, a scholar who would have appreciated the work and realized the value of this new information. (In fact, getting it to Claudius was probably the reason Mela wrote his book in the first place. It’s a safe guess that he—like so many other foreigners in the imperial capital—was ambitious to get a good appointment in the palace.)
In writing The Viper Amulet, I’ve made the assumption that Claudius would have encouraged somebody in the palace, perhaps even Mela himself, to accept the task of developing a visual rendition of this verbal description… to put it into a format that could be more easily used. In modern words: to create a map.
It wouldn’t have been called a map in those days, of course.
The best term that my adviser on all things classical has suggested to describe this wondrous first-century creation is: a drawing on parchment. So, in The Viper Amulet, my characters have the benefit of a new-fangled “drawing on parchment.”
My characters wouldn’t have had the original drawing, of course. No doubt that was safely kept in the imperial palace in Rome, a fact that could have continued to make life difficult for those sailing the Mediterranean. So—again using those powers of deduction—I assume that hand-made copies of the original “drawing on parchment” would have been distributed to Roman Navy captains. Subsequently, one can envision the many generations of copies—copies of copies of copies—that would have been produced, in all probability becoming less and less accurate, but still better than nothing at all.
To my mind, this is a logical series of steps… starting from the historical reality of Pomponius Mela’s written description and imagining the development of graphic representations that would have helped all who could get their hands on them. I can’t prove that my characters obtained travel assistance in exactly this way, but the “copies of copies” that they manage to find in Sicily surely would have been a big help to anyone in their situation.
—text copyright © Martha Marks—
by marthamarks | HISTORICAL CHARACTERS, Otho
How common is it in historical mysteries that one of the bad guys also happens to have been a genuinely rotten guy in history? Not too common, I suspect.
Marcus Salvius Otho (A.D. 32-69) is another character who, like Alexander, evolved and grew as Rubies of the Viper progressed. Otho started out as just one of many in my mind, but he almost literally leaped off the pages as I learned more about his fascinating real-life story and began writing him into my fictional one.
It would be hard to invent a fictional character quite like the real Otho… whose patrician father repeatedly flogged him for juvenile delinquency… who hung out with Nero both before and after Nero became emperor… who coveted, won, and lost the same woman Nero coveted, won, and lost… who was so ambitious (and hapless) that he achieved his ultimate goal—to become emperor—only to die by his own hand three months later.
Imagine a Roman military officer who “wore a wig, put scent on his feet and on the march to Rome it was suspected that he studied his appearance in a mirror, like an actor in his dressing room.” —author Kenneth Wellesley
I had fun with Otho.
It was fun to play him off against Theodosia… who first falls for him, then sees him for the rat he is, then battles it out with him in a game of wits, guts, and strength.
It was also fun to play him off against Alexander… who sees through him from the beginning and ultimately—while risking everything—manages to pull a fast one on him despite overwhelming odds.
It was even fun to play him off against Nero… who has the world at his feet but is on track to lose it all through sheer, bull-headed stupidity.
If you’ve read Rubies of the Viper, I’d love to see what you thought of my characterization of Otho. Just remember… no spoilers, please!
—text copyright © Martha Marks—
by marthamarks | FICTIONAL CHARACTERS, Theodosia Varro, Women (Roman)
After living with Theodosia Varro for the five years it took me to write Rubies of the Viper—during which time she quite literally had her own way with the story—I’ve developed a great respect and affection for her. The best test for me is that, after spending so much time with her already, I found her fascinating enough to continue exploring her life in a sequel, The Viper Amulet.
Here’s how I see Theodosia… and there are no spoilers here!
Personality-wise, she’s stubborn, impetuous, and thoughtless—with a love of horses, bright clothing, personal independence, and self-determination—but she also demonstrates remarkable kindness and generosity for an upper-class woman of her time.
Socially, she’s a misfit from birth… a half-Greek/half-Roman girl given no training whatsoever for managing the wealth and high social position that fall into her lap at the beginning of the novel. She was raised by a Greek slave nurse—a surrogate for the mother who died in childbirth—who had no capacity to prepare her to be a proper lady. Her father treated her in a way that no “ordinary” patrician girl would ever have been treated: more as a fun companion than as a future Roman wife and mother. He taught her to love books and ride a horse as well as a man, but made no provision for her marriage and no effort to ensure that she was equipped to survive after his death. (See What Theodosia Never Learned and Is Theodosia Stupid? on this site.)
Emotionally, she’s naive, unprepared, and inexperienced at first… easy prey in a society full of ambitious, money- and status-seeking men. She grows in wisdom and experience as the story progresses, and it’s safe to say that the Theodosia of Chapter 30 is a far cry from the Theodosia of Chapter 1.
In my eyes, this adds up to a multi-dimensional character who learns to hold her own despite the many forces aligned against her. Theodosia creates many of her own problems, but by the end of the novel, she proves to be clever, resourceful, courageous, resilient, honest with herself and others, willing to admit mistakes, and strong—both physically and emotionally.
As one Amazon reviewer pointed out… Theodosia “leaves several characters so appreciative of her that they risk their lives and freedom on her behalf.” I’d say that’s a pretty good sign of an appealing protagonist.
If you’ve read Rubies of the Viper, please leave a comment and let me know what you think of Theodosia Varro. Just remember… no spoilers, please!
—text copyright © Martha Marks—
by marthamarks | FICTIONAL CHARACTERS, Theodosia Varro, Women (Roman)
Only by understanding the normal expectations and restrictions placed on patrician women in Roman society can one see how profoundly different is the situation in which Theodosia Varro, the protagonist of Rubies of the Viper, finds herself at the beginning of the novel.
A Roman lady of the upper classes was trained from childhood for her primary tasks in life: to run a household, manage slaves, entertain her husband’s friends and political allies, and raise her children.
But… Theodosia Varro was given no training for any of this. (See Not Your Garden-Variety Roman Lady and Is Theodosia stupid?)
The life of a typical Roman lady of the upper classes was restricted from start to finish. She had minimal education, little encouragement to understand politics, and few opportunities for meaningful engagement with the world outside her home. While a free Roman woman was considered a citizen, she had no right to vote, hold office, or engage in any political activities.
Legally, both a woman and any property she inherited were under the control of a male member of the family: her father, husband, or son. She didn’t have the right to select her own husband, say no to her father’s choice, or wait until she was older than the customary marriage age of 12-14.
A Roman lady didn’t have a legal right to her children. She couldn’t even protect a newborn baby girl (or, on occasion, a sickly baby boy) if the father chose to allow the baby to die of starvation or exposure. If the lady divorced her husband, she had to leave her children behind.
It was common for a girl at puberty to be married off to a considerably older man… becoming perhaps his third or fourth wife. Wives were expected to bear children as often as possible, because few survived and because sons were so desirable. Women wore out fast; twenty to thirty years was the expected life span of a female who survived past childhood.
While adulterous relationships were common, only a woman could be put to death for adultery.
Unlike Greek woman, who were confined almost all the time to their homes, Roman women regularly went out in public, especially to the public baths (which were social occasions as well as opportunities for hygiene); to parties, races and gladiatorial events; and to religious celebrations. They enjoyed friends of their own class, both male and female.
A good book on this subject is Goddesses, Whores, Wives and Slaves: Women in Classical Antiquity.
—text copyright © Martha Marks—
by marthamarks | Communications
How in heck did I come up with THE PURPLE PARCHMENT? It’s a cute, alliterative name for a blog, to be sure… but does it mean anything?
Actually, it does.
In Ancient Roman times, people had three ways of writing things down.
Wax tablets might be called the first-century equivalent of our spiral notebooks. Using styluses, schoolboys wrote their lessons on wax tablets, which could be rubbed out and reused. Secretaries took dictation on them, using a form of shorthand.
Papyrus was the closest thing to our paper… used for some degree of permanence but obviously destructible.
Parchment was the most lasting medium of communication… used for things the writer wanted to endure, such as Imperial decrees, wills/deeds/bills of sale/certificates of manumission/et al, and Biblical texts.
Parchment was made of stretched animal skins, which explains the durability factor. Documents written on parchment would not tear, and it was tough to cut them up. When burned (as happens once in Rubies of the Viper), they stank and melted into a puddle of waxy ashes.
Usually, parchments were a natural tan. For special documents, however, they might be dyed. Purple parchments were the medium of choice for messages sent by the emperor and his family or staff.
Really important imperial messages always went out on purple parchment, dyed using secretions from a mollusk. They had a special name: Codex Purpureus. Ink used on these purple parchments was made with either gold or silver.
I figure… if purple parchment was good enough for Emperor Nero, it’s good enough for me.
—text copyright © Martha Marks—
