A good few years back when I was mulling over what to do with my first ever novel manuscript, I thought it might be an idea to ask an expert. I glanced to my bookshelves and saw Ben Kane's 'Forgotten Legion', a recent read that had stuck in the mind and hoisted Mr. Kane to the upper echelons of my favourite authors. I got in touch with Ben and he was as helpful as could be, giving advice and pointers and, later on when my first book was published, reading and giving a thorough and constructive critique that has stood me in good stead since. So, when Ben offered me the chance to preview his latest work - A Day of Fire, a novel of Pompeii, written in conjunction with five fellow authors - I was only too happy to oblige. As the title might suggest, this book of short stories pivots around Pompeii's nadir under the shadow of Vesuvius. The slow, steady (and gradually intensifying) cadence of the strange tremors underneath the city provide a tense and ominous beat along which each story travels...gradually swallowing up each character's everyday concerns in a sharp metaphor for the physical fate that awaits them and the city. The authors take us right onto Pompeii's streets and perch us upon the shoulders of the ordinary and extraordinary who tread them: callow youths, reluctant brides, troubled veterans and gladiators, doomed yet defiant families, sullen senators and plucky, whip-tongued heroines. Like the falling ash, each tale layers more detail upon that established by the last, and at the height of Vesuvius' fury I could see the streets breaking up, the villas and temples crumbling, the great ash cloud descending. I could hear the screaming and anguish, feel the blistering heat on my skin and smell the stench of conflagration. In summary, A Day of Fire is a fine read for lovers of history or of pacy, engaging fiction. Fancy trying it for yourself? Of course you do! Just click here to have a look. The tale enlightened me on much of Pompeii's last days in a fashion that blended the expertise of the source and secondary texts with the enjoyment of rollicking fiction. It threw up a series of questions too, and Ben has kindly agreed to take part in a Q & A session to shed more light on my queries: Q&AGordon: There is a real passion for the subject matter that runs through and binds the six tales in 'A Day of Fire'. How would you summarise the shared dream of the authors for this project?
Ben: To depict, somehow, the ordinariness of those caught up in the eruption, and of how like us they were. To paint a picture that might reveal in part how utterly terrifying and awful that day in 79 AD must have been. Gordon: Did you set out to bring a fresh interpretation of the history and the legend of Pompeii's fate, or was it more about getting the historical detail down to a tee? Ben: For me, the latter. I’m no historian, just a teller of tales! Gordon: There were many scenes that stick in the memory: one was Rufus' dash through the ash cloud to try and save his friend, Mustius. The other was the epilogue (don't worry, no spoilers apart from the obvious one that the mountain erupted!), where one of the main characters was picking over the debris, many months after the disaster. Both of these scenes were really visceral, detailed and conveyed a deep sense of anguish - bravo! What were your main sources for these scenes? Ben: The Rufus scene was mine – and I worked on what we know of the eruption – its timeline, and what it would have been like in the town. I also tried to work in how – ignorant of science as they were – ordinary Romans would have regarded the fearsome, lethal display by Mother Nature. Gordon: I could have read this as an anonymous work and I'd have been unaware of the mix of female and male authors involved. Was this just a natural synergy or did you and your fellow writers have to alter any of your stories to blend the male and female voices? Ben: It must have been a natural synergy! We didn’t have to alter our stories other than to make sure our characters crossed paths at various stages etc. Gordon: I've been writing a joint project with a certain SJA Turney and I've found interweaving threads of plot with another hist-geek mind quite rewarding. I'm guessing you and the other authors of 'A Day of Fire' did too. I'm interested in how you managed to coordinate 6 unique minds to weave each tale together so well though? In particular, did you co-devise an overall plot and characters, then divide up into chunks and take a piece each, or did you each bring your ideas to the table and bind them into the epic it became? Ben: I look forward to your collaboration with Simon! We found it great fun. In one regard, I was lucky – I wrote my story long before anyone else – and to some extent, the others weaved their tales around mine. I then had to make some changes so that the whole thing came together, but that was fine. We had an overall idea about the plotline, yes, and the timeline, because otherwise we might all have written about the worst part of the eruption etc. Gordon: Will there be more from the Pompeii team? Ben: I hope so! Watch this space… Gordon: What's next for you? I hear there are rumblings from the Teutoburg Wald? Ben: Yes, indeed. I’ve just finished the first book in a new trilogy, called Eagles at War. It concerns the huge defeat suffered by the Romans in Germany, in AD 9, with the loss of 3 eagles…I’m in Germany as I type, researching book two. Gordon: Thanks, Ben - nice to chat with you as always! Ben: Many thanks for having me, Gordon! If you'd like to find out more about Ben or 'A Day of Fire', you can visit his website at: http://www.benkane.net/
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This summer's research trip whisked me away from the usual haunts of Greece and Turkey and to Hispania Tarraconensis - once a great province in the western-most region of the Roman Empire. Before setting off, I spent many nights compiling a list of where to visit, and grumping about the fact that a week there would barely allow me to cover a fraction of the places on that lineup. The majority of the locations ended up being shifted onto my semi-mythical 'camper-van tour of the world' itinerary. But for this week of escapism, there were two gems of this part of the world that simply had to be explored: the ancient cities of Tarraco and Barcino . . . TarracoThe Modern-day port-city of Tarragona plays a distant second-fiddle to Barcelona, the jewel of Catalonia, but back in the 1st century AD this place was the star of the show. Tarraco, as the Romans called it, was an artery linking Hispania with the heart of the empire. It is quickly apparent why the site was swiftly adopted by the Romans - perfectly placed to serve as a defensible and sustainable settlement, set upon a sun-baked, rocky hinterland that overlooks a natural harbour in the Mediterranean to the west and commands a fine view of the countryside in every other direction. While the legions would have first arrived in these lands clad in mail, clutching shield and gladius, Sarah and I turned up armed with cameras, notepads and factor 50 sun cream. And while the Romans would have rolled over the horizon on a fleet of majestic triremes, we turned up on . . . er . . . a somewhat camp miniature tourist train (only kidding - 'Tarraco Tren' actually a brilliant way to get around the city). I had read that, two thousand years ago, the native Iberians were swift to side with the Romans who arrived to fight in the Punic Wars. We too were helped by a local fellow, eager to give us directions and advice when we were staring blankly at our upside-down map, already suffering under the thirty degree plus sun (and it was still early morning at this point). Generally, the people of Tarragona seemed extremely laid back and welcoming, and this set a pleasant tone for our visit. We wandered uphill, intent on starting our tour at the city's highest point and working our way down. The further we climbed, the more beautiful Tarragona became. The historic quarter in particular has a very relaxed feel about it - enjoying a quiet, lazy old-town feel around the cobbled, sloping streets and winding alleys, with just the gentle pealing of church bells, chirruping of birds and the scent of spices and fresh baking in the air. Sarah did have one gripe though: not enough cats - not even the type that lurk in shady doorways, look at you askance and offer you mere toleration. Whilst Sarah muttered about cats, I was flicking through books and listening to the audio guides I had downloaded in an attempt to understand the layout of all I saw before me and how it correlated with ancient Tarraco. It seems that (rather unsurprisingly) the Romans manipulated the sloping coastal terrain to establish three terraced levels upon the hillside. There was the Colonial Forum near sea-level, the Provincial Forum a little higher, then the Temple Forum at the apex of the hill - where we were headed. We found a small museum (near the Rosero gate at the city walls) that houses an excellent model of Roman Tarraco during its 1st century AD high period, and really helps you to get your bearings with how the ruins weave through the modern city. The Scale Model of Roman Tarraco, seen from the north-west, looking west and downhill to the Mediterranean. The Temple Forum stands at the apex of the hill, the Provincial Forum just below it and the Colonial Forum meets with the harbour area. Notice the amphitheatre (to the left) just outside of the city walls. You can compare this to the aerial photo of modern Tarragona (in the previous set of photos) taken from a similar-ish angle. Of course, Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither was Roman Tarraco. The site's pre-Roman origins are unclear, but the thinking is that a fortified Iberian or Phonecian town preceded the coming of the Scipios and their legions during the Second Punic War (218-201 BC). After its Romanisation, Tarraco existed for the remainder of the Republican era as a functional port-town, legionary wintering quarters and a supply base for the various other wars of conquest that carried on around Hispania long after the dust had settled on the Punic Wars. Notably, in the civil war between Caesar and Pompey in the 1st century BC, Tarraco proved to be an essential resource of food and fodder for the armies of Caesar in the lead-up to the battle of Munda in 45 BC. It was following his crushing victory at Munda that Caesar granted Tarraco the status of colony. So Tarraco was on the rise. Still though, only hints of the majesty shown in the model, above, existed by this point. It was not until the 1st century AD, when Rome had embraced the concept of empire, that Tarraco truly spread its wings. Around 73 AD, Emperor Vespasian commissioned the transformation of the settlement from a colony into a fully fledged provincial capital (of Hispania Tarraconensis). At the same time, he granted Roman citizenship to all of the Hispanic provinces. Revolutionary times indeed. Work began on the three forums of Tarraco during his reign and the last piece of the plan was realised with the completion of the circus on the lowest terrace around a decade later - although further embellishment would continue for years to come. Indeed, Tarraco spent the next century or so as a flourishing, trade-rich city, enjoying visits from emperors such as Hadrian, who commissioned further construction projects, including the rebuilding of the Temple of Augustus. The city knew leaner times later in the 2nd century AD, when civil war somewhat inevitably reared its ugly head again after the death of Pertinax and the Year of the Five Emperors in 193 AD. Tarraco's wealth and status recovered from this troubled time, but never quite to the same degree as its heyday, especially when the administrative reforms of Diocletian in the 280s and 290s AD, which rendered the city capital of a much smaller province (1 of 6 in the Diocese of Hispania). Then, some two hundred years later in the dark days of the late 4th century AD, Tarraco, Roman Hispania - and the western Roman empire itself - fell into the hands of the barbarians. Of these numerous tribes, it was the Visigoths that claimed most of Hispania, and ended the story of Roman Tarraco . . . Republican armies of conquest, civil wars, invading barbarian hordes? I don't know about you, but reading up on this history had already filled my head with story ideas, and I had yet to clap eyes upon the ruins in earnest! But that was about to be remedied, as we reached the top of the hill and came out onto the Temple Forum. This wide and leafy (and blessedly shaded) square once housed the Imperial cult complex, and now the Cathedral of Tarragona stands in its place. The strata of history are plain to see, with original, dark and worn sections of Romanesque masonry in the lower levels of the structure (dating to the 11th century AD), and lighter Gothic style marble architecture forming the upper sections. More, there are many fragments of the original Roman temple dotted around, including the side of the Betheseda Sarcophogus - a 4th century piece - fitted above the right-hand entrance, and pieces of the temple structure itself (see pics, below). We trekked around the north side of the cathedral in search of the city walls only to pause near a small cafe in a quiet, cobbled square that beckoned us with the clink of chilled drinks and the pleasant sight of more shade. We ordered what we thought was a light tapas lunch, but were served up with an entire loaf of bread, drenched in tomato pulp and olive oil and a tray laden with enough Spanish meats and cheeses to feed a cohort. Still, we ate the lot and drained several glasses of juice. So, we were fuelled up, ready to march to the Danubian Limes if necessary . . . but the city walls turned out to be just round the corner. And I had to ask myself how we had missed them. A UNESCO World Heritage Organisation protected site, Tarraco's city walls absolutely deserve the overused adjective 'awesome'. Take a look: The walls once ran some 3.5 Km, wrapping Tarraco securely from external threat. Only a third of that length still stands - but that alone is still hugely impressive. Indeed, these walls claim to be the oldest and largest Roman construction preserved outside of Italy and Rome itself. It's worth noting that, starting in the 16th century, a small, squat outer wall was added in order to bear cannon, and some of the towers (notably the Arzobispo tower) and sections of wall have been repaired/modified in and since medieval times. I was in my element, buzzing up and down the walkway at the foot of the walls taking snaps on my shiny new camera . . . when disaster struck! The camera informed me that it had ran out of space on my only memory card. It seems the unnecessary number of panoramic shots I was taking were swallowing up a Terrabyte each (<- possible exaggeration), and, alas, I was force to resort to my phone camera. I was rather nervous switching on my phone because a) I had sworn to take a week-long Twitter/Email/Facebook/AllTheRest break and b) I was still traumatised about the last time I tried to bring my phone to the rescue whilst abroad. This time however, it behaved itself, and I ignored all the email updates. But the pictures were rubbish in comparison, I grumbled more than once. We headed back downhill to find the provincial forum, passing shops that seemed to sell everything but memory cards. Seriously. Knitted giraffes? Yep, no problem. T-shirts with witty declarations like 'I Love Sex' written on them - no bother at all. Roman-style iPhone covers - 3 for 20 euros. But memory cards? No chance. Not until we stopped for a lemon fanta (always tastes better abroad) and another seat in the shade. Only then did I spot the most covert of all shops, with a tiny, seemingly hand-written sign almost apologetically announcing 'memory cards'. 20 notes lighter and one 16Gb memory card up, I was back in business with my garishly unnecessary panoramic shots of everything. We strolled through the remains of the Provincial Forum, which exist mainly as islands of antiquity set into the modern settlement. There are only fragments here and there, and a good narrative is needed to pull all the remains together. Fortunately, the Archaeological and Praetorium Tower museums are there to perform just such a task, with a bounty of mosaics, pottery, sculptures, narratives and more in the former and a stunning vista from the rooftop of the latter. The Praetorian Tower was pretty impressive from the outside, and offers magnificent views from the roof (for some reason the woman operating the lift thought we wanted to get off the floor before - which was completely empty?). But below, in its cellars, lies a vast and impressive honeycomb of Roman vaults and antechambers. these tunnels and chambers sit under Tarragona's streets, supporting the mid-level city like stilts as they once supported the Provincial Forum. Exploring these tunnels is rather atmospheric, with every footstep echoing and dying, the tang of dust and damp in the air and the spooky lighting revealing seemingly endless corridors and myriad antechambers along the way, not to mention the 3rd century Hyppolytus sarcophagus (recovered from the sea in 1948). We came through one towering corridor known as the 'Porta Triumphalis', which led us to the remains of the Circo Romano on the third and lowest level of the tiered city. I did have a bit of a Gladiator* moment ascending the steep stairs and emerging into the circus, staring off into the middle-distance, hearing the crowd chanting my name. However, the moment was spoiled somewhat when Sarah pointed out that my flies were open. Moving swiftly on . . . Unfortunately, there is not enough of the circus left to get a good feel for how it would have looked, but there is plenty of pictorial support on adjacent buildings (see photos, below). Also, there were plaques containing some succinct and interesting detail on the tradition of chariot racing, telling how the arena, the races and the competitors all had deep religious connotations and served as a metaphor for the passing of time and the circle of life and death. The arena symbolised the Earth and the Chariots the Sun; the seven laps of the track represented the seven days of the week; the four colours of the participating teams - green, blue, red and white - personified the four seasons. This particular racing venue held 25,000 spectators (compared to the 125,000 capacity of the Circus Maximus in Rome). *Yes, I know gladiators would not have fought on the racetrack. By this point, we were pretty tired, but there was no way we were missing out on the amphitheatre down by the coast. The added bonus was that it was all downhill as well. On the way down, we passed through a tidy garden area, planted with a variety of Roman-era shrubs, herbs and flowers, complete with plaques detailing how each would have been used in Roman cooking, decoration and religion. So if my next book has a chapter and a half painstakingly describing Tribunus Gallus preparing a cheeky little wormwood, ginger, marjoram, oregano jus to go with his pheasant, then please direct your complaints to the head gardener. The site of the amphitheatre is stunning, and I felt no shame in clicking onto panoramic mode with the camera once more. I even insisted on a Gladiator-style marching into the arena shot (flies in good order this time). I could have spent a day here penning a short story, so evocative was the setting. But the thing that really ticked all of my boxes was supporting detail in the little antechambers around the arena. The plaques detailing the Roman era were excellent, describing the reservation system where certain seats would be held for families and nobles (with their names carved into the seats), and of Valerian and Galieno's burning of Fructuoso, Bishop of Tarraco, along with his deacons Augurio and Eulogio (on 21st Jan 259AD at 10am - how's that for detail?) - an act that would dictate the future of the arena. A series of illustrations (very reminiscent of the work of the excellent Osprey artists) showed the arena in late antiquity and beyond, and really helped portray the layers of history I was walking upon. Following the Gothic conquest, it seems that a Gothic Basilica dominated one end (on the site of Fructuoso's martyrdom) through to the 9th century. This basilica might well have been Roman originally - built as a form of penance for Fructuoso's death. In the 12th century, the 'Church del Santa Maria del Miracle' was built over the Gothic ruins and then became a convent in the 16th century before reinventing itself as the 'Prison Del Milagro' in the 19th century. By the time we had circled the arena thoroughly, our shadows were stretching across the sand and our bellies were rumbling once more. It was time to head off back to our accommodation further down the coast. I came to Tarragona expecting to find a gem. Instead, I uncovered a treasure trove. BarcinoA few days later, we travelled to the modern capital of the region, the jewel that is Barcelona. I had visited this sprawling metropolis once before, but that was in a previous incarnation as a young lad on holiday with his mates, and my focus then was on beer as opposed to the bounty of antiquity nestled at the heart of this magnificent city. This time, it would be different, I affirmed. I would see modern and ancient Barcelona, drinking in history instead of questionable lager ( that would come later on in the evening ;) ). We actually spent the early part of the day travelling around the modern part of the city but, truth be told, as wide and pleasant as the grid-system of streets and walkways are, as exquisite as the Gaudi and Gaudi-esque architecture is, I simply couldn't wait to get to the site of the old town, the original Roman city of Barcino. What remains of Barcino is a mix of imperious 4th century Roman walls, towers, gates and aqueducts along with dark and distinctive Gothic architecture (not least the cathedral at Barcino's centre - which partly incorporates the Roman walls and whose original structure is likely to have been 4th century Roman). As the history goes, it seems likely that Barcino was founded by the Carthaginian Barca family, and possibly even by Hamilcar Barca - Hannibal's father - in the 3rd century BC. It was in the 1st century BC that the Romans reinvented the settlement as a military camp named Colonia Julia Augusta Faventia Paterna Barcino. The city's importance grew and threatened that of Tarraco for a time. Much later, Barcino also shared Tarraco's fate, the Visigoths seizing it too in the aftermath of the Fall of the Western Roman Empire and making it their capital of all Gothic Hispania. We spent the late afternoon and evening strolling round this maze. Much like Tarragona, the pace of life in Barcelona is generally quite relaxed given the sheer size of the place, but in the Gothic Quarter (the name given to the area that roughly corresponds to Barcino), it is so laid back it is nearly horizontal. Perhaps we were caught up too much in this mindset though, as we missed the last entry into the Museum of History! Well, the sign said last entry was 7pm, but we were turned away when we arrived there at 6.30pm...grrr. Still, a cold drink and a couple of chorizo-based nibbles later and I was fine with it all. We were in no rush to leave this tranquil old place, and it was nearly midnight when we hopped on the bus back to our hotel. I fell asleep despite the bumpy ride, and enjoyed/endured a bizarre Romans vs aliens dream - too much chorizo, perhaps? Or maybe the dodgy beer? I spent the last day of our trip jotting down notes and thoughts and talking them over with Sarah. I was trying to summarise our to Tarraco and Barcino: what had I gained? Well, cracking days out and a blizzard of ideas for a start. Now, a week later, I already have an embryonic story plan involving Tarraco and Barcino. A couple of characters have emerged from that blizzard of ideas, bringing with them a devilish plot . . .
Today I'm chatting with fellow author, Steven A. McKay. We'll talk audiobooks, history and influences. Steven and I are from a similar part of the world (I patrol the central section of the Antonine Wall and he's watching over the western end) and there are many parallels in our paths to writer-dom. Steven has enjoyed a notable year with his sparkling debut, 'Wolf's Head', rocketing to the top of Amazon's war chart. Well deserved, I reckon, as his retelling of the Robin Hood legend was one of my top reads of 2013. Indeed, I'm saving the sequel, 'The Wolf and the Raven', for this year's summer break. Recently, Steven was one of the first UK authors to have his work converted into an audiobook and listed on Amazon's Audible website. Around the same time, 'Legionary' was being narrated for the same purpose. So Steven and I have shared ideas and advice on various aspects of this process, and we thought it would be good to share our thinking with the wider world. So, here we go (straightens question sheet and clears throat): Gordon: The world of publishing is fairly new to both of us. The audiobook world was even newer still for me, and I’m guessing it was the same for you. There are lots of options and advice (sometimes contradictory) out there. How did you go about getting started and selecting Nick Ellsworth for the job of narrating Wolf’s Head? Steven: I'd wanted to make an audiobook but, to be honest, it wasn't high on my list of priorities as Wolf's Head hadn't even been out for a year and I was concentrating on getting the sequel finished. But ACX/ Amazon contacted me to ask if I'd like to be one of the first authors outwith the USA to use their program to have an audiobook made. I was going to the London Book Fair to be part of the Kindle/Createspace team so this meant I was also able to talk about the ACX process while I was there.I found the process really simple – just put my ad out there on the ACX page asking for narrators to audition and basically selected the best one. I used the filters to find people who were a) male b) middle-aged and c) had a refined English accent. I think that describes Nick Ellsworth, or at least his voice! He was ideal and I'm happy he accepted the job. Gordon: Nick has a very engaging narrative voice, and I find that his style complements the tale of Wolf’s Head perfectly. Did the narration highlight any areas of the story that made you feel really proud (I think the combat scenes are very well handled by Nick), or any areas that made you wish you had written differently? Steven: Yeah, I loved how he read the scenes between Will Scarlet and his daughter, Beth. I literally had tears in my eyes as I was listening to that, his reading was very powerful. The one thing I didn't like was the beginning of, I think it was chapter two. There was a lot of scene-setting without any dialogue or action and I thought it dragged a bit, which I never noticed until I heard someone reading it. No fault of Nick's, it was just the writing and it made me more aware of that kind of thing for future novels. Gordon: In the narrating and proof-listening process, were there any bloopers or misunderstandings, e.g. a romantic scene being narrated in an angry voice? Steven: Not really, as I say I was so lucky with Nick, he was a real pro. The one thing I asked him to change was the beginning of one chapter, where a character shouts, “Ride!” to start a joust. I asked Nick to make that single word more forceful but, apart from that, I don't think I asked him to change anything. There were some issues with glitches in the first versions of the recordings, words repeated or sound levels changing, but I noted exact times they happened and Nick sorted them. Sorry, I wish I had a hilarious story to tell about him reading a fiery sex-scene in a Peter Griffin voice, but the guy was a joy to work with! Gordon: How did you work with Nick in terms of clarifying pronunciations, corrections etc? Steven: Again, Nick knew his job and read everything perfectly, as far as I recall, first time around. In fact, the one time there was a genuine error, it was down to me: I'd made a mistake in the book! I had to ask him to re-read it then edit the book and upload it to Amazon again! To be fair, my book doesn't have any, like, Latin words or anything so the pronunciations are pretty simple. I imagine it would have been a lot harder for your own audiobook (which is excellent by the way) with all its limitanei and comitatenses! Gordon: I like Nick’s adoption of different accents/tones and twangs as he switched between jeering peasant or haughty lords. Did you guide Nick on this at all? Steven: This is turning into an advert for Nick Ellsworth's narration skills! He asked me at the very start what I wanted in terms of accents, but he'd already read the first chapter during the audition and I loved what he did with it so I just asked him to continue the way he'd started. I think I told him he could play with the accents of characters like Friar Tuck, who came from different areas from the rest of the cast but I really just left it up to him and he, clearly, knew what he was doing. Gordon: How did you pay (upfront or royalty share?) Steven: I paid the full fee upfront. I'm always quietly confident that people will like what I do so I thought I'd make the money back eventually. Hopefully time proves me right.... Gordon: Are you glad you paid in that way? Steven: Yeah. I had my first royalty cheque from ACX just last week and it was more than I'd expected. It's very hard to figure out how much money you're earning from the audiobooks as there's so many ways for people to buy it. Discounts for Audible members, discounts for people who already bought the Kindle version etc. So it's not as simple as saying, “X amount of sales at X price equals a total royalty of £X”. Going on the first cheque though, I'll hopefully make my costs back within a year or so. Gordon: Did you consider self-narrating at all? Steven: Ha! I have the audio equipment to do it. I write and record a lot of songs for my heavy metal band so I know my way around a basic home recording studio and, since I sing as well as playing guitar I don't mind people hearing my voice. But Wolf's Head is a book about a load of Yorkshiremen and one of England's greatest folk heroes. Taking that into account, I don't think my broad Glasgow accent would go down too well.... Gordon: You’ve got the eBook, the treeBook and now the audiobook . . . any plans to get Robin and the lads onto the big or small screen? Steven: I'd love to see the books turned into an HBO series like Rome or Game of Thrones but I'm sure everyone that's ever written a book would like that to happen for them! I do believe Wolf's Head and The Wolf and the Raven would make better films than the Kevin Costner or Russell Crowe ones but it would take a lot for me to beat the TV series Robin of Sherwood. I don't have an agent anyway so there's not much chance of anyone picking up the rights for a screen version. Maybe once I sell a few million books? Ask me again in six months! Gordon: What are your writing plans for the future? Do you intend to see the Forest Lord series to a conclusion and then move on to something else, or will you start another series and alternate those releases with further volumes of the Forest Lord? And do you anticipate audiobook versions of each new work? Steven: I definitely want to have all the books made into audio versions now. It seems the way to do it, having them made up as you go. I was talking to your friend SJA Turney and his problem is he has so many novels, making them all into audiobooks is going to be both hugely expensive and time-consuming. So I'd really want to have each new novel of mine made into an audiobook as I go, finances permitting. Nick has already been asked about doing The Wolf and the Raven, I'm sure we'll get around to that within a few months. In terms of my writing, The Forest Lord series will only run to four books, I really don't want to drag it out and end up with it being watered down. I'm working on the third just now, and I know how it will all end. How I'll get there, I don't know yet, stay tuned to find out! After that I'm not sure where I'll go. I'd like to do something with the Hospitaller, Sir Richard-at-Lee, but I always loved reading about the Romans in Britain and, being a Scot who lives at the end of the Antonine Wall, I wonder if I could do anything with that... Please, join me to find out..! Steven A. McKay was born in 1977, near Glasgow in Scotland. He lives in Old Kilpatrick with his wife and two young children. His second book, The Wolf and the Raven was released on April 7th, at the London Book Fair where he was part of the Amazon stand. His début novel, Wolf's Head, was also released the same day as an audiobook. Wolf's Head is a Kindle top 20 best-seller and The Wolf and the Raven was the “War” chart number 1. He plays lead guitar and sings in a heavy metal band when they can find the time to meet up. Visit Steven's website here. When we set off down to Hadrian's Wall country the other week it was for a number of reasons:
We hired a Volkswagen T5 camper van - tall enough for me to stand up in, and small enough to be an easy-ish drive. Ironically, it was the petite Sarah who found the ceiling height an issue - constantly thumping her head on the lower bits because she's not used to having to duck under things like me. Of course, I was very supportive when this happened... :) Anyway, off we went for a weekend of exploration. The focal point of our visit south was Housesteads fort - or Vercovicium as the Romans would probably have called it. It had been years since I had last come here, and I had heard of many changes since my last visit. When the fort rolled into view, I could not contain a Beavis and Butthead style 'coool!'. Perched atop Whin Sill ridge, the fort commands an excellent position from which to observe the surrounding lands - in particular, the Knag Burn, which runs through a gap in the ridge and presents a weak spot in the terrain. This fort was the home of a vexillation of the Legio II Augusta in the 2nd century AD and, when they moved out, a cohort of Tungrian auxiliaries (made famous in Anthony Riches' Empire novels) moved in to serve as the permanent wall-garrison. Although just a few feet of foundations have been exposed by the excavations, Vercovicium's walls are thought to have stood at three or four metres high in their pomp. We parked up and hopped out of our van only for a bitter, wintry squall to do its best to blow us back inside, mocking our initial choices of 'just a fleece'. So, five minutes later (this time kitted out with hats, scarves, gloves and three jackets each) we hiked up the hillside, coming first to the remains of the vicus. This cluster of structures outside the fort's southern gate once formed an informal sprawling 'town centre' for the off-duty soldiers to empty their purses. The fort museum had a really nice artist's impression of what the vicus might have looked like in its heyday, and it really does paint a rather intimidating picture with shops, taverns and brothels craning over the main road that led up to the southern gate, almost dwarfing the fort walls. But the fort gatehouses were designed to trump anything else on the landscape of northern Britannia, and the southern gate would certainly have stood proud of these less salubrious structures outside. Inside the fort and atop the ridge, the gale roared ferociously and cut through my three 'wind-proof' jackets like a spatha through a Goth's belly (check me and my simile magic). I can only imagine how the non-native legionaries and auxiliaries posted here from more clement lands might have coped with it. It is likely that the landscape was far more thickly forested in the era of Roman occupation, so it may not have been quite as exposed, but I'd imagine that thick woolen cloaks, tunics, trousers, socks and closed boots would surely have been their garb of choice for the winter season. Blue-faced, we set off on a tour around the fort. At this point, I felt a sense of calm overcome me. There is something reassuring about coming to each section of a Roman fort and knowing beyond all doubt what will be there, what will lie behind, beside and before it and why. I imagine the troops would have felt a similar sense of security at this. We trekked across the parallel rows of barrack blocks on the fort's western wing. These long, narrow buildings took up the majority of the space inside the fort's eastern and western sides. They would have housed a century of men each, squeezing contubernia of eight into painfully cramped rooms where they would sleep, dress, eat, play dice, and no doubt goad each other mercilessly about the toothless hags from the vicus they had gone with the night before. Next, we skirted by the fort's western walls. Here, a neat illustration along the inside of the walls shows how an earth embankment once reinforced the stonework, and how the garrison took to embedding oven houses in these embankments to bake their daily bread. The ovens were probably placed here, as far away from the structures of the fort interior, to reduce the chance of fire. We then cut into the heart of the fort. Here, the uniformity of the barrack blocks is replaced by the rather more grand command centre. The principia is the beating heart of any Roman fort, and here it is no different. A small, colonnaded courtyard backs onto a tall cross hall, inside which the commander would address his officers, and the unit standard bearer (signifer or aquilifer) would hand out pay to the rank and file. This structure also housed the precious garrison standards. Standing here at the centre of the fort, we could see just how severely the hillside fell steeply away to the south-east, leaving the corner of the fort there several metres below what was ground level for the rest of the fort. Rather than whingeing about this slope, it seems that the garrison put it to good use, building stone-lined water tanks into this sloping hillside to collect running rainwater (water was otherwise sourced from the nearby Knag Burn). They had also stuck to the usual system of building the latrines on the south-east corner of the walls, at the very lowest point of the fort (fortunately lower than the water collecting tanks - otherwise I'm not sure I'd be up for a cup of water-tank brew). Hemming the principia are three other key buildings. The valetudinarium - a rectangular building framing a small courtyard immediately west of the principia - served as a hospital, where the ill and wounded would be treated by the medicus ordinarius (equivalent to a doctor), his capsarii (nurses/wound dressers) and his medicii milites (orderlies). South of the principia lies the praetorium - the fort commander's house. This lavish, multi-floored Mediterranean-style villa was built in stone at first, then finished with timber. It is thought to have served well in sheltering the residents from the harsh winds and rain. Even with just the foundations on view, it is clear just how starkly it must have contrasted with the cramped, draughty barrack blocks. North of the principia, the foundations of the horreum (granary) are on show. The stone pillars served to raise the floor from ground level and prevent the grain inside from spoiling due to damp or vermin. It is thought that small, square holes in the granary walls served to allow air to circulate and help keep the grain dry - and to let dogs leap in to chase or catch brave rats (though who's to say the dogs didn't help themselves to a few mouthfuls of grain whilst they were in there? Seriously, dogs'll eat just about anything - mine once ate a kilo of butter in one gulp!) Just north of the horreum, the foundations of a very interesting structure have been excavated: turret 36b, as it is rather prosaically known, is thought to have been one of the original turrets on the wall, before Vercovicium was commissioned. On to the fort's north wall, standing flush with Hadrian's Wall itself. The view is rather spectacular here. The north wall and gate almost overhang the edge of the Whin Sill ridge. Practically, however, the north gate must have been something of a pain in the posterior to soldiers and traders, with a sharp climb or descent to enter or leave the fort. Over time, the north gate fell out of use, and the Knag Burn Gap - just to the east of the fort - became the main thoroughfare for north-south movement. And it was the changing shape of the fort that really snagged my attention. I've made it quite clear that the later empire fascinates me more than any other period, and it seems that a few things have come to light in this respect since my last visit (or perhaps they escaped my attention before). After the classic legions had faded into history, leaving the limitanei to serve on the empire's borders in the 4th century AD, Vercovicium changed significantly. The long, narrow barrack blocks are thought to have been demolished and replaced with 'chalet' style huts. It may sound more luxurious, but the likelihood is it was less expensive to build and maintain such structures. More, one opening on each of the fort's four double-gates seem to have been bricked up. Perhaps because the flow of people to and fro had lessened, or maybe because it made the gates more easily defensible? Adding weight to this second theory is the fact that the vicus outside the southern gates appears to have declined and then fallen out of use entirely, and a balnaea (a very small thermae/bathhouse) was built inside the fort over a demolished stable. Bathhouses like this were typically built outside Roman forts (usually in the vicus or near rivers/burns), so this adds weight to the theory that it might have been dangerous ground outside Vercovicium's walls in the Western Empire's later years. Indeed, the rest of the empire was contracting rapidly as the 5th century approached, with outlying legions and auxiliary cohorts being recalled to defend against the barbarian incursions across the Rhine and Danube, so the changes to Vercovicium do indeed seem to be an indication of these darkening days... Chilled to the bone, but fully charged up with ideas about the last days of the soldiers on the wall, we popped back to the camper van for a steaming hot cuppa, ready to return home. But before heading back north, we made a point of stopping at the Mithraeum at Carrawburgh (Brocolita) Fort. The weather was getting silly at this point (the pic below was cribbed from Google as my camera lens was just a blur of rainwater), with my boots sinking a foot or more into mud/swamp, but I soldiered on to come to the sunken temple. I stood before the altar, then knelt down on one knee. I was pretending to shelter from the wind and rain, but secretly, I was actually acting out a scene I have in store for Tribunus Gallus in the next volume of the Legionary series. Of course, that doesn't mean I'm going to portray him touring the wall in a camper van . . .
The last month or so has brought with it a wealth of new historical fiction - and rich pickings for avid readers everywhere! One new work that caught my eye was part 3 of Martin Lake's Norman Trilogy 'Blood of Ironside'. I've had the pleasure of chatting with Martin in the past and was delighted to catch up with him again at his latest launch to chew the fat over his latest opus, histfic and life in general... Gordon: Your back-catalogue is impressive and covers many periods of history, from the Norman Conquest to World War I. What inspires such eclectic historical tastes? Martin: I have always been fascinated by different periods in history, the way in which similar human concerns are acted out in different contexts and situations. Heroes are heroes no matter when they lived; a lover is a lover no matter what their language, beliefs or era. I once sat at a Sound and Light show at the Pyramids and listened to love poems written five thousand years ago. The hairs on the back of my neck tingled as I listened to those voices which were so ancient yet so startlingly modern. It is the same with the historical books I read when I was young. I was a vociferous reader and didn’t much mind whether I was reading about Romans, Vikings, Elizabethans or the Second World War. It was all a treasure trove. Gordon: Do you choose a time period because of your interest in that era or because of the story potential offered by events in that time? Martin: I think it is more because of my interest in that era. The stories come out of that. I never imagined that I would write a series about my protagonist Edgar Atheling and to be honest I knew little about him. I had begun to wonder what the Norman invasion must have meant for the English and as I read more widely Edgar’s name would appear like a shadow on the edge of events. I realised that he would be my ideal protagonist. My interest in the Norman invasion is part of my general fascination with times of change. I imagine there must have been a time in the fifth century when people began to realise they were no longer Romans. Catastrophic events such as wars, invasions and disease dislocate people’s lives (although I guess some remain blithely untouched by it) and this offers a field rich in story. The times which are most difficult to live in are wonderful to read and write about. Gordon: In terms of primary and secondary historical sources, which do you find most useful to fuel your works of fiction? Martin: I read a huge amount of secondary sources, some pretty elderly which I find give me a good overview of the period and more modern works which allow me to burrow down to the finer detail. I also read fiction set in the times I am writing about as this gives me an emotional feel for the times. I am always impressed by people who learn Anglo-Saxon or learn how to fight in a Roman legion, it’s not something I could do. Some primary sources, are essential. For The Lost King series I write with a copy of the Anglo-Saxon chronicle close by and easy access to the PASE Domesday data base. I also make a great deal of use of maps, both ancient and modern. For my book Artful I read diaries of the early settlers of Australia and records about the transport fleets. Gordon: Which of your characters would you most like to meet? I'm guessing there are autobiographical elements to some of them? Martin: This is a tricky one. And you’re right, there are some autobiographical elements in my protagonists. I’d like to meet all of them, of course, but it’s often other characters who I’d like to spend some time with. Godwin, Edgar’s friend is one but also Esbjorn because he appalls me and Matthew in Outcasts because of all he has suffered. Most of all I’d like to meet Anna in The Lost King series and Agnes in Outcasts. I admire them and am fascinated by them. Gordon: Blood of Ironside is the third part of your much-enjoyed Norman trilogy. It must be satisfying to have reached such a milestone. Tell us a little bit about the series and the new book.
Martin: The series starts in the week after the Battle of Hastings. Edgar, the young heir to the throne whose claim had been ignored in favour of Harold Godwinson. Now, with the Normans advancing on London he is proclaimed King. A difficult time for a thirteen year old. The series tells about Edgar’s lengthy struggle to fight William for the throne and how he develops and grows as the calamities mount. Gordon: Tell me about yourself. What do you do outside of your writing? Martin: My wife and I moved to the south of France eighteen months ago so getting used to a new culture is a pretty engrossing task. I’m learning French, learning about the French and Italian take on life, and having fun exploring the area and the history. There are some little villages close by where you feel transported to Medieval times. Gordon: And finally, for aspiring writers out there . . . if you could give just one line of advice, what would it be? Martin: Find an idea which you love, then sit down and keep on writing without agonising over it, until you’ve finished. Thanks for chatting, Martin! You can find Martin’s books at his website. Rome's Legions: All-Conquering? Invincible? Think Again!Think of Rome's armies and you'll probably conjure up an image of the typical 1st century AD legionary. In that era, the empire was bold, brash, burgeoning and seemingly unstoppable. The iconic lorica segmentata (segmented armour vest) symbolised the empire's military might and technical superiority. But Rome's dominance was not to last . . . Travel forward some three hundred years to the late 4th century AD. The Pax Romana was over and imperial invincibility gone with it. The empire existed as two halves; the East and the West. Both halves were subject to an immense inward pressure from the people Rome once called barbarians. Now with armies equal to the once invincible legions, these peoples amassed along the outer provinces of the imperium, pressed by a massive population shift from the Far East known as the Great Migration. Goths, Alans, Vandals, Franks and Huns ravaged the Rhine and Danube frontiers, while the Sassanid Persian Empire pressed upon the weakened eastern borders. Thus, the empire had to think defensively for the first time in centuries, forced to abandon territorial expansion and instead define permanent limes (borders) and defend for their lives. Organisation & NumbersIn support of the new border system, Emperor Diocletian and latterly Emperor Constantine (the Great) reformed the army into two broad categories. The comitatenses were the equivalents of the legions of old. They were the mobile crack troops, shifting to meet barbarian threats where they penetrated the limes. The limitanei legions were the poor relations, paid, armoured and armed relatively minimally to man the limes. They garrisoned the patchwork of hastily constructed or old, crumbling forts, watchtowers and walls on the edges of the empire, waiting and watching the mists of the lost lands beyond, knowing the next mass invasion was not a matter of if, but when. Sometimes, when numbers in the comitatenses were short, vexillations of limitanei would be detached from their parent legion and sent to serve as pseudocomitatenses. Comitatenses and limitanei legions alike were vastly smaller than their counterparts from the 1st century AD. Back then, a legion numbered up to 6,000 men. In the 4th century AD, this had been vastly reduced, to 2,000 and in many cases significantly less. Smaller units meant greater flexibility and mobility. This need for rapid response also led to an increase in the number of cavalry serving in the Roman army. Equites Sagitarii became commonplace, particularly in the Eastern Empire. These swift, nimble archer cavalry could perform scouting duties and harass invaders without engaging in close combat. With master archers such as the Huns and the Sassanid Persians growing ever stronger, archery became more and more important to the empire. Indeed, in the 370s, Emperor Valens issued an edict for all legionaries to be trained in the art of the bow. Rome's armies had always evolved & adapted to stay strong and one step ahead of her enemies. Now, they were struggling just to keep up with them. Armour, Weapons & EquipmentAs the core of the Roman army, the comitatenses were afforded the finest kit straight from the imperial fabricae (arms factories). They were most commonly armoured in lorica squamata (scale vests) and intercisa helms - the popular style of the time (see image, below). Arms-wise, the gladius had been replaced by longer spatha, a slashing sword previously favoured by the cavalry. That said, the primary weapon was not the sword, but the contus - a lengthy spear, probably a testament to the more defensive nature of the Roman army as a whole. And gone too was the pilum. This famous javelin had been replaced by the fierce, triangular-headed spiculumand smaller, lead-weighted darts known as plumbatae. Three to five of these deadly, accurate and long-ranged missiles were clipped to the rear of every oval legionary shield, ready to be drawn and hurled into approaching enemy masses. A limitaneus would enjoy only a fraction of a comitatensis' wage, and he would be afforded the cheaper lorica hamata (mail vest) along with an intercisa helm, spatha, contus, shield and plumbatae . . . if there were any supplies left in the fabricae after the comitatenses had been equipped! Note that, contrary to Vegetius' statement that suggested the later legions went unarmoured, the Notitia Dignitatum confirms that the imperial fabricae were producing these armoured vests as standard at the end of the 4th century AD. And there's so much more...The above gives a (hopefully enjoyable) glimpse into Rome's later legions. Snippets of detail like this were enough to hook me utterly and completely on this era. Indeed, the writing of my Legionary series allowed me to indulge and immerse myself completely in those tumultuous last days of the empire. Now, imagine yourself as one of the bedraggled limitanei legionaries, gazing out over the mists of the Danube to the dark woods on the far bank - the realm of the Goths. Then a war horn keens through the forests. A guttural cry is echoed by many thousands more. The ground quakes and a dark horde rushes into view. Would you stand firm with your comrades - to fight and die for the empire? Thanks for reading! If you would like to find out more about the later Roman army, I'd thoroughly recommend the following books:
This year's historical research sortie took me back to Turkey, an ancient land that has inspired each of my books. We flew out to the Bodrum peninsula, or as the Byzantines would have called it, the Thema of the Cibyrrhaeots. I stayed in this area before, two years ago. Back then it served as a base to explore the more outlying sites along the Aegean coast (I still have vivid memories of the wonder that is Ephesus). This time I wanted to take in the sights of the peninsula itself; Greek, Byzantine and Ottoman ruins and something I can't believe I never got to first time round: The Mausoleum of Halicarnassus. So when Sarah and I booked a remote villa in the hillsides between Ortakent and Yashi, it seemed like an ideal base - somewhere away from the bustling beaches where I could get a feel for old Anatolia. Even better, it was only an hour's taxi ride to get there from Bodrum Airport. A nice easy transfer . . . Well, it would have been, if the taxi driver taking us there from the airport had even the faintest idea of the villa's location. It was over twenty five degrees, pitch black, 1.30am, and we must have stopped at half a dozen local houses and hotels to ask for directions. It was questionable whether Sarah helped matters by referring to that old episode of One Foot in the Grave that started something like this (where Victor Meldrew ends up staying in some derelict barn for two weeks). The poor driver was getting more and more distressed as he circled past the same spots again and again. However, I did manage to out-stress him when I decided to activate roaming data on my phone to try and locate the villa via Google maps. Thirty seconds later (no exaggeration), I received a text from my mobile provider informing me I had used £20 worth of roaming data. Another thirty seconds and many frantic and fumbling attempts to switch off roaming data later, another text - £40. At that point, I pulled the battery out of the phone (possibly breaking the sound barrier in my haste), and I'm pretty sure I invented some new swear words directed at my provider. I thought things couldn't get any worse, then the taxi driver pulled over, turned round and, with a dark frown upon his face, came out with the following line; 'Perhaps it is time to call upon the agentes?' For those of you who have read Strategos: Born in the Borderlands, you might understand my initial horror at these words - the Agentes being the villains of the piece, and certainly not the kind of folk you would want to meet in the darkness of a foreign land. But my terror subsided as the taxi driver's sinister frown melted into a grin and he held up the sheaf of paper I had given him with the travel agency details on it. 'Agentes, no?' he repeated. Traumatised and laughing weakly, I nodded. We somehow found the villa a short while later, accepted a hug from the elated taxi driver, before stumbling inside to enjoy a long overdue sleep. The next morning, I awoke to a gentle dawn light seeping through the curtains and the crowing of a strident rooster from a nearby farm. I stepped outside and felt the first of the sun's heat. Our surroundings were just as I had hoped - overlapping hills of burnt-gold earth, scattered with rhododendrons, fig and cypress trees, the valley floors filled with shimmering olive groves. Supping strong tea, we listened and watched as the cicada song grew intense and the sun climbed to paint the sky pastel blue, flawless bar a flock of darting swallows. I tried to capture the essence of this moment. It's the scene I've so often dreamt of in my books as Apion, Pavo and others have awoken to such beauty. The following day, I even took the method actor thing a bit further (a bit too far, as it turned out). I rose at dawn and went out for a run - trying to relive Apion's dawn runs. I set myself a modest target of 5k, as it was blistering hot already. After 1.5k, I reached a highway with a broad pavement leading up a seemingly endless hill. By 2k, I was seeing spots and running in zig-zags and had to stop for a break. Umpteen passing Turkish lorry drivers took the opportunity to point and laugh at the tomato-red, wheezing foreigner by the roadside. After that, I set off back to the villa, taking a mental note to be less tough on Apion in future - I've been putting the guy through ten mile runs most mornings in that heat! A quick and cooling splash in the pool was followed by a hearty breakfast of fresh bread and pine honey washed down with icy-cold water. Delicious! After that, it was time to explore. The Turkish Dolmus service is an excellent way to get around these parts, the minibuses connecting our villa with every part of the surrounding lands are frequent and cost no more than a few Lira. The Ancient City of MyndosFirst, we headed over the rocky hillsides and out to the village of Gumusluk, near the western tip of the peninsula. The Aegean coast here is hugged by a tranquil waterfront of cafes, restaurants and market stalls lining what looks like a natural harbour. But it's not hard to spot the history that literally cradles this site, for the 'natural harbour' is in fact a sunken section of the ancient city of Myndos, a largely unexcavated marvel of antiquity. The city was formed in the 1st milennium BC by the Lelegians, one of the aboriginal peoples of the Bronze Age Aegean. In the 4th century BC, It then came under the aegis of the Carian King Mausolus, who commissioned the sturdy city walls and famously colossal gates, establishing Myndos as the westernmost settlement in his domain. Some decades later, Alexander the Great then rolled up to Myndos' walls and besieged the city, but the garrison and the walls held good and the Macedonian legend was repelled (not many can lay claim to such a feat!). When the Mediterranean became a 'Roman Lake' in the following centuries, Myndos served as an important naval city, controlling the coastal waterways, particularly the strait between the mainland and the nearby island of Kos. After Rome fell, Byzantine thematic garrisons patrolled Myndos' battlements and then gave way to their Seljuk conquerors after the Byzantine collapse at Manzikert in the 11th century AD. Finally, the city was abandoned in the 14th century AD. It's not clear which era saw the western edge of the city sink below the waves, but local folklore tells of a ferocious earthquake that shook the land for days. What is clear is the outline of the old city; the tips of the walls lie tantalisingly submerged, just a few feet underwater, leading out to the lonely rock known as 'Rabbit Island' (so-called because its inhabitants are all of the long-eared, furry variety), where the outline of some fortification, possibly a corner tower, remains. So, shorts hiked up, I waded off across the ancient walltops towards Rabbit Island. Unfortunately, once I got across to the far shores, I found that the island has been fenced off to protect the site until further excavations can be carried out (hence my pantomime 'sad' photo, below). Soaking, but with a good few photos to show for my efforts, I returned to the waterfront of Gumusluk and Sarah and I headed for some lunch. We opted for the Myndos Cafe, where the waiter, Farrokh urged us to hike up the hilly outcrop of land that swept around the bay like a protective arm, overlooking the waterfront and Rabbit Island. He told us of the many ruins that studded the ascent, plus the recently discovered amphitheatre which awaits excavation, and he insisted that we sample the view of Gumusluk bay from the summit. After a few chilled cokes, a portion of grilled octopus, Turkish meze and fresh flatbread, we were charged up and ready for this hike. The mid-afternoon sun was fierce, so sunscreen and a bandana were called upon. We picked our way up the scree-strewn hillside, passing the foundations of the walls of Mausolus and the mysterious Lelegian wall that reminds us not to forget the city's founders. Eventually, we reached the summit, where a vast Turkish flag now flutters in the sea breeze. Farrokh certainly earned his tip that day, for the view was breathtaking; a near-hawkeye vista of the submerged city wall and the fortifications on Rabbit Island. We stayed until we had taken a fair few pics, drained our water and felt the heat of the sun grow just a little too strong, then we set off downhill to pick up some olives and cherries from the local market before heading back to the villa. Halicarnassus, The Mausoleum & The Myndos GateA few days later, after a light breakfast of cheese, bread, tomatoes, cucumber and olives (why doesn't veg taste or look that good in Britain?), washed down with apple tea and water, we set off for the port city of Bodrum. This thriving resort is a favourite of the Turks and of holidaymakers Europe-wide (including pasty-skinned Scots like me). Bodrum was, in days past, the ancient city of Halicarnassus, the heart of Mausolus' empire and the site of the king's tomb, the eponymous Mausoleum. The Mausoleum site itself is somewhat lost in the sprawl of bougainvillea-clad, sugarcube housing that dominates the gentle hillside leading down to Bodrum's marina. Added to this, our hand-drawn 'map' seemed to excel at contradiction, but after a few false dawns, we turned down one rather unspectacular, cobbled alley to see the entrance to the walled-off historic compound. Inside, the bustle of the city fell away and history was revealed! The Mausoleum was built in 350BC, and like most historical sites of such an age, little remains of the original structure. Thus, the sightseer must let their imagination loose to get the best from their visit (as Lewis Spence once said 'Myth is the ivy that binds all historical ruins and makes them picturesque to the eye'), but that is half the fun. And, thanks to the excavators, the raw ingredients are there; the foundations and lower strata of the structure have been outlined, and subterranean tunnels are open to those who (like me) can't help humming the Indiana Jones themes tune when presented with such a prospect. The site also houses a welcome air-conditioned room containing finely detailed blueprints of how the structure was architected and ornamented, and various artists' interpretations of how the Mausoleum might have looked in its pomp. In each depiction of the original structure, the eye is almost magnetically drawn to the crowning sculpture of a charging, four-horse chariot. It is thought that colossal figures of Mausolus and Artemisia once stood in the carriage, together in death as they were in life. Their story is intriguing and touching. They spared no expense in building what was to be an everlasting testament to their love and their power. They summoned artisans from all over Anatolia and Greece to design and construct the tomb - over twenty storeys tall. It is understood that Mausolus even imposed a long-hair tax on his subjects in order to pay for the structure. But he never set eyes upon the wonder it would become, dying before it was completed. Artemisia finished her husband's tomb after his death, then joined him on her own passing, her sarcophagus laid alongside his in the stucco-decorated burial chamber. They intended to rest undisturbed for eternity, but it was not to be. I couldn't help but wonder what the Hospitaller Knights might have thought of the ruin as they harvested the masonry when constructing the nearby Castle of St John in the 15th century. It is thought that they uncovered Artemisia's tomb, intact but stripped of the finery it was surely adorned with at the time of her burial. Did they recognise their part in the flow of history, dismantling one of the last great wonders of antiquity to build a bulwark of the late medieval era? I left the ruins of the Mausoleum with a mixture of emotions. There's a story or ten in there. Definitely. On the final day of our sortie, we returned to Bodrum for a look at the 'Myndos Gate'. As if bringing our trip together, this was the gate that led from Halicarnassus, westwards to Myndos. The size of the remaining gate-towers give an idea of the sheer scale of the ancient settlement, and gazing over the modern city, I couldn't help but conjure images of the past; the broad streets, paved squares, temples and fortified palaces in the time of Mausolus, the Carian garrisons patrolling the walls. I could have remained there all day, but , once again, was beaten back by the sun (topping 38 degrees). So, with our flight home looming, we made our way back into the heart of Bodrum to spend the rest of the day recovering from the heat, tucking into doner kebabs, supping iced-coffee and water and reflecting on our expedition. I came here for ideas and inspiration. What will come of it, I'm not sure. But one thing is certain - this land has not yet seen the last of me . . . Vale, Anatolia!
Gordon: What information did you use for this time period? What sources are still around from that time? I'm particularly interested in your sources for authentic Gothic customs/beliefs etc.
Daniel: I enjoyed writing Alaric in part because of the lack of sources—no one can tell me I was wrong! I was able to invent aspects of their religion without it being false, such as the ceremony in the sacred grove. But other parts were fun to write because of the history. For example, Alaric and his friend Athwaulf end up being brother-in-laws, so you can guess where the story may continue. As far as original sources, Jordanes was helpful for Gothic history. Regarding the Roman background and Adrianople, Ammianus Marcellinus (Book 31) is a thrilling read, especially for an ancient history book. The best secondhand sources involved everything by P. Heather and H. Wolfram. I also used “Everyday Life of the Barbarians” by Todd, adapting the information to make the Gothic culture. As far as “kamon,” the alcoholic drink, I found information from Priscus of Panium. Gordon: I see that you are a devout Christian. Alaric: Child of the Goths is set in the formative centuries of Christianity, with Arianism and the Nicene Creed dispute making it a complex time. In your research for the novel, did you find anything in this area that surprised you? Daniel: At the time of Alaric, a single letter caused one of the largest fights among Christians. “Homoousion,” meaning that Jesus is God, was supported by the Nicene Creed. In opposition was “homoiousion,” followed by the Arians, which meant Jesus is like God. Notice the difference—“i”—1 letter! I was most surprised to find that important Roman figures like Emperor Valens were Arian, as I had thought that everyone after Emperor Constantine was Catholic. Many barbarian nations also were Arian, which prevented them from assimilating into the Roman culture. Gordon: Which of your characters would you most like to meet? Any that you’d be afraid of? Daniel: I have already met most of the characters, having plenty of deleted scenes—things that never made it into the novel. If you’ve ever read “Ink Heart,” I am like Fenoglio, so curious to see my creations just as I imagined them. Mostly, though, I want to meet Riza, Alaric’s mother, because I really know nothing about her. On the other hand, I’m terrified of Sarus, Alaric’s nemesis, since I was bullied as a kid. He reminds me of people I used to fear. I don’t look forward to his return. Gordon: Have you tried anything from your books or the time period—cooking the strange foods from the banquets, learning classical Latin, or training with a spatha or veruta? Daniel: I can read basic Latin, especially from the Vulgate Bible, as well as make up really simple Gothic sentences. It’s surprising that when the Bible was translated into Gothic, the translators left out “I and II Kings,” thinking that the Goths needed no encouragement for violence. As far as food, I smell like a Roman: I use plenty of olive oil and garlic when I cook, and I am willing to try jellyfish if the price is right. Gordon: Alaric: Child of the Goths is your first novel. Alaric's time on this earth was an intriguing one, but what particular aspect of his life was the deciding factor for you to write about him? Daniel: “Alaric” began on a vacation. After my wife Amanda and I visited the Toledo Zoo, she was wiped out from walking all around, so I watched the History Channel while she fell asleep. We’ve never had cable, so this was one of the best parts of the trip! I stared at the screen as I heard how a group of farmer-soldiers was cheated by Rome but decided to stand up to her, the rulers of their world. They would not put up with bullying. The program ended: “Oppression sires rebellion, and when pushed too far, even the weak and the shattered can rise to challenge their oppressor.” I feel chills every time I hear that. Gordon: Tell me about yourself personally. What do you do outside of your writing? Daniel: I teach English as a second language to students from over fifteen countries. The majority of students are from Saudi Arabia, which influenced my next book, tentatively titled “The Hammer of God: Charles Martel.” I was curious to discover what happened when the Muslim hordes met the Christian phalanx at the epic battle of Tours, determining the fate of the souls of Europe Thanks for the chat, Daniel! Visit Daniel's Website |
AuthorGordon Doherty: writer, history fan, explorer. My Latest BookArchives
March 2023
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