The Case of the Bogus Detective 3

‘Nobody move!’ cried Mark Twain. ‘I will smish the varmint!’ He grabbed an iron plate from the stove. Immediately he dropped it. It struck the plank floor with a resounding clang. ‘Dam!’ he cried. ‘That’s hot!’

Then he saw the expression on Bee’s face & said, ‘I mean a mill dam, of course.’

I said, ‘Do not smish him. Mouse is my pet.’

I let my tarantula crawl onto my hand. His little claws felt like tickly pinpricks.

‘You dunderhead!’ cried Mark Twain. ‘That ain’t no mouse. That is a tarantula. I encountered a passel of them in Carson City a year or so back.’

‘Mr. Twain is correct,’ said Affable. ‘That is an arachnid of the Theraphosidae Family.’

‘I didn’t say he was a mouse, I said his name was Mouse. It is his nom de plume,’ I added. ‘If you can call yourself “Mark Twain” then I can call my tarantula “Mouse”.’

Mark Twain scowled and blew on his burned fingers. ‘It is no laughing matter! Those critters are poisonous. Why, an old Paiute chief died of a tarantula bite not three years back.’

I said, ‘Winnemucca was old and infirm. If you treat tarantula spiders right, they will not hurt you.’

‘Also,’ Affie Fitzsimmons pointed out, ‘they are venomous. Not poisonous.’

Ping spoke up. ‘I tell P.K. he should keep it at boarding house.’

I said, ‘Mrs. Matterhorn despises spiders of any description.’

‘I hate spiders, too,’ said Bee, who was hiding behind Affie. ‘They give me the fantods. Especially that one. Why, he is as big as a saucer!’

Mark Twain picked his pipe off the floor. ‘Come on, Affie! Let us hunt down your pa so I can collect my hot toddy. I need fortification badly. As soon as the roads are clear I have to flee the territory.’

‘Why?’ I asked him.

He puffed his pipe. ‘On account of something I wrote.’

Bee said, ‘Are you in “hot water” again, on account of the scurrilous & slanderous articles you often print?’

‘It was neither scurrilous nor slanderous,’ drawled Mr. Mark Twain. ‘It was a delicate, a very delicate satire. Coming, Affie?’

‘I will be there directly,’ said Affie. He was watching Mouse crawling on my arm.

Bee said, ‘Where do you live, Affie?’

Without taking his eyes from Mouse Affie said, ‘My father and I are staying at the International Hotel.’

Bee flapped her hand at Mark Twain. ‘You run along, Mr. Twain,’ she said. ‘I can show Affie the way.’

Mark Twain tipped his hat and exited the premises.

Bee hooked her arm in Affie’s. ‘Come along, then. It is almost eleven.’

Affie looked at Mouse. Then he looked at me. ‘May I come by later and examine your specimens?’ he asked me.

‘Sure,’ I said with a shrug.

Bee tugged Affie’s arm and together they exited the premises.

Ping stood up. ‘I cannot believe you do not wash in four month,’ he said. ‘Come! I take you to my uncle’s bath house.’

I tipped my chair back and put my feet on my desk. ‘It is a free territory,’ I said. ‘I reckon I will decide when and where to bathe.’

Ping narrowed his eyes at me. Then he exited the premises, banging the door as he left.

I raised my left arm & twisted my head so I could sniff my armpit. Yup. I smelled pretty ripe. But it was not as bad as a skunk.

And at least nobody would take me for a gal.

At that moment, the door of my office opened and two strangers in hats and long coats stomped in. Their boots left muddy footprints.

Through the open door I saw their horses tied to one of the posts that held up the awning of the boardwalk.

‘May I help you gentlemen?’ I took my feet off the desk and sat up straight.

‘You bet you can help us,’ said the taller of the two men. He had a flat-topped gray hat on his head and a bushy black mustache on his face and a Colt’s Army Revolver in his hand.

He aimed his big six-shooter at my chest.

‘Hands up!’ he commanded. ‘You are under arrest.’

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The Case of the Bogus Detective by Caroline Lawrence is the fourth P.K. Pinkerton Mystery. You can buy the first 3 real cheap HERE. And you can read the rest of this one HERE. Or just check into this blog, where I will be posting chapters weekly!

The Case of the Bogus Detective 2

I could not really blame Ping for not guessing that I am a girl. 

From the day I was born my Indian ma dressed me like a boy. 

She put me in little buckskin leggings, shirt and moccasins. She taught me how to ride a horse and shoot a bow & arrow and how to hunt & skin a critter. She trained me to use boy-endings for words rather than girl-endings when I spoke Lakota and she would give me a stinging slap if I forgot. 

Not that I spoke Lakota with anybody apart from my ma. For she had lit out from her tribe before I was born and taken up with a fur trader. She traded him in for a railroad detective named Pinkerton a while later, and thus was I born. But soon it was just me & her again, out in the wild frontier. I was fine with that and I was fine with dressing as a boy. 

You might say, ‘Why did your ma dress you as a boy?’ 

I reckon she thought if anything happened to her I would be safer as a boy, knowing how to hunt and ride and suchlike. 

And sure enough, something did happen to her. 

She got herself massacred on a wagon train travelling west when I was 10 yrs old.  

I was out gathering buffalo chips and thus I survived. After that, a preacher & his wife adopted me. They thought I was a boy at first & were mighty surprised to discover I was a girl, you bet. But they let me keep on dressing like a boy, probably for the same reason as my Indian ma. 

Unfortunately, they got massacred, too. That was on my 12th birthday, just under a year ago. 

I fled to Virginia City to escape the desperados who kilt them & to avenge their deaths. I stayed on in Virginia in order to learn to be a Private Eye so I could one day join my long-lost pa, that railroad detective I mentioned earlier. That was the first time in my life I wore white girls’ clothing, as a means of Disguise. I hated the thin calico dresses with their itchy lace collars & cuffs. I hated the tight, tippy-tappy, fiddly buttoned boots. Most of all, I hated the pinching corsets and puffy hoop skirts I wore while pretending to be a widow woman.

After that, I vowed not to dress like a gal unless it was a matter of life or death. 

But recently my body has started changing. I have started my ‘monthlies’ and am beginning to develop. Not a lot, but enough so that I have to put a kind of bandage around my chest to keep myself flat. Luckily my poor dead foster ma Evangeline clearly laid out what was in store, so I was not too alarmed. The thing that worried me was this: Would I wake up one morning to find I preferred dolls to Deringers? Would I get a hankering to sew samplers instead of arrange my Tobacco, Bullet and Bug Collections? Would I stop feeling like a ‘Me’ and start feeling like a ‘She’? 

I surely hope not. 

I guess that is why I have taken to spitting & cussing & not stifling burps. I do not want to turn into a danged girly-girl. I may be a half-Indian Misfit, but I like me just the way I am. I do not want to change. 

‘I said give me two!’ snapped Ping, bringing me out of my reverie. 

I gave him two. 

‘I bet three,’ said Ping. He pushed three pieces of licorice forward. 

‘I’ll see your three pieces of licorice,’ I said, ‘and raise you a lemon drop.’ 

I showed the lemon drop to Mouse, who was perched on my shoulder, but he was disinterested. Mouse only eats live bugs, like crickets. 

Once more the door opened.

It was Miss Bee Bloomfield in her tippy-tappy button-up boots. School had been closed all week on account of the Big Freeze. 

Talk about girly-girls. Bee is about the girliest-girl in Virginia City. She uses Sozodont tooth powder & lilac toilet water & is always buying new bonnets. Worst of all, she is always trying to steal a kiss from me. If she knew she had been trying to kiss another gal, she would have conniptions, you bet. 

‘Good morning, P.K. and Ping!’ She put a waxed-paper packet on my desk. ‘I brought you some oatmeal cookies baked by my own fair hand.’ 

Ping opened the packet & took out a cookie & ate it.

Bee frowned. ‘What’s that on your shelf?’ She went to investigate my branch and then recoiled with a squeal. ‘Oh! What are those green things hanging on it?’

I said, ‘Those are butterflies in chrysalis form. I saw them last week. When it started to snow, I took pity on them & went up & broke off a branch & brought it back here so they wouldn’t get froze.’

‘Friz,’ said a familiar voice from the doorway. ‘First it blew, then it snew, then it thew and then it friz. That is what the wags are all saying. But the thaw is here, and I believe spring is finally on the way.’ The voice belonged to Mr. Sam Clemens, a local reporter. He had a skinny blond boy with him. 

‘Spring!’ Mr. Sam Clemens cried. ‘That fruitful time when young men turn their thoughts to bugs. P.K., this here is Affable Fitzsimmons.’ 

I nodded politely at the skinny blond boy. ‘Howdy,’ I said.

‘How do you do?’ said the boy in an English accent. I judged he was about 14. He was tall & thin with wire rimmed spectacles & straight blond hair. He wore a palm-leaf hat & beige linen knickerbockers & canvas shoes, none of which were suitable for the snowy climes of Virginia City in April. 

Bee Bloomfield stepped forward. ‘Are you from England?’

‘I reside in San Francisco, with my parents,’ said Affable, ‘but I am English by birth.’ 

‘I’m Bee Bloomfield,’ she said, showing her dimples. 

‘Affable is the son of the famous naturalist and jungle explorer, Sir Fitzhugh Fitzsimmons,’ drawled Sam. ‘Sir Fitzhugh promised to buy me a hot toddy if I could find some pals his own age.’

Affable Fitzsimmons looked around the room. ‘Mr. Twain said you have some interesting collections.’ 

I said, ‘Who is Mr. Twain?’

Sam said, ‘I am. It is my new nom de plume. I have started signing my newspaper articles “Mark Twain”.’ 

‘A rose by any other name,’ said Affable, ‘would smell as sweet. You can call me “Affie”,’ he added.

‘Something in here does not smell very sweet,’ said Bee, sniffing the air. She leaned towards me and wrinkled her nose. ‘P.K.! When did you last bathe?’

I confess I had to ponder this question. 

‘December,’ I said at last, ‘I reckon my last bath was in December.’

‘Which year?’ asked Sam Clemens, AKA Mark Twain, striking a match and lighting up his notorious ‘pipe of a thousand smells’.

‘Last year,’ I replied. ‘1862.’

‘P.K.!’ gasped Bee, clapping her hand over her mouth. ‘You have not bathed in four months! Why, that ain’t Christian!’

I pointed at Mark Twain.

‘I ain’t as stinky as his tobacco,’ I said. ‘Folk call it “The Remains” on account of it smells like a dead critter.’

Affable AKA Affie chuckled. 

‘At least it ain’t me who stinks,’ drawled Mark Twain, ‘but just my tobacco.’ He winked at me. ‘I was just being ironikle,’ he said, using one of his pet words. 

‘Oh, I say!’ Affable stepped forward to examine the pale-green chrysalises dangling from my butterfly branch. ‘Don’t keep them so near the stove,’ he advised, ‘or they will hatch too early. May I move them out of danger?’

‘Sure,’ I said. 

As he was carefully moving the branch away from the stove, he saw my glass-fronted butterfly tray on the shelf below. 

‘What a bully collection!’ he cried. ‘And you are only missing one.’ He bent closer and read the label. ‘A Buckskin Fritillary, native to Nevada & California.’

Bee said, ‘What is a fritillary?’

Affie said, ‘It is a kind of butterfly.’  

I said, ‘It was my foster pa’s collection. I am trying to finish it to honor his memory. I am hoping my branch will hatch out into Buckskin Fritillaries,’ I added. 

Suddenly Bee Bloomfield’s brown eyes went round as quarters.
‘P.K.!’ she squealed. ‘There is a giant spider crawling on you!’ 

Mark Twain’s eyes bugged out, too, and his ‘pipe of a thousand smells’ clattered to the floor. ‘That ain’t no spider,’ he yelped. ‘That there is a deadly tarantula!’

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The Case of the Bogus Detective by Caroline Lawrence is the fourth P.K. Pinkerton Mystery. You can buy the first 3 real cheap HERE. And you can read the rest of this one HERE. Or just check into this blog, where I will be posting chapters weekly!

The Case of the Bogus Detective 1

My name is P.K. Pinkerton and I will soon be breakfast for a couple of grizzly bears. 

I am trapped in a mountain cave with my dying pa. I have a small fire but not much wood left to keep it going and only 1 bullet left in my Henry Rifle. 

I can hear those grizzlies a-prowling & a-growling, and I can smell them, too. I reckon I only have a few hours to record how I came to be in this sad predicament. When my fire goes out they will gobble me up. And my dying pa, too. 

You may say, ‘Why are you wasting the final hours of your life scribbling in a Ledger Book?’

Here is my reply:
If I write an account, people will know who done it and they can avenge me.

You may also say, ‘Being half Sioux, why don’t you use your Indian skills to sneak past those bears and at least save yourself?’ 

My answer is this: 
I will not abandon my dying pa. 

It all started when two strangers rode into town. I was sitting at my desk in my Detective Agency on B Street in Virginia City. I was ordering the Butterfly part of my Bug Collection. Detective business had been slow on account of a localized snowstorm. But now a strong sun was out. 

The scent of melting snow swirled in as the door of my detective office opened. 

It was my 14-yr-old partner Ping, with a bag of sugar & a coffee pot. He had filled the pot with pure water from the new filter in the Shamrock Saloon across the street. I could hear someone playing Camptown Races on a piano.

‘Road dang muddy,’ Ping said. ‘Traffic should be running again soon.’ He put the coffee pot on our new stove & the bag of sugar on one of the shelves. 

Ping does not drink coffee, but he says the smell entices people in & encourages them to linger.  

‘You want game of poker?’ he asked, as he turned the handle of the little wooden coffee grinder. ‘While we wait for clients?’

‘H-ll, yeah,’ I replied. 

I try to keep up my skill, because sometimes I help a gambler named Poker Face Jace play cards for money. Jace is my friend & mentor.

I put my Butterfly Tray on one of the shelves on the wall. When my office was a Tobacco Emporium those shelves held tins of tobacco.

Now they hold my collections, viz: my Bug Collection, my Button Collection & my Big Tobacco Collection. I also had a branch with butterflies waiting to hatch out. 

I opened a drawer in my desk and got out some strings of black licorice, some lemon drops & a pack of cards. 

I tore off a piece of the stretchy licorice and put it between my cheek and gum, like people do with chewing tobacco. 

Ping left the coffee pot on the stove to brew.  He pulled up one of the chairs where clients usually sit. The door was still ajar so you could hear boots on the boardwalk & the curses of the first riders trying out the snowy thoroughfare. 

I divided the licorice strings and lemon drops between us. Then I shuffled the deck and we played a few hands of ‘five card draw’.

Even when I get dealt bad cards I usually win because I have learned to tell when people are bluffing. Ping’s natural expression is a scowl, even when he has a good hand, but my pal Poker Face Jace says the face is the lyingest part of the body.

So I ignored Ping’s scowly face & scooted my chair back a little & kind of slouched down so I could see his feet. 

Everybody has their own ‘tell’ and Ping’s is a common one. Whenever he has a good hand his toes point up and when he has a bad one he pulls his feet back under his chair. 

If the Face is the lyingest part of the body, the Feet are the most truthful. 

I spat some black licorice juice into a spittoon. I had tried proper chaw tobacco once but it made me feel queasy so I had taken to chewing licorice to make me look older & tougher. 

Ping’s nose wrinkled and his lip curled a little. My dead foster ma Evangeline had taught me how to identify five expressions. 

No. 1 - If someone’s mouth curves up & their eyes crinkle, that is a Genuine Smile. 

No. 2 - If their mouth stretches sideways & their eyes are not crinkled, that is a Fake Smile. 

No. 3 - If a person turns down their mouth & crinkles up their nose, they are Disgusted.

No. 4 - If their eyes open real wide, they are probably surprised or scared.

No. 5 - If they make their eyes narrow, they are either mad at you or thinking or suspicious.

Ping’s face was making Expression No. 3 – Disgust. 

I felt something tickle my arm. It was my pet, Mouse, crawling on my pink flannel shirt. 

Ping’s expression No. 3 got stronger. ‘I don’t like that critter. I afraid I step on him. Make him go crunch.’

‘That would be unpleasant,’ I agreed. ‘But he is usually in his tank when I ain’t letting him perambulate on me.’

Ping shifted his gaze from Mouse to my face. His eyes were narrowed. It was no longer Expression No. 3 – Disgust. It was now Expression No. 5, which meant he was either Mad or Thinking or Suspicious. Or all three. 

‘You can stare all you like,’ I said to Ping. ‘I am inscrutable. I can neither understand nor express emotions well. It is a Thorn in my Side. But it is useful for playing poker,’ I added. ‘People can not tell if I am holding a good hand or a bad one.’

‘I am not trying to tell if you have good or bad hand,’ said Ping, his scowl deepening. 

‘Then why are you staring at me?’ I asked him. 

‘Something bogus about you.’ He tipped his head to one side. ‘I can’t think what.’  

I pressed my lips together, wondering if he had finally guessed my secret. To throw him off the track, I wiped my nose with my finger. 

Then I spat some more licorice-tinted spit to make me look more like a tough detective.

Ping scowled at me. 

I scratched my armpit & burped.

Then I farted, just for good measure.  

I was not really surprised that Ping was trying to figure out what was ‘not right’ about me. I knew dang well. What surprised me was that in nine months of us being pards, he had not realized that I ain’t a boy.

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The Case of the Bogus Detective by Caroline Lawrence is the fourth P.K. Pinkerton Mystery. You can buy the first 3 real cheap HERE. And you can read the rest of this one HERE. Or just check into this blog, where I will be posting chapters weekly! 

Boudicca's Hair

First of all let’s get one thing straight. 

detail from cover of Roman Quest #4 by Paul Young

There is absolutely no evidence that Boudica, the famous warrior queen of the Iceni, had red hair. 

The only archaeological evidence we have for Boudica is a layer of burnt deposits up to half a metre thick in the three British towns she is said to have destroyed in AD 61: Camulodunum (Colchester), Londinium (London) and Verulamium (St Albans). But there is no graffiti that says BOUDICCA WAS HERE. Even in variant spellings of her name such as BOADICEA, BOUDICA (one C) or BUDDUG.

photo by Caroline, hair colour by Richard

That exciting tombstone recently found at Cirencester which read BODICACIA? It turns out it probably marked the grave of a man BODUS erected by his wife CACIA (both names already attested in Britain). The most likely Latin reading and the bones underneath confirm that. If by some chance it does read BODICACIA, that is nowhere near enough evidence for BOUDICCA.

Even the fabulous Romano-Celtic head (above) that I’ve used to illustrate this article is probably too late to be Boudicca, though it was found near Lactodurum (Towcester), the possible site of her final battle against the Romans.

So no firm archaeological evidence, then. 

Our only ancient literary evidence for Boudica is from a few passages in three histories, two by Tacitus and one by Cassius Dio. 

The only physical description of her is in the single passage of Cassius Dio, a Roman writing in Greek more than a hundred years after Boudica’s death. This makes it highly unlikely that Dio had an eye-witness. And yet he is the one who gives us the sensational description of her as having a terrifying appearance: tall, fierce in eye, harsh in voice and with long hair down to her waist. He even tells us what she was wearing. Here it is in the original Greek and in translation:

Dio's description of Boudicca in Greek and English in the Loeb version

In ancient Greek, if you add the suffix -otatos to a word it means ‘very’ or ‘extremely’. Dio has added -otatos to the word xanthos (having put both in feminine singular accusative form) to describe Boudica’s hair. But xanthos does not mean red. It means yellow, blonde or tawny. In other ancient passages, xanthos is used to describe gold, sand, corn, bile and lions, none of which are red (though they might have a tinge of red.)

photo by Caroline, hair colour by Richard

So really, we should translate that bit of passage as ‘she had masses of very blonde hair reaching as far as her buttocks’! 

But wait! We now think that Greek and Roman colours didn’t have quite the same meanings as they do today. 

You might say, ‘A colour is a colour’. But some scholars claim that ancient Greeks and Romans never thought about pure colours on their own but always linked colours to other things. 

Mark Bradley, professor of Classics at the University of Nottingham, is one of the scholars who claims that the ancients did not separate emotion from colour. 

In one article he likens the ancient concept of colour to the condition neurologists call synaesthesia where certain people might ‘see’ Monday as a red colour or the number 5 as purple. But synaesthetic associations vary from person to person. For the Greeks and Romans there were always specific emotional links to the colours. 

We have traces of that in modern English. We say ‘She’s green with envy’ or ‘He’s feeling blue’. 

In his book, Colour and Meaning in Ancient Rome, Professor Bradley suggests that Greeks associated chloros (yellow-green) with fertility, argos (silver-white) with quick and flashing things, porphureos (purple) with swollen things and oinops (wine) with passion or melancholy. 

The most famous example is Homer’s ‘wine-dark’ sea. Of course the sea isn't the colour of wine. But Homer knows that drinking too much wine can make you violent, passionate or sad. So when he describes the sea as ‘wine-dark’ there is a hint of violence, passion and the potential for grief. 

Hercules fights a tawny lion in this Roman mosaic from Paphos

So let’s go back to xanthos (yellow) and its extra strong version xanthotatos (very yellow). If we agree to translate it ‘tawny’ as the translator above did, we get associations of a lion: savage, rough, and fearless. 

photo by Caroline, hair colour by Richard

Dio’s description of Boudica’s tawniest hair makes us think of a fierce shaggy lion, but then the mention of buttocks reminds us that she is a woman. So we get another flavour – sexy! – added to her lioness-like qualities.

Do you see what Dio is doing? He is talking more about the emotions Boudicca aroused than the actual colour of her hair. 

So why am I sticking to the translation of red hair for mentions of Boudica in my new series set in Roman Britain? 

Three reasons:

1. I don’t want to defend my translation of xanthotatos as ‘very blonde’ or ‘extremely lion-coloured’ for the next five years with teachers, primary school pupils and fans. 

2. The colour red has similar associations today (fire, hot-tempered, dangerous) as tawny did in Roman times. 

3. More than one primary school teacher has told me that she can encourage the ginger-haired girls in her class with these words: ‘Don’t be ashamed of your red hair. Queen Boudicca had red hair and she was awesome!’ 

That last reason, most of all, is why any references I make to Boudicca will include her red hair.

Caroline Lawrence’s new series set in Roman Britain is The Roman Quests. The final book of four, Return to Rome, about Boudica's possible great-granddaughter, was published in early 2018 and is available in paper or ebook format.

Gladiator Games Fun Facts by Caroline Lawrence

Yesterday I attended the final event (of nine) of the 2015 Gladiator Games held at London's Guildhall and sponsored by the Museum of London. Before the event I visited Londinium's real underground amphitheatre (under the Guildhall Art Gallery) where I chatted with resident archaeologist Andrew and ancient musician John. 

Dan Shadrake AKA Draco was a brilliant announcer

During the event I listened with delight to Dan Shadrake (AKA Draco) who was a brilliant commentator. I also talked to people in the audience including Roman expert Charlie (aged 7). Afterwards I grilled tired but happy members of Britannia, the fabulous group who provided the talent. I even went behind the scenes to visit a potter, carpenter and a family of belt-pouch makers! 

In the course of a hugely enjoyable afternoon, I learned some useful facts that might well appear in my next series, The Roman Quests, which will be set in Roman Britain between the years AD 94-96. (Two of these "facts" are bogus! Can you guess which ones?)

John Warren AKA Vitellius

1. John Wheeler AKA Vitellius told me that fighting a gladiatorial combat in the rain is pretty much the same as fighting in sunshine. (Only instead of the sun getting in your eyes, raindrops keep falling on your head.) Gladiators fight barefoot on sand, which does not get slippery in rain, unlike grass or marble. 

Chris Luck and Jo Bishop

2. Chris Luck AKA Titus told me it had rained on the Friday evening event and there had been thunder and lightning. Idea for future book: Have a gladiator struck by lightning on his metal helmet!

The Emperor Domitian - you never saw him!

3. It is a Little Known Fact that the Emperor Domitian visited Britannia during his reign. But when he sponsored some games at Londinium's amphitheatre, one of the gladiators tried to assassinate him. The emperor was rushed back to Rome. Because of the humiliating attempt on his life, all records of his visit to Britannia were expunged. It must be true: Draco said it!

information board in London's Guildhall Art Gallery

4. Today, Londinium's amphitheatre is underground but its position is marked by an oval of dark grey marble paving stones in the courtyard of London's Guildhall, right where they held yesterday's games!

Draco, Mercury and Charon

5. Mercury is the man in the scary mask who pokes fallen gladiators with a red-hot poker to see if they are really dead or just pretending. 

Charon's belt is scary!

6. Charon is the man dressed all in black in the not so scary mask (but scary belt) who bashes fallen gladiators on the head with his mallet if they twitch at the jab of a red-hot poker. I touched his mallet after: it was really, really heavy and also sticky with blood. Ew. 

The referee at Gladiator games was called the summa rudis

7. We know there were referees at Gladiatorial Games and even what they wore, thanks to several images from antiquity, including a scene of gladiators painted on a glass beaker from the Roman fort at Vindolanda. 

Carpenter Graham and wooden crocodile

8. Carpenter Graham showed me how to use a wooden crocodile instead of a strigil to scrape off dead skin, oil and sweat at the baths. 

Chris Lydamore and carrot amphora

9. Chris Lydamore, re-enactor, potter and curator of the Bishops Stortford Museum, showed me that some amphorae (storage jars) looked like giant carrots!

lemon in water kept wasps away from this lunch

10. A punctured lemon in a bowl of water (sea-sponge optional) keeps wasps away from your Roman lunch of cheese and grapes. Same principle as citronella candles, I guess!

The Gladiators from Capua

Of course I knew most of these facts already: I put them in my 8th Roman Mystery, The Gladiators from Capua. But I did learn a few new things and I had huge fun. More importantly, so did the boys and girls sitting around me. Thank you Britannia and Museum of London!

Caroline (2nd left) with fab Gladiator Games helpers!

P.S. Look out for Escape from Rome, The Archers of Isca and especially Death in the Arena, the first three books in my new Roman Quests series.

N.B. THE 2017 GLADIATOR GAMES ARE BOOKING NOW!

P.P.S. For more pictures of this and other Roman re-enactment events, go HERE. 

P.P.P.S. The two "facts" that are NOT true are numbers 3 and 8! Did you get them?

Thirteen Perks of Being a Kidslit Author

Philip Ardagh and his beard

1. You can dress however you like (within reason). Sometimes you can even indulge your eccentricities and make it your trademark.

2. You are your own boss.

3. You can "play God" by making up whole worlds.

Robert Muchamore in London

4. You can be "famous" without being recognised and hassled.

5. You can "escape" to another world inside your head.

6. You are creating something new and exciting that blesses and inspires others.

7. You can work anywhere. 

Steve Cole and his iPhone

8. You can play with cool toys and gadgets.

9. You can call travel, cinema and reading "research".

10. You meet fun and interesting people (especially other kidslit authors) and learn new things.

CBBC Roman Mysteries season one

11. It is a huge thrill to see artists and/or film-makers bring your world to life.

12. Every bad experience can be used and is grist to the writer's mill. 

13. Kids are the best fans and audiences ever! 

enthusiastic pupils at an unnamed school

All photos by Caroline Lawrence, author of The Roman Mysteries, The P.K. Pinkerton Mysteries, The Night Raid and the forthcoming Roman Quests. 

The Minions' Journey

Kevin the Hero

Yesterday at Seaton House School I gave a short version of my Hero’s Journeys speech to 11-year-old girls and their families. As I spoke, I wondered if the steps of Joseph Campbell’s Monomyth template applied to Minions, the movie. 

Here’s how you could do it:

1. The Hero’s World. 
The Minions have lots of worlds: underwater, onto the shore, the Age of Dinosaurs and Napoleon’s Army... until they are stuck in the Ice Cave. That is their World. At first they have fun: eating snow cones and building ice houses. But the Hero can’t stay in the world forever, so sometimes there is a whiff of death: the sense that if you stay somewhere any longer, you might as well be dead.

2. The Call to Adventure. 
Sometimes the call is a phone call, letter, or knock on the door. But it can also be that “whiff of death”. Joy has gone out of their lives as they play football with no enthusiasm; without a boss they have no purpose.

3. The Refusal of the Call
Most heros go on a quest to discover more about themselves. But the Minions know their calling. They are meant to be faithful sidekicks. One of the qualities of a side-kick is that they are easy-going and like to have fun. They don’t have to take responsibility. “But one minion had a PLAN. His name was Kevin.” Kevin’s plan is to leave the cave in search of a boss. He asks others to come with him. Bob is the only other Minion who really wants to go but Stuart gets persuaded. 

4. The Mentor
There really isn’t a Mentor in this story. And that means no talisman. It’s a fun step but this movie shows it’s not absolutely essential. 

5. Crossing the Threshold
There are several Crossings of the Threshold in the Minions movie. The first major one is where Kevin and his sidekicks leave the ice cave. They cross snow, polar bears, rivers and finally an ocean before they arrive in the World of Adventure: New York in 1968.

The Nelson family are evil allies

6. Allies, Opponents, Tests and Training
The Minions are taken to Orlando by the Nelsons, a family of crooks. They cross another fun threshold to Break On Through by The Doors. They meet Scarlett Overkill the baddest villain around and complete some tests to become her henchmen. Back in London, they undergo more tests and training and are assigned a quest: to steal the Crown Jewels la crowna! 

7. Approach to the Inmost Cave
As the hero trains and prepares to Grasp the Prize, he often descends to the underworld or goes up to a high place. Kevin, Bob and Stuart infiltrate the Tower of London, ascend to a tower, descend via a kind of gauntlet and chase the Queen. When Bob pulls a Sword from a Stone he becomes King Bob, gets the crown, adoring subjects and free run of Buckingham Palace. But when the minions realise that they have upset Scarlett, they offer to give her back the crown. They don't want power, they want a boss. 

[These middle steps are often repeated, increasing in intensity and stakes, like heats before a big race.]

8. Supreme ordeal - Visit to death
For the Hero, this moment is often the one when he must be prepared to sacrifice himself. The Minions are happy to give la crowna to Scarlet, but she is a villain and has not forgiven them. She sends them to the dungeon with orders that they are to be tortured. They escape but Scarlet captures Bob and Stuart and threatens to kill them. Kevin must come to the rescue of “les buddies”. When he sees Scarlet’s bomb dropping onto his friends he can’t bear the thought of them being hurt, so he swallows it! Thanks to our Hero’s willingness to sacrifice himself, Kevin saves the day... (and doesn’t die!)

9. The Reward 
Having vanquished Scarlet Overkill and her sidekick, the Minions return the Crown Jewels to the Queen and each get a reward. 

10. The Cycle Begins Again 
During the reward ceremony the Queen’s crown goes missing again. It is Scarlet again, but this time she is vanquished by a boy with a freeze ray. Kevin, Stuart and Bob, now joined by the other Minions, have found a new Boss and he is DESPICABLE! 

P.S. If you go to see Minions stay right to the very end of the credits! 

P.P.S. The images on this blog are from The Minions Junior Novel. 

Your Hero's Journeys

[This is the talk I gave at Speech Day for the prize giving ceremony at Princess Helena College on Saturday 27 June 2015. Because I wrote the speech as notes on index cards, it is not verbatim.]

Ladies and gentlemen, girls. It is a huge honour to be here on this very special day of your Prize Giving Ceremony. It is also a bit daunting to be asked to give inspirational advice in fifteen or twenty minutes. So when I started to write this talk a few days ago I posted a thread on my Facebook page. I asked my Facebook friends a question: If you could go back in time and give your teenaged self ONE BIT OF ADVICE what would it be?

My writer friend Robert Muchamore said:
5 11 24 30 31 36 will win you 200 million pounds in the first ever euro millions...

My writer friend Sarah Naughton said: Don’t go on Jim’ll Fix It

My writer friend Anthony McGowan’s advice to his teenage self was: You should have snogged Carmel Byrne when you had the chance.

But most of my friends essentially said Find out who you are and be true to that, or Follow your dreams!

I think my advice to my teenaged self would be: Go for it and enjoy the ride!

In my life I have had many passions, but the most abiding is my love of stories, especially books, TV and movies. At this cycle of my life, I am a storyteller so I’m going to share some wisdom gleaned from writing my books and from Going to the Movies.

About 50 years ago, a famous anthropologist named Joseph Campbell made a study of world mythologies and discovered that they all have stories about a Hero who goes on a journey, and the steps of that Journey are essentially the same. He called his ground-breaking book The Hero With a Thousand Faces. The reason the story beats are so powerful and compelling is that they are the steps we take in our own lives, over and over, big and small.

1. Hero’s Ordinary World
The first step of the Hero’s Journey is when we find the hero in their ordinary world. Think of Luke Skywalker from the 1977 film Star Wars, watching a double sunset on the desert planet of Tatooine, dreaming of fighting the evil Empire. Or think of Katniss from The Hunger Games, supporting her little sister and dysfunctional mother in District 12. My journey to becoming a writer started about 20 years ago, in 1995. I was living in London, on my second marriage, with a son from my first. I was teaching Latin and art at a small primary school after having done a degree in Classics from Cambridge.

2. Herald - The Call to Adventure
In Star Wars, Luke’s ‘call to adventure’ is a holographic message from Princess Leia.
For Katniss, it is the moment when her younger sister is called to participate in deadly games from which only one teen will emerge victorious. Katniss impulsively volunteers to take her younger sister’s place.

Sometimes in our ‘ordinary lives’ the Call to Adventure is something the screenwriter Blake Snyder calls the Whiff of Death. It is the moment when we realise we are stagnating. I loved teaching but it was exhausting. I remember thinking, I can’t keep this up forever. An idea popped into my head, You’ve always toyed with the idea of being a writer. Maybe now is the time to try!

3. Refusal of the Call
In many (but not all) mythic journeys, the hero often gets ‘cold feet’ at this point as she is called out of her comfort zone. In Star Wars, Luke protests that he has too much homework and has to help Uncle Owen on the farm. Katniss didn’t hesitate because she acted on impulse. In our own lives we often hesitate because we doubt if we have what it takes to achieve our dreams.

4. The Mentor
Step four of the Hero’s Journey is the Mentor. This is someone who encourages the hero to ‘go for it!’ The Mentor is often a wizard, teacher or librarian who can give the hero the knowledge they need. Obi Wan is a good mentor. At the beginning of The Hunger Games, Haymitch is a bad one; he tells Katniss and Peeta ‘You’re going to die.’ He becomes a better mentor over the course of the story and near the end he can tell Katniss You can do this, and mean it. 

My mentors were my parents. They were five thousand miles away, but their belief in me gave me the confidence I needed to embark on a career as a writer in my 30s. Your new Headmistress, Mrs Sue W-W, has just told us how she was hugely encouraged when her coach had told her You can’t do better than a personal best.

When I asked my Facebook friends to post advice, I got several very moving replies. Marcus White, who directed some episodes of the Roman Mysteries TV series based on my books, wrote this: “I was an outsider as a teenager for lots of reasons. I felt confused and lacked confidence. I did have a secret ambition, however, to work in Television. When I eventually found the courage to confide in family or friends I was told that this was just a pipe dream. And that people like me could never achieve this. I was lucky that I had a much older friend, my godmother, to talk to and share my dreams. Advice - you need a champion in your life.”

At that stage of Marcus’s life his family and friends were opponents, but he found a Mentor in his godmother.

One fun thing about the mentor is that they often give the hero a Talisman. This is a physical object designed to help and encourage the hero. The talisman is often magic and sometimes glows, like Luke’s lightsaber, Dorothy’s ruby slippers or Frodo’s ring, (the most famous talisman in 20th century literature.) But the Talisman is not always magic. Think of Katniss’s mockingjay pin. 

The Talisman often looks back as well as ahead. Katniss’s pin reminds her of her home in District 12, but it will become a good luck charm and later a symbol of a whole freedom movement. Luke’s lightsaber belonged to his father and is the weapon of the Jedi Knight. Paddington’s hat belonged to his Uncle Pastuzo, and before that to the Explorer, who once told Paddington’s family If ever you come to London you will be assured a warm welcome. That hat will save Paddington's life at one point and lead him to his ultimate destiny.

My Talisman was a battered paperback copy of The Last of the Wine, the book that had changed my life by sparking my lifelong study of Classics. It would also be an inspiration for my first book. 

5. Crossing the Threshold

In life, as in any Hero’s Journey, the Mentor can only go so far. After a certain point, the hero is on her own. That point often comes when the hero Crosses a Threshold. In movies, Crossing the Threshold is one of the most visually exciting moments. Think of Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. Luke leaving Mos Eisley. Neo melting into a mirror. We can even visit the first big threshold Harry Potter crosses at platform 9 3/4s at King's Cross Station. In her address to us a few minutes ago, Sue W-W talked about the moment she first crossed the threshold of Princess Helena College… 

Paddington has to leave darkest Peru and go on the lifeboat across a great ocean… ALL BY HIMSELF. The best movies have several crossings of the threshold. There are at least a dozen in Paddington, including the moment when he actually steps over the threshold of the Brown’s house. The camera shows us his little paws as he hesitates for a moment, standing outside in the rain, before stepping over. A Chinese philosopher famously said, ‘The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.’ Sometimes just one step takes you over the threshold. Think of the moment when Katniss steps onto the train.

Your hero will often encounter Threshold Guardians at this point. They are there to make sure you are equipped and worthy of the journey. Threshold guardians are the people who interview you for your university place, gatekeepers, We all know threshold guardians from security at airports, because crossing a border is like crossing a threshold. You leave one world for another.

6. Allies, Opponents, Tests and Training
The hero must learn the rules of the new world and how it operates. And she must prepare herself for a Test or Battle. For this reason, the Opponent is often one of the most important people our hero will meet in the new world. We learn much better after a struggle. Sometimes, our opponents are internal ones, like self-doubt. There is often a Training sequence which is usually shown by a Montage with upbeat music, because it is often long and tedious, and storytellers have to condense it for storytelling purposes. IN YOUR LIVES THERE ARE NO MONTAGES. You have to practice your sport, learn your declensions, master your art. 

My allies were script doctor John Truby who recorded a story structure course on twelve cassette tapes and gave me a structure on which I could build plot. Other teachers and allies, though I never met them, were Joseph Campbell who said ‘Follow your Bliss’ and Christopher Vogler, a screenwriter who made Campbell's dry book accessible. I had to learn other aspects of the craft of writing, including how to touch type. 

The tests and training part of a story it is a slog, but is very important in preparing the hero for the ultimate test or battle.

7. Approach to the Inmost Cave - The Battle
There have been many tests and battles but there is often a big battle that comes before a breakthrough. The hero often descends into the underworld, a maze or a cave to fight the ultimate opponent. Or they may go to the top of a building or a mountaintop. There is often a DRAT, a Desperate Race Against Time or a Ticking Clock. Anyone who has sat an exam can identify with that. I’d been learning the techniques of writing for five years but my sister gave me a good idea and I knew I had to get it on paper in the last two weeks of the summer holiday.

8. Supreme Ordeal or Visit to Death
There comes a moment after all the work, training, sweat and tears when you have to leave your desire on the altar. You have to be willing to give it up. You have wanted nothing else for days, weeks, months, years… But you must also hold your dreams lightly, trusting that God or the Universe knows what’s best. Luke Skywalker pushes away the electronic controls to use The Force for his one chance at blowing away the Death Star. If he fails, he dies. Katniss and Peeta are prepared to eat poisonous berries which will kill them. As a Christian, I offered up my first book and desire to be a published author to God, praying that His ‘will be done’

9. The Reward
Sometimes the hero gets exactly what she dreamed of.  Luke destroys the Death Star. Katniss wins the Hunger Games, and saves her friend Peeta. Paddington finds a home. I got a publishing deal. 

But sometimes the answer is NO. Sometimes the hero doesn’t get the prize but she gets something more valuable: knowledge. I once had a student who later wanted to read Classics at Oxford. He was rejected twice but is now a member of a famous pop band. Not only is he rich and famous, but more importantly he has enriched the world by blessing others through his creativity. Where would he be if Oxford had accepted him? Sometimes APPARENT DEFEAT is the best possible outcome.

10. The cycle begins again.
The hero has got her desire. In a movie she grasps the prize, she rides into the sunset or kisses her lover. In real life we are never satisfied and we want something else. 

By the way, although we are always the hero of our own story sometimes we are not always called to be a leader. Sometimes was are called to be someone else’s ally, teacher, mentor or even opponent. I think I am being called to be a Mentor. Think how powerful Malala has been in her journey as an opponent. 

The prizes I am about to give out are like Talismans given to you by your Mentors.

Take them with you into the new world you’re about to enter. (I’m not going to call it the Real World because you’re already in the real world.) The world you’re about to enter is just one of many you will enter throughout your lives.

These prizes look back at your past achievements but they hint at the untapped possibilities for you in the future. Most of all they will remind you that here at Princess Helena College you have friends, teachers, allies and mentors who believe in you and LOVE you. They – and I – wish you joy and fulfilment on your Hero's Journeys.