Domitian's Alban Citadel

A visit to the ruins of Domitian's imperial palace in the papal gardens of the Villa Barberini at Castel Gandolfo by Caroline Lawrence

The final book in my Roman Mysteries series is about the mysterious and sudden death of Titus in September of AD 81. His younger brother Domitian became emperor and many contemporaries and subsequent historians are convinced that Domitian was behind Titus's death. That will be the mystery in The Man from Pomegranate Street: was Titus murdered? And if so, whodunnit?

I had been doing lots of research on Domitian, and when I first read that he built a palace on Lake Albano I was surprised. Then I visited Castel Gandolfo and understood why. It is a stunning location on the rim of a beautiful volcanic lake, only about 10 miles southeast of Rome just off the Appian Way. It is such a pleasant place that the Pope himself has a summer residence there. When I arrived to do research in September of 2008, I imagined the site of Domitian's palace would be underneath the main papal residence, with its circular piazza and Swiss guards and eye-catching dome. I assumed that tourists could just pop in to have a look, or that there would be guided tours.

But Castelgandolfo is part of the Vatican City and it is only open by special invitation. You can't just walk in.

Desperate to see the remains of Domitian’s palace (I imagined this would consist of the odd column or piece of statuary) I wrote a note to the divine father on hotel stationery and put it in a padded envelope with a copy of the first book in the Roman Mysteries series - The Thieves of Ostia - and DVD of the BBC children’s TV show adapted from my books. My friend Antonia – a geoarchaeologist who lives on Lake Albano – told me this wouldn’t work. She said that I needed to go through official channels. After some investigation, Antonia gave me the details. Once back in England, I duly sent off a polite email request, including this paragraph:

My name is Caroline Lawrence and I am the author of a series of historical novels… aimed at children aged 9 and up. The final book in my series is about the Emperor Domitian, and his opulent villa on the Alban Lake. I will be in Castel Gandolfo on Friday 20 March 2009, and I wonder if it would be possible for me to view any ruins associated with Domitian's villa that are not usually open to the public? I will be accompanied by my husband Richard, who does the maps for my books, and by a Dutch scholar living in Rome named Antonia H. If you could grant us access for a short time to any ruins still visible, I would be extremely grateful.

A few weeks later I was on at train at Reading, on my way to the Cheltenham Literary Festival, when my mobile phone rang. It was an Italian-accented man’s voice asking if I was Caroline Lawrence. When I say yes, he passed me over to someone else, someone more important. This new man told me I should present myself at the Villa Barberini at Castel Gandolfo between 8.00am and 12.00 noon on Friday 20 March 2009, and that I would be shown the remains of Domitian’s villa. When I arrive, he said, I should contact a certain Commendatore Petrillo.

Fast forward half a year to March 2009. I have just done some author events at International Schools in Rome. My husband Richard and have taken the train to Castel Gandolfo and checked into the charming Hotel Castelganolfo. On the Thursday Antonia and two archaeologists show us some of the imperial grottoes on the lake shore and also the Emissario.

At last it is Friday 20 March, the long-awaited day. Antonia arrives at our hotel at 9.00 prompt (she is Dutch). After a quick espresso she and Richard and I walk to the Villa Barberini, which is south of the Pope’s main palazzo with its dome. This surprises me. Aren’t we going the wrong way?

The Villa Barberini is an attractive peach-coloured building. An official behind glass sees us crossing the street and the gates swing open. Antonia tells him who we are and he says he will ring the commendatore. Last night the fine weather broke and a thunderstorm pelted our hotel window with hail while lightning flashed over to the east, lighting up the sky above the lake. This morning, a strong, cold dry wind is blowing from the north. Antonia says this is the tramontana. Because it is so cold, we are permitted to wait in the marble entryway of the villa.

Paolo Turoli and Antonia Arnoldus

Presently the official shows us into an office with a large wooden desk and a man in a suit behind it. He is Saverio Petrillo, a distinguished-looking Italian with white hair and a gap between his front teeth. He and Antonia discuss the ruins and especially the work of Lugli, the Italian scholar who studied the remains of Domitian’s palace. I can understand every three or four words. (Note to self: learn Italian)

After some polite small talk, the commendatore summons a guide. Paolo Turoli emerges from the archive room next door. Paolo has dark hair sprinkled with grey; he is about 40, perhaps a little older. He is shy but soon warms up as he leads us out of the villa and to the right. The cold wind blows in gusts, but we are somewhat sheltered by the ancient trees lining the walkway.

Ancient stone oaks - Paolo tells us that some of these trees are over 400 years old, from the 17th century. A terrible storm in 1961 killed many of them; these are the survivors. There are bits of statuary here and there, a pair of small white sphinxes face each other at the beginning of one path. A splashing fountain draws me to the right and beyond it I see an impressive topiary on a terrace below me and beyond it a panoramic view across the western slopes to the sea. The topiary is in the shape of an eagle above three balls with a venerable magnolia tree at its centre. Paolo tell us that in the 17th century an aristocratic cardinal called Barberini made this his heraldic symbol. An aristocrat from Milan violently objected, claiming the eagle was his symbol. He began to contest Barberini’s right to use the eagle until Barberini became Pope Urban VIII in 1623. Then the Milanese aristocrat hastily backed off. ‘Take the eagle,’ he said. ‘Please.’



Three vast terraces – We go along the sphinx-guarded path, towards another fountain at the far end. Emerging from the oak-lined walkway, we see the scale of the gardens for the first time. To our left ( the east) is a small theatre. Stretching straight ahead of us is a long terrace with three paths, leading to the site of Domitian’s palace. This was the highest of the three terraces.

Domitian’s private theatre – We investigate the theatre first. Paolo tells us it had 22 tiers of seating in the cavea (the curved part), the highest of which almost reaches the highest point of the rim of the crater around Lake Albano. The theatre is overgrown with oaks now, and probably not visible on GoogleEarth. There is a curving passageway beneath the cavea and we can still see remains of a stucco border of seated and standing figures.

Upper terrace - Leaving the theatre, we return to the fountain and then start south along the wall of the upper terrace. Its three paths are lined with majestic umbrella pines, ‘true oak’, and immaculate box hedges. Paolo tells me there are fourteen full-time gardeners here. He leans over one of the low hedges and plucks a flower and shows it to us: a tiny violet. They are everywhere. In contrast to these tiny flowers are massive twisted oaks with trunks hollowed out by time.

Why no lake view? - The view over the fields of Latium towards the sea is very beautiful, but can’t compare to the view of the lake. But it seems Domitian’s Alban Citadel had no view of Lake Albano. This is something which surprises me. Why build a palace with no view of the lake and Jupiter's Mount Albano rising dramatically in the east? Perhaps the answer is blowing in the wind. Literally. Here we are sheltered from the tramontana. On the other side we would be blown away on the winter days when it rises. Also, the other side is very steep, much steeper than the outer slope of the mountain. Paolo offers a third possible reason. Cicero attacked the aristocrat Clodius Pulcher for building a villa here on the holy site of Alba Longa. Clodius’s villa was probably where the Pope’s residence is now. But Domitian did have a way of enjoying the lake view on fine days. A tunnel led from this upper terrace through the mountain and out the other side. Paolo tells us it emerges between the Hotel Castel Vecchio and a nursing home, along the Galleria di Sopra.

Niches and the Tunnel - Piercing the eastern wall of the upper terrace are rectangular and semi-circular niches. These were probably nymphaea (fountains). I am examining the statue of a Claudian youth in one of them when Antonia excitedly summons me further along. Here is the entrance of the tunnel leading to the lake view terrace! Paolo tells us the excavators found a coin of Titus in the stucco coating the tunnel wall. Apparently that’s something Italian builders and sculptors still do today: they leave a coin somewhere in the fabric of the building. Unfortunately it’s too dangerous to explore the tunnel: electricity cables pass through it.



Inner room garden - We come to the end of the upper terrace and reach the beginning of Domitian’s palace. A path marks an inner corridor. The remains of an inner room have been made into a garden with a fishpond and a statue of the Madonna. According to H.V. Morton, who made a brief visit to these gardens in the mid 1950’s, the Holy Father picked wild flowers and gave them to her each morning on his walk. We can see the original level of the palace, a meter or so above us (for once) and the vaults that formed its foundations.



Herbs and flowers – Throughout our tour Paolo will stop to pick a flower or other piece of flora. He gives me little violets, an acorn, lemony citronella, a strong kind of mint, a sprig of rosemary, and he points out acanthus, the plant which inspired Corinthian capitals.

The middle terrace - We move out onto a terrace with steps leading down to the middle terrace. To our left, Paolo points out a hedge carved into the shape of an aqueduct though there was no aqueduct in that precise place, and also a webcam which overlooks the formal gardens below us. On our right are thick windows piercing the terrace we have just been strolling along. ‘Those are the windows of the cryptoporticus,’ he tells us. ‘Can we see it?’ I ask. ‘Certo,’ he replies. ‘In a month or so,’ he adds, ‘that whole wall will be covered with roses, the old-fashioned five-petaled ones.’

The lower terrace – As we start down the steps to the middle terrace and the cryptoporticus, Paolo points out the lowest terrace. This would have been a hippodrome for horse and chariot racing. Now it is beautifully decorated with box hedge squares and rectangular pools. Paolo unlocks and door and leads us down restored steps. Now we are beneath the upper terrace.

The cryptoporticus – nothing prepares me for the size of this. Yesterday the Nimfeo Bergantino turned out to be smaller than the Piranesi etchings suggested, but this is far bigger. It is vast and lofty and wonderful. Only half of it still stands; in Domitian’s time it would have been 300 meters long. The first 120 meters had relatively small high windows, to keep it light but warm in winter. The second 180 meters had big arches to let in the Ponentino, the offshore breeze that rises each day around 1.30pm and is especially welcome in summer. It is lofty and vaulted and on an overcast day like today the light is pearly and diffuse. The light is from the west, so the late afternoon light would be golden or even pink at sunset. Opposite the light wells - in the eastern wall - are various niches which could be used for dinner parties, musicians, and any number of decadent activities.

Frescoes, marble veneer and gilded coffers – Paolo points out fragments of frescoed wall to about head level. From there up to the vault would have been coloured marble veneer. Then stuccoed coffers with gilded roses at their centre. Another innovation of Domitian was to build a lofty stepped platform at the south end. He would summon the senate here and then address them from his superior vantage point. No wonder so many of the senators disliked him. There would have been a secret passage from the palace to this cryptoporticus, but so far we haven’t found it!

Roman road – proceeding down from the ‘hippodrome’ terrace, Paolo shows us a perfect Roman road, with the typical hexagonal stones. In the wall beside would have been niches. These are restored but the statues that fill them are original. One of them looks like Titus. Paolo says not. But perhaps it was a relative of Titus and Domitian, maybe even Sabinus, their cousin, who very nearly became emperor after Titus’s death instead of Domitian. This road would have led to the Via Appia, less than half a mile from here.

The Antiquarium – Paolo leads us back towards the Villa Barberini along a modern paved road. We have been more than two hours but he takes out a bunch of keys and opens a door in the basement marked ANTIQVARIUM. The museum! I have seen pictures of the objects in books in the Classics library in London but now I will see them with my own eyes. There are fragments of fresco from the cryptoporticus wall, a marble bust of Titus, parts of the marble throne from the theatre and my favourite piece: a beautiful basalt torso of a hero or athlete. We also see a massive marble Polyphemus from a monumental group which would have been in the Nimfeo Bergantino, which we saw yesterday and also a Scylla, also from the Nimfeo.

By now it has been nearly three hours. A few spots of rain just start to fall. I would love to come back and see the cryptoporticus wall covered with roses and hear bees buzzing in the rosemary. The site is fabulous, far exceeding my expectations. I’ve put a bit of it in the last Roman Mystery but not nearly enough. There is no other answer. I’ll just have to write another book set in Domitian’s time and bring my characters here!

Mille grazie, Paolo. Mille grazie, Commendatore Petrillo. Mille Grazie, Antonia! It was a wonderful morning.



Ten interesting facts about Domitian’s Alban Citadel

1. It faces southwest to the sea, not northeast towards Lake Albano.

2. It had three vast terraces on three levels.

3. Slaves lived on the upper level and there were tombs there, too.

4. The complex had a small private theatre and also a hippodrome.

5. There was a summer cryptoporticus and a winter cryptoporticus.

6. A secret passage led from the palace to the cryptoporticus, but has never been found.

7. A secret tunnel led from the upper terrace to a small terrace overlooking the lake.

8. A coin of Titus was found in the stucco of this tunnel.

9. The palace was probably designed by the famous architect Rabirius.

10. Domitian hated leaving it for Rome, and often made the senate come to him

[Having written 17 books in her Roman Mysteries series, Caroline is now working on the fourth and final book of a sequel series, The Roman Quests. Old characters and new will return to Rome to witness the assassination of Domitian in October AD 96.]

Flavia's wedding

In honour of Valentine's Day, a teaser from the final book in the series:

Flavia at the Villa Limona in The Sirens of Surrentum

Fifteen-year-old Flavia Gemina trembled as her stepmother advanced steadily towards her, a spear pointed at her head.

‘Are you sure it’s supposed to be so sharp?’ whimpered Flavia.

‘This is the same one they used on me three years ago,’ said her stepmother with a smile. ‘And so far the gods have blessed my marriage to your father.’

‘But couldn’t you just use a very dull spearhead?’ pleaded Flavia. ‘Instead of the whole thing on its shaft?’

‘No. We have to part your hair seven times with the point of a sharp spear. That’s the way it’s done.’

A lovely blonde girl stepped forward. Pulchra was almost a year older than Flavia. ‘When I got married last spring,’ said Pulchra, ‘three women held the spear. Nubia, come help me.’

Flavia’s dark-skinned friend Nubia came forward. She and Pulchra grasped the shaft behind the spearhead while Flavia’s young stepmother shifted her grip slightly. Then the three of them carefully used the point of the spear to part Flavia’s light brown hair, first in the middle, then three times on either side. Flavia tried hard not to tremble and it only pricked once.

‘There,’ said Pulchra. ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’

‘I suppose not,’ said Flavia, but she kept her head perfectly still in case she lost the partings. ‘Are you going to plait in the blue ribbons and pearls you brought me, Pulchra?’

‘Me? Do the job of an ornatrix? Certainly not! Leda will do your hair. Now sit in this chair by the balcony. We can use the light of the setting sun.’

Flavia glanced at Pulchra’s slave-girl Leda and smiled. Although she and Pulchra had been writing to each other regularly for the past few years, Flavia had forgotten how imperious her friend could be.

‘However,’ said Pulchra, ‘I will do your makeup, because that requires the skill of a true artist.’ As Leda and Nubia moved behind Flavia to do her hair, Pulchra went to get the make-up tray.

‘Don’t listen to her,’ laughed Flavia’s stepmother over her shoulder. She had draped the gauzy, saffron-yellow wedding veil over the balcony so that she could sprinkle it with rose water. ‘You’ve become a lovely young woman.’

Pulchra sat on a small stool in front of Flavia and rested the tray on her lap. ‘All I meant,’ she said, ‘was that tonight is the most important night of her life. We don’t want the bridegroom having second thoughts.’

‘He won’t have second thoughts,’ said Flavia’s stepmother. ‘He’s besotted with Flavia.’

‘Humph,’ said Pulchra, and to Flavia: ‘Are you nervous?’

‘Of course not.’

‘You’re not nervous that in a very short time your bridegroom is going to burst in here and snatch you from our arms and carry you off to his bed while boys in the procession sing lewd songs and pelt you with nuts?’

‘No,’ said Flavia. ‘I’m euphoric. It’s my dream come true.’

‘I do wish you’d tell me more about this man you’re marrying.’ Pulchra unscrewed a little tin pot and sniffed the contents with satisfaction. ‘You’re so secretive about him in your letters.’

‘You’ll meet him soon.’

Flavia meets her bridegroom in The Man from Pomegranate Street

You can find out whom Flavia marries in The Man from Pomegranate Street.

[The 17+ books in the Roman Mysteries series are perfect for children aged 9+, especially those studying Romans at Key Stage 2 and 3. The DVDs are not currently being printed but you can download episodes from the first series via iTunes HERE.]

You're invited...

My husband Richard (who feeds me) is not just a good cook. He's also a talented writer and historian. He has written Mammoth Books of eyewitness accounts, as well as books on English architecture. (Richard and I knew we were meant for each other when we discovered we both adored the historical novels of Mary Renault and Patrick O'Brian.)

Richard's latest book is called The Book of the Edwardian and Interwar House. It's a book your mum and dad might like. No beautiful slave-girls, gladiators or pirates, but rather door-knobs, toilets and gables. In fact, if you live around Northcote Road, your house might even be in the book. But there are also houses from Manchester, Hertforshire and Nottinghamshire.

Anyway, you are cordially invited to bring your mum or dad to Richard's book launch at our local bookstore in Battersea, London:
Bolingbroke Bookshop
147 Northcote Road
Battersea
London SW11 6QB

(phone 020 7223 9344)

The party starts at 6.30pm on Thursday 26 March. Although the night is Richard's special night, not mine, if you bring a Roman Mystery I will happily sign it for you.

Hope to see you at the Bolingbroke Bookshop on Thursday 26 March 2009, from 6.30 - 8.30ish!

Winners of the Golden Sponge-stick Award!

...and some of the runners up

Jeremy Pine, Head of Classics at the Royal High Bath, and organizer of the Golden Sponge-Stick Award for writing a Roman mystery, just sent me a selection of winning entries and some of the runners-up. I think they are all brilliant and I am now beginning to worry about competition! Here are the first few lines of each of the entries he sent me:

Rome in My Attic
‘You’ll never guess what is in my attic!’ whispered Kate, as she raced her friend Charlotte up the stairs. She had painted and decorated the attic to look like ancient Rome. They were learning it at school and Kate knew that Charlotte would be very interested because she loved history.’

by Isabel (8) winner in the under 9 category (above right, with her prize!)

When Kate and Charlotte get to the attic they find they are transported to ancient Roman times. Isabel does a great job of imagining what Roman Britain would look like to a 21st century schoolgirl, with lots of smells and strange sights.

Godlings
‘The piece of wolf-skin tent I’ve been staring at for the past half-hour isn’t particularly interesting. In fact, if it had been any other time, I would have been bored to death long ago. But I needed something simple. Something pure that I could immerse myself in and blank out everything: the sound of merriment beyond the walls, the numbness of my hands, the hatred towards the people outside that I had known as friends for as long as I can remember.’

By Eilidh (13) second place in the 11-13 category

From a story about identical twin girls growing up in Roman Britain, with a surprising ending. One of the many reasons I love this entry is because Eilidh has really put herself in her character’s position. This is great stuff!

The Ghost
We made our way to the villa under a new moon and a cloudy sky, the chirrs of insects leaping out at us from all directions, picking through a wheat-field so overgrown and dark that I could barely walk through it without stumbling. It was neither the unnerving shadowy darkness of the city’s alleyways nor the serene darkness of a bedroom late at night.

by Lucy, winner of the 14+ category

A good old Roman ghost story, with plenty of tactile detail and a mysterious exorcist named Corvus.

Aperio*
Blood spattered the grass around Centurion Hortentius. The veteran lunged with his gladius yet again, taking the huge Briton in the throat. ‘Tighten the ranks!’ he bawled at his men, who compacted at the command. The noise of the fray was terrible: these naked warriors, leaping onto the weapons of the legionaries, seemed to be never ending, charging at the fragile line, screaming war-cries as they rushed to meet their deaths, taking as many of their hated foes as they could with them.

By Craig, second place in the 14+ category

A murder occurs in the middle of a bloody campaign of Romans in Britannia. This entry shows an excellent knowledge of how the Roman army fought with great attention to clues and procedures. I especially liked the phrase ‘a face like the back end of a cyclops.’ Simon Scarrow, watch your back!

*aperio means 'I reveal' in Latin


Clea
It was humiliating. Passed around from grimy hand to grimy hand, being held in such awkward positions that she yowled pitifully. Her own girl’s hands were gentler and cleaner. They knew where she liked to be petted and how she liked to be held. She would have scampered off by now if it wasn’t for the delicious prospect of a tender minute with her own girl.

by Josie, winner of the 11-13 category

Josie’s clever story is told from the point of view of a cat who witnesses the destruction of Pompeii and who tries to save her young mistress. Josie convincingly adopts the mentality of a cat, while keeping a Roman feel to her descriptions.

The Amphitheatre
‘Look, Rufus, it is about to begin!’ exclaimed Gusto, scampering to one of the highest viewing points. Rufus quickly followed as he did not want to miss anything. The crowd roared as the gladiators entered the amphitheatre, the sunlight gleaming off their armour. ‘Shift over I cannot see!’ Rufus nudged Gusto and he shuffled over.

by Emma, (11) winner of the 9-11 category

Another witty story told from an animal’s point of view. This time two rats watch the famous riot between Pompeians and Nucerians in the amphitheatre of Pompeii. I like the way Emma took a true historical incident and put her own rodent-y touch on it.

Well done to all who entered! Bene fecistis!

P.S. Winners/Placings: RHS Bath Golden Sponge-stick competition 2008
(awarded by Jerry Pine, Head of Classics, Royal High Senior School, Bath)

Under 9 age category:
1. Isabel Davies Jones, St Andrew’s School, Meads, Eastbourne
2. Eleanor Heathcock, Forest School, Altrincham, Cheshire
3. Beth Seaman, St John’s College School, Cambridge

9 -11 age category:
1. Emma Lewis, Berkhamsted Collegiate
2. Alina Clare Young, St Paul’s School for Girls , London
3. Angus Edward Henry King, Downsend School, Leatherhead

11 -13 age category:
1. Josie Heesom, Stamford High School
2. Eilidh Avison, Harris Academy, Dundee
3. Ava Davies, Wycombe Abbey School

14 and above age category :
1. Lucy Edwards, Norwich High School for Girls
2. Craig Rischmiller, Bristol Grammar School
3. Katy Morgan, Wells Blue School

‘Honorary’ international entries:
Resurrection-St Paul School, Ellicott, Maryland, USA
St Stephen’s School, Rome

You know you're a RM fan when...

One of my top fans in America, who is also named Caroline Lawrence (hey! It's a good name!) has all my books in British English and all my books in American English. Not only is Caroline beautiful, but she is also very clever (like all RM fans) and she has recently won some prestigious spelling bees. Her favourite character is Nubia and she admits she is 'in the queue for Aristo'. Now Caroline has come up with this fun list of how to tell when you're a REAL Roman Mysteries fan. How do you score?

'You know you're a Roman Mysteries fan when...'

~ You want to be friends with every asthmatic person you know.
~ You have read British AND American copies of the same books.
~ You give little nicknames to the books (i.e. Dolphins for The Dolphins of Laurentum)
~ You coordinate your outfits with Roman Mystery book covers.
~ Most of your mottoes are either in Latin or quotes from the series.
~ You got the list of character birthdays from Caroline Lawrence's website and you celebrate them.
~ You have a little fit whenever someone says a word that has Latin or Greek roots
~ Or whenever you see the 'Mute' button on the TV remote.
~ You refer to yourself as "the fifth friend".
~ You accidentally call friends and family by Roman Mystery character names.
~ You went into mourning after reading The Slave-girl from Jerusalem.
~ You can quote whole scenes from the books, complete with expressions.
~ When falling asleep at night, instead of counting sheep, you count women who are in love with Aristo.
~ You use rhetor's gestures to communicate with friends in class.
(Bonus points if you use them so much your friends think you made them up.)

Thanks, Caroline. You are definitely a Top Fan!

New-look paperbacks

For nearly a decade Peter Sutton, Fred van Deelen and Richard Carr have collaborated with me to design the covers of the Roman Mysteries. Collectors will be happy to hear that we will be using their designs for all seventeen of the main Roman Mysteries, and the collection of Mini-Mysteries called Trimalchio's Feast.

But now Orion have decided to give future paperbacks a new look. By a happy coincidence one of the artists involved is an old friend of mine, Patrick Knowles. Patrick commissioned Larry Rostant to execute illustrations based on extracts from the novels. Then Patrick came up with the type and final design. I am thrilled with the four covers I've seen so far and can't wait to see the rest. Here is a sneak preview of what you can find in the bookstores from May 2009. I especially like this cinematic view of Nubia in an exciting scene near the end of The Pirates of Pompeii. Euge. (Yay.)

A Wonderful Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum

paperback cover

I have just finished writing the last book in the Roman Mysteries series and I am euphoric. It is called The Man from Pomegranate Street.

Ten years ago I hadn't even had the idea of the Roman Mysteries. (It came to me in August 1999). Now there are over 20 books out there, a whole world of plots and characters, all from my head. Fantastic! Amazing!*

A letter from a fan asking me where I got all my ideas reminded me of an early inspiration. When I was about 11, the target age of my readers, I saw a movie which is still one of my favourites: A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. Although many people write it off as a silly musical, I dare to say it's probably the most accurate film about ancient Rome ever made. Have a look at the opening sequence on YouTube: COMEDY TONIGHT.

As for my 17 books, they can probably all be summed up in the words of the title song:

The DVD

Something familiar, something peculiar, something for everyone a comedy tonight!

Something appealing, something appalling, something for everyone a comedy tonight! Nothing with kings, nothing with crowns, bring on the lovers, liars and clowns. Old situations, new complications, nothing portentous or polite, tragedy tomorrow: comedy tonight!

Something convulsive, something repulsive, something for everyone: a comedy to night. Something aesthetic, something frenetic, something for everyone: a comedy tonight. Nothing of gods, nothing of fate, weighty affairs will just have to wait…

Something familiar, something peculiar, something for everyone a comedy tonight! Something that’s gaudy, something that’s bawdy, something for everybody’s taste...


Pantaloons and tunics, courtesans and eunuchs, funerals and chases, baritones and basses, panderers, philanderers, cupidity, timidity, mistakes, fakes, rhymes, mimes, tumblers, grumblers, fumblers, bumblers, no royal curse, no Trojan horse, and there’s a happy ending of course. Goodness and badness, man in his madness, this time it all turns out all right… comedy, comedy, comedy tonight!

Lovers divided get coincided, something for everyone a comedy tonight! Father and mother get one another, something for everyone – a (tragedy) tonight! I get the twins, they get the best, I get a family, I get a rest, we get a few girls, I’ll get some new girls, I get the thing I want to be: Free!

Nothing for kings, nothing for crowns, something for the lovers, liars and clowns. What is the moral? Must be a moral. Here is the moral wrong or right: morals tomorrow, comedy, comedy, comedy tonight!

The Man from Pomegranate Street is out now and you can watch filmed adaptations of some of the earlier books via iTunes. 

* Fantastic! Amazing! is a quote from Funny Thing, which I know almost by heart...

New Website

For the past few months I've been working on a new website. It is now up and 'live'. One of my old pupils, Ben, is the creative genius behind the new look and his pal and partner, Cyberboy, is the technobrain.

Not that Ben isn't clever! Not that Cyberboy isn't creative!

In Wayne's World, Garth says 'We fear change.' But change can be an opportunity for improvement. My favourite thing about the new site is an icon and page called DORMOUSE, which is devoted to quizzes, fun news and other silly things. Do please give me feedback and suggestions. I know you will be sensitive and polite, as all Roman Mysteries fans are.



P.S. Ten years later and I still have the same website... It seems I do fear change after all! 
P.P.S. Email me at carolinelawrence [at] me [dot] com!

A Career in Ruins

Who’d be an archaeologist?

When Luke Lavan was a boy he discovered Asterix and The Lord of the Rings. Be careful what you read: a book can change your life. The fascination of a once-great civilzation so appealed to Luke that it eventually led him to a career in Archaeology. Luke is now a lecturer at the University of Kent, in Canterbury. As of September 2008 he is co-director of the Berlin-Kent team excavating part of Ostia, the port of Rome and setting of the Roman Mysteries.

I went to meet Luke and his team last week, and it was a fascinating visit. If you think you might want to be an archaeologist when you get older, make sure you read the rest of this.

Luke met me off the train at Canterbury West, and the first thing I asked him was ‘What first got you interested in Ancient History?’

‘Tolkein,’ said Luke, without hesitation. ‘When I was ten I read Lord of the Rings and loved it. The world of Late Antiquity gives the same sense of a great civilization crumbling into anarchy.’

By ‘Late Antiquity’ Luke means the fourth to seventh century AD, when the Roman empire became Christian and started to lose bits of its territory to invaders. Luke told me he went on to read Gibbon’s The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire when he was about 12.

With Luke is Richard Sadler, a graduate student who is one of the Ostia team. He also loves Tolkein and his current topic of research is ‘death and burial in the ancient world.’ Fun. 



We catch a taxi up the hill to the University of Kent, which Luke describes as ‘Watership Down with bunkers.’ The buildings DO look a bit like bunkers, but the campus has a nice feel. It’s up on a hill with views over Canterbury. In this picture of the two of us, you can see the famous cathedral in the background.

As we walked to the department of Archaeology, Luke told me his dad is a scientist, and his mother a creative dreamer. Both qualities are needed in a good archaeologist. Much of archaeology is data analysis, so you need an ordered mind. But you also have to be able to stand on a patch of paving stones and post-holes and envisage life there centuries before. Luke’s dad often jokes that his son ‘has a career in ruins.’

At the department, I met Ellen Swift, who is the head of the Archaeology section. Ellen is especially interested in ancient decoration. The historical novels of Rosemary Sutcliffe first sparked her interest in the ancient world.

We go to their site room and sit around a big table. Other members of the team come in. Joe has long hair and looks as if he, too, has been influenced by Tolkein, but he says he wasn’t. Michael’s nickname is Dionysus. He has a curly black beard and a mischievous glint in his eye. Bonnie has big blue eyes, bleached hair and trendy piercings. She confesses that she was attracted to archaeology because of Indiana Jones. ‘And is any part of your experience like Indy’s?’ I ask. Bonnie regards me sadly. I can see the answer in her eyes. 


the team from left to right: Luke, Ellen, Richard, Bonnie, Michael, Joe

At the beginning of September, Luke and his team arrived in Ostia. They met some of the other members of the team: Axel Gering, from Berlin. The dig is actually a joint project between Kent and Berlin, hence the name, the Berlin-Kent Project. Also on board was their ‘professional archaeologist’ Kelly Madigan. She is English but part Maori.

The first few days of the dig did not bode well. 
Luke and his team were digging in the Forum of the Heroic Statue, near Ostia’s famous latrines. They are interested in 4th and 5th century levels, long after my fictional Flavia Gemina’s time. But as they settled in, they found they were choked by dust and thwarted by the deep-growing roots of an umbrella pine. (Those trees that give such delicious shade are no friends of the archaeologist.) By the end of the first few days, they were hot, tired and coated with dust. Work was going slowly. The soil would not cut cleanly, but crumbled into dust. This made it hard for them to see the features they were trying to uncover.

If there was one consolation, it was that the campsite they had rented, which initially had few facilities, was finally starting to look good, after a lot of work on the team's part. It had two toilets, showers, a proper water supply for the kitchen, and even a computer room. But a visit from local officials revealed that a camping permit had not been issued for this site, and that the group would have to move. This is when the nightmare really began. They needed to move, and fast. Luke found a registered campsite near Castel Fusano. It sounded nice, but it was expensive, and several miles from Ostia.

Luke and his team spent hours packing up tents and equipment, putting them into cars and moving them a few miles south. As they were settling in to the new campsite, the heavens opened, drenching people and equipment. The campsite was soon a sea of mud. 
It was awful.

‘But in another way,’ says Luke, ‘the rain was a godsend. It stopped our dig being a cloud of dust.’


Now that they had done the preliminary work, and now that the ground wasn’t so dusty, they began to find some fun objects: lots of broken glassware, some coins, precious blue tesserae of lapis lazuli and a single tiny dice (pictured), about the size of the fingernail on your pinky. They also found a very fragile inscription moulded into the mortar of a reused block, a sundial scratched into stone, a slate with Greek writing all over it, and a board game incised in marble. Luke imagines ancient Ostians hanging around the forum, tossing dice and watching life go by. You can see more about the finds HERE.

The team was up and working now, but their troubles weren’t over. Several members of the team became were injured or began suffering from exhaustion. So Luke sent out an appeal to students in Rome. Some enthusiastic Americans, along with a German and an Italian guy, came to the rescue and helped enormously. Luke was extremely pleased with them. (Yay, Americans!)

The team had settled in at the now dry campsite, but it was expensive, and soon they were running out of money. Luke had to dip into his personal savings. And his wife’s. Luckily, a few sympathetic Ostia-lovers sent money, and then the University of Kent came through with a generous donation: enough to tide them over. ‘But for a while there,’ said Luke, ‘we were living on eggs and cake.’ 



Still think you’d like to be an archaeologist?

I discussed it with members of the team and most agreed that you would make a good archaeologist if you:

• Like digging in dirt in wind, rain and baking heat.

• Can survive on little and monotonous food.

• Like camping.
• Don’t mind communal loos and showers.

• Don't value your privacy.

• Like dust in your mouth and bugs in your food.



And that’s just the fieldwork!

The surprising statistic is that 90% of an archaeologist’s life is spent processing data and cataloguing finds in rooms with little or no natural light, often fluorescent lit basements.

If you STILL think you would like to be an archaeologist, Luke’s advice is ‘get yourself to an ancient city as soon as you can and just spend lots of time exploring and imagining.’

To my mind there is no better place to start than Ostia, the port of Rome and home – once upon a time – of Flavia Gemina, Jonathan, Nubia and Lupus. If you succeed, you, too can have a career in ruins.


For information about the Berlin-Kent Ostia Project, go HERE.

P.S. Archaeology isn't for me; I tried it once. But I'm hugely grateful to all those people, like Luke and his colleagues, who get out in the field and then publish their results so I can study them in the comfort of library or home! 

Carpe Diem

A few weeks ago, Gaius the scribe from the Leg II Aug, gave me a hand-drawn papyrus scroll of Horace's most famous ode. I've been meaning to put up a picture, with the original Latin and the English translation. Here it is:

Tu ne quaesieris -- scire nefas -- quem mihi, quem tibi finem di dederunt, Leuconoe, nec Babylonios temptaris numeros. Ut melius, quidquid erit, pati, seu pluris hiemes seu tribuit Iuppiter ultimam, quae nunc oppositis debilitat pumicibus mare Tyrrhenum: sapias, vina liques, et spatio brevi spem longam reseces. Dum loquimur, fugerat invida aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.

"You should not inquire -- it's not ours to know -- what end the gods have in store for you or me, Leuconoe, nor should you dabble in Babylonian charts. How much better it is to take what comes, whether more winters have been allotted by Jove or this is the last, which now pounds the Tyrrhenian sea on those rocks opposite. Be wise. Decant the wine. Trim your lengthy hopes to a shorter length. Even as we speak, an unwilling eternity has slipped away. Seize the day. And trust as little as possible to the future."
Horace Ode I.XI

So what's with the sponge-stick?

subligaria = underpants

Recently there has been a lot of excitement (OK, a little excitement) about a new literary competition for schoolchildren all over the world: the GOLDEN SPONGE-STICK AWARD. It has appeared on prestigious BLOGS and CLASSICS SITES and even in a NEWSPAPER. So what IS a sponge-stick?

Because it was my talk that inspired the staff and students at the Royal High School in Bath to start the competition, I thought I should explain exactly what a sponge-stick is.


When I write my mysteries set in ancient Rome, I like to use artefacts as clues. To come up with ideas for these clues, I play with replica artefacts made for me by my re-enactor friends. Occasionally I use the real thing; like the 2000 year old oil-lamp I used to take around to schools with me. I once filled it with olive oil, put in a wick and lit it. You'd think a little piece of string would burn up in a few seconds. But not if it's soaking in olive oil. Then it will burn and burn. When the oil begins to fail the flame flickers and grows smaller, but all you have to do is top up the lamp with oil and the flame burns brighter. Sadly, wear and tear took their toll on my Romano-Egyptian oil-lamp so I use modern replicas when I go to schools and festivals, like this oil-lamp (from the British Museum) with a four-horse chariot design. Today, if you go to a football game you might come home with a souvenir mug. In Roman times, if you spent a day at the Circus Maximus, you would buy a souvenir oil-lamp, daubed with the colours of your team: red, white, green or blue.

Other artefacts I have used as clues in my mysteries include a wax tablet, a signet ring and a bronze bleeding-cup. But my favourite artefact is a sponge-stick. This soft sea sponge on a stick was known as a spongia. What on earth do you think the Romans used a sponge-on-a-stick for?

If you guessed that Romans used sponge-sticks for wiping their bottoms, you would be right!

Think about it: those poor Romans didn't have 'puppy-soft' Andrex or beloved-by-bears-in-the-woods Charmin.

If you lived in Roman times and wanted to give your bottom a good wipe you would have had about four options:
I. leaf from a fig tree (not very absorbent)
II. handful of moss (kinda messy)
III. sponge-stick (more on that in a moment)
IV. YOUR LEFT HAND (ewww!)

Personally I would have used the spongia without hesitation.

So when my re-enactor friend Nodge Nolan from the Leg II Aug promised to send me an historically accurate replica sponge-stick, I was excited. 'Oh goodie,' I thought. 'Roman toilet paper!' A few days later a long, padded envelope arrived in the post.

I pulled out my sponge on a stick, along with a witty compliments slip: 'Never been used.' Clever Nodge. I marvelled at his craftsmanship. Most of the bark had been peeled away, but there was a little left at the 'right end of the stick'; a nice textured surface to ensure a good grip. But one thing surprised me: its length! The thing was almost as long as my forearm. In fact, come to think of it, why have a stick at all? Why not just use a sponge like a piece of toilet paper? 'Why is the stick so long?' I mused aloud.

I phoned Nodge and asked him: 'Why is the stick so long?'

He told me.

The reason the sponge-stick is so long has to do with the design of Roman toilets. Romans were very civilized and in first century Rome, if you were caught short, you would have had a choice of 144 public latrines. Including one in the forum where the 'patrons' could sit and look out through columns at people strolling in the forum. And the people could look right back at them!

If you lived in Rome's port of Ostia, like the four young detectives in my books, you would have used the forica at the Forum Baths. You can still see them today. Now they are ruins, but try to imagine them in the first century AD: frescoes on the walls, coloured marble floor, perhaps a fountain in the middle... The seats themselves are of smooth polished marble, nice and cool on your bottom on a hot Roman day.

See the channel for running water? That's for water from the baths next door. Not too dirty, just right for the job. I don't have to tell you what the holes on the top of the bench were for. That's obvious! It's the holes at the front that often puzzle people. Before I explain those holes, notice there are no dividing walls and no doors. In Roman times, you sat next to your friend and did what you had to do!

You would enter through the revolving door (archaeological evidence tells us this) and as you came in you might see some men sitting right there, chatting, laughing, grunting... 'Salve, Marce!' you might say. 'Hello, Marcus!' 'How are you?'

'Fine! Couldn't be better.'

'Would you like to come to dinner tonight?'

'I'd love to!'

(The Roman poet Martial teases a well-known citizen for loitering in the public latrines in hope of a dinner invitation.)

Roman men and women wore tunics, like a big tee-shirt. Probably no underpants. So you could just hike up your tunic and sit down. The tunic would modestly cover your knees at the front so nobody could SEE anything. (They might have been able to HEAR and SMELL some things, however...)

Then, when you finished your business, you would take the sponge-stick, rinse it in the channel of running water at your feet, and without getting up or revealing anything, you would PUSH THE STICK THROUGH THE HOLE AT THE FRONT AND WIPE YOUR BOTTOM. That's what those holes at the front are for. And that's why the handle of the sponge-stick is so long. After a good wipe, you would rinse it again, stand up and leave it in the basin for THE NEXT PERSON TO USE. (Kids, don't try this at home.)

Now you know where we get the expression he got the 'wrong end of the stick'!

I sometimes go into schools and speak to the little Year 3 children, who are seven or eight years old. Some of them haven't yet studied the Romans and they ask my lots of funny questions like: 'Please, Miss, did it RAIN in ancient Rome?'

'Yes,' I say, 'It rained in ancient Rome.'

'Please, Miss? Were there TREES in ancient Rome?'

'Yes, there were trees in ancient Rome.' Then I ask them. 'Boys and girls, what do you think the ancient Romans used a sponge on a stick for?'

Some of their answers are what you yourself might have guessed:

'Please, Miss, is it for CLEANING COBWEBS from the ceiling?'

'Please, Miss, is it for WASHING YOURSELF in the bath?'

But some of their answers are quite disgusting if you know what its real use:

'Please, Miss, is it for BRUSHING YOUR TEETH?'

'Please, Miss, is it for CLEANING YOUR EARS?'

I never laugh at them because some of their answers are very well thought-out:

'Please, Miss? Do you soak it in olive oil and light it and USE IT AS A TORCH at night?'

'No,' I say, 'But that's a good guess. It shows me you know the Romans had no electricity. Well done!'

'Please, Miss? Do you dip it in paint and WRITE GRAFFITI on the wall?'

'No. But that's also a good guess. It shows me you know the Romans had graffiti in ancient times. Just as they still do today.'

'Please, Miss, is it for BEATING YOUR SLAVE?'

'What a good idea!' I say, when the laughter dies down. 'If your slave is just a little bit naughty, you could hit them with the soft end. But if they've been really bad you could give them a smart THWACK with the stick end.'

On one occasion a teacher suggested: 'If your slave has been really, really naughty you could hit them with the soft end AFTER YOU'VE USED IT.'

Ewww.

One of my favourite answers was from a boy who asked: 'Please, Miss? Is it for BEATING A DRUM?'

A dry sponge-stick actually makes an excellent drum stick. On several occasions, when I've been speaking to a school from the stage and there is a kettle-drum nearby, I have been able to prove this point most effectively.

In fact, I liked his suggestion so much that I stole it for the opening of the fifth Roman Mystery, The Dolphins of Laurentum. In this book, readers finally find out who cut out Lupus's tongue, why he did it and why Lupus can swim so well. (The answer to why Lupus can swim so well is NOT that he was a dolphin in a previous life.)

Here's part of the opening of The Dolphins of Laurentum (and the French cover, which gives a good idea of the flavour of the book)

Lupus picked up the new drumstick he'd found at Flavia's.

He gave the drum an experimental tap and nodded in satisfaction at the sound. Perfect. He found the beat and started to weave a new pattern, holding the drumstick in his right hand and using the palm of his left.

'Lupus!' Jonathan was staring at him in horror.

Lupus stopped drumming and gave Jonathan his bug-eyed look: What?

'What on earth are you using as a drumstick?'

Lupus held up the sponge-stick and shrugged, as if to say: It's a sponge-stick.

'Where did you get it?'

Lupus tilted his head towards Flavia's house next door.

'Lupus. Do you know what that is? I mean, what it's used for?'

Lupus shook his head.

Jonathan sighed. 'I know you used to be a half-wild beggar-boy,' he said. 'But you've been living with us for nearly four months now. You're practically a civilised Roman. You're sure you don't know what that sponge-stick is used for?'

Lupus shook his head again. And frowned.

Jonathan leaned forward and grinned. 'It's for wiping your bottom after you've been to the latrine.'

(You can order the book HERE)

the award!

Probably my favourite answer of all came from a sweet little girl in Year 3. She was about seven years old and her face was beaming with pleasure: SHE knew what my sponge on a stick was for.

'What do you think my sponge-stick is?' I asked, smiling back at her infectious delight.

'Please, Miss? Is it AN AWARD FOR YOUR BOOKS?'

Frankly, I can't think of a better prize than the GOLDEN SPONGE-STICK AWARD FOR THE BEST ROMAN MYSTERY.


Above: Caroline with two of the best things about ancient Rome: a sponge-stick and a gladiatrix.

P.S. OK, not all Romans used sponges-on-sticks, just as we don't all use the same brand of toilet paper today.  In a recent examination of material from a huge septic tank in Herculaneum, not one sponge was found. What they did find were scraps of cloth. Were these an alternate method of wiping the bottom. If so, they would have been expensive, too, and not re-usable. Have a look at my post Ten Things Romans Used for Toilet Paper.

P.P.S. Sadly, the Golden Sponge Stick Award is defunct (from Latin defunctus = 'dead') but you can order a fun Sponge Stick mosaic kit from Roman Mosaic Workshop. Perfect for schools or home fun. And it's educational!

[The 17+ books in the Roman Mysteries series are perfect for children aged 9+, especially those studying Romans as a topic in Key Stage 2 and 3. You can watch Season One of the Roman Mysteries via iTunes. And the new four-book Roman Quests series, set in Roman Britain, starts with Escape from Rome.]