Riddle of the Roman Vase

The next time you are in central London, you should visit the Portland Vase in Room 70 of the British Museum.

The ‘Portland Vase’ is the modern name for one of the most famous pieces of Roman art in the world. It is a beautiful blue and white glass amphora made in the extremely difficult ‘cameo technique’. In this method of manufacture, opaque white glass covers darker glass (watch a demo HERE) and is then painstakingly carved away to show a scene in relief (i.e. ‘bumpy'). We know from chemical analysis that this beautiful vase was made in Roman times. We know from the glass technique used that it was probably produced around the time of Rome’s first emperor, Octavian Augustus (between about 30 BC and AD 20). We know that the vase used to have a pointy bottom, like all amphoras, but that this was broken during its many adventures (check out Wikipedia or the excellent Mystery of the Portland Vase) and a new flat bottom was fitted.

Everybody agrees that the Portland Vase is a masterpiece, but not everybody agrees about what it was used for or who commissioned it. (A vase this finely-crafted and expensive must have been ordered by a very rich person.) And the biggest mystery is: who are the seven figures on the vase?

Only one of the figures is easy to identify. It is found on the side which scholars call the ‘A-side’. It is the flying baby with the torch and bow: the Roman god of love, Cupid. His presence means that the couple below him are about to fall in love.

But who are the two lovers? Who is the lady with wet or dishevelled hair and a snake in her lap? Who is the young man she is holding on to? And who is that pensive bearded guy over to the right?

On the other side – the ‘B-side’ - are some more mysterious seated figures: a naked youth, a woman with a hairdo datable to around 30 BC, and a woman holding a downturned torch and tearing her hair. Who could they be? And what are they all sitting on?

We can identify Cupid on the A-side by his wings and bow, but none of the others are obvious. This may be because they are real people, rather than Greek heroes or Roman gods. Another interesting aspect is that women are the central figures on both sides. But that still doesn’t help us.

Who are they? Scholars have put forward more than 50 different theories.

Susan Walker, Keeper of Antiquities at the Ashmolean Museum, presents an exciting theory in her book The Portland Vase (Objects in Focus). She believes the woman with the snake is Cleopatra and that Octavia is on the other side. Those of you who have read The Beggar of Volubilis know that Octavia (sister of the emperor Augustus) lost her husband Antonius to Cleopatra, but after their deaths she nobly raised their surviving children as her own. Susan Walker's theory is quite persuasive, but it was an asp that killed Cleopatra, not a sea-snake, and her identification of the bearded man as Mark Anthony's father is also unconvincing.

Other scholars believe the woman with the snake is Thetis, the beautiful sea-nymph and mother of Achilles. It was prophesied that her son would be more powerful than his father. All the gods of Olympus desired her, but Jupiter knew it would be fatal if one of them sired her child: that child would be more powerful than any of them. So he told a mortal, Peleus, the secret of winning Thetis. ‘She can change into any creature,’ warned Jupiter, ‘but if you hang on tight then she will be yours.’ Is the handsome young hero Peleus? And is the man watching Jupiter?

The only problem with that theory is that she’s holding onto the handsome man, not the other way round. And Jupiter does not have any of his trademark identifying symbols. No thunderbolt, staff or crown. And who would have commissioned a fabulously expensive amphora showing the origins of a Greek hero? The Romans believed they were descended from the Trojans, mortal enemies of the Greeks.

Stephen Pollock-Hill is a modern glassmaker. He owns one of the few glass factories in Britain where glass is still blown in the ancient way. His firm – Nazeing Glass – has produced specialty items such as railway signal lenses, glass wall-blocks and laboratory beakers and tubes. (right: Stephen with engraver Lesley Pyke © Lesley Pyke)

One of Stephen’s passions is the Portland Vase. Over the next year, Nazeing Glass is going to produce ten interpretations of the vase. Skilled glass-makers will blow cobalt blue glass and then coat it with opaque white glass at just the right temperature so that the coating sticks and doesn’t make the glass underneath crack. Then ten engravers from all over the world will each carve their version of the figures on the Portland Vase. (You can watch a fascinating clip of one of them, Lesley Pyke, on her website www.lesleypyke.com.) This project will cost over £100,000!

One beautiful spring evening, on Tuesday 22 April 2009, I went to the Art Workers Guild near Great Ormond Street in London to hear Stephen give a talk about the vase. Speaking in a beautiful lecture hall full of portraits of famous craftsmen and artists, Stephen presented his theory about the identity of the seven figures on the vase. Members of The Glass Circle were there, and also Dr Paul Roberts, the Curator of Greek & Roman Antiquities at the British Museum and an expert on Roman cameo glass.

Stephen Pollock-Hill believes the woman with the snake is Atia, mother of Octavian and Octavia. She claimed to have been visited by a snake at the sanctuary of Apollo nine months before the birth of Octavian. (In Roman times a snake was good luck, not bad luck, and Apollo is often associated with a snake.) The man she is clutching is Gaius Octavian, her husband and the man with the beard could be the Trojan hero Aeneas – ancestor of Romulus and Remus. What about the B-side? Stephen believes the woman in the centre is Octavian Augustus’s second wife Scribonia, who was rejected in favour of Livia. The downturned torch could show her failure. The handsome man on the left is Octavian himself, the future emperor, gazing into the eyes of Livia, who would become his empress and mother of Rome’s second emperor, Tiberius.

Who do YOU think the figures are? Can you find other examples of a woman with a snake or a woman with a downturned torch? (Is it a torch of 'love' or a torch of 'life'?) The two handsome men and the bearded man don’t have any special attributes, so they might well be real people. Any ideas about what the woman with the torch is sitting on? Could it be a funeral pyre? Or something else? You should also think about who would commission such a fabulous piece of art. 

I can’t wait to hear your theories.

In the meantime, Stephen and his glassmakers will soon be firing up the furnaces to make modern versions of this mysterious and beautiful Roman masterpiece, the Portland Vase.

P.S. Since I wrote this blog, another magnificent cameo-glass vase has appeared: the Bonham Vase or Newby Vase as it's also called. Read about it HERE.

[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. You can watch season one of a BBC adaptation of the Roman Mysteries on iTunes.]

Flaccus Fever!

Over half the readers of the Roman Mysteries want Flavia to marry the young orator and poet Gaius Valerius Flaccus, whom Flavia calls Floppy. But who is he? (right: Francesca Isherwood as Flavia, Ben Lloyd-Hughes as Flaccus)

For those who have only seen the TV series - or haven't yet read books 8 to 16 - here are a few excerpts to get you up to speed.

Flavia meets Flaccus

Flavia studied the young man as he came towards them across the moving deck. She remembered seeing him and his slave-boy come on board, but she had been too busy saying goodbye to Scuto and Alma to take much notice.

He was tall and muscular, with dark eyes and floppy dark hair. The two broad stripes on his short-sleeved tunic told Flavia he was a patrician, like Bato. She guessed he was a little younger than her tutor Aristo, about eighteen or nineteen years old. He was very good-looking, so she gave him her prettiest smile.

The young man ignored her smile and went straight up to Bato. 'Hello,' he said in a deep cultured voice. 'My name is Gaius Valerius Flaccus.'

'Marcus Artorius Bato,' said the other. 'Let me introduce you to Flavia Gemina, the captain's daughter, and her friends Jonathan, Nubia and – '

'How long do you think it will take us to reach Corinth?' said the passenger, not even looking at Flavia. He was chewing some kind of gum or resin.

'Four or five days,' said Aristo, stepping up to join them on the crowded platform. 'That's if the wind is favourable. It will take a week to ten days if not.'

Flaccus nodded and moved to the rail. As he did so, he jostled Flavia. She fought back an urge to thump him hard. 'Big oaf,' she muttered under her breath, and gave him a withering look.

But Flaccus was oblivious. He rested his forearms on the polished stern rail and chomped his gum. 'My father left me a nice legacy,' he remarked, 'and I thought I'd see the Seven Sights before I begin to practise law in Rome.'

'Oh, I know the Seven Sights!' cried Flavia, her desire to show off overcoming her irritation. 'They're the famous monuments which everybody says you must see before you die. Some people call them the Seven Wonders of the world.'

'From Delos I plan to go on to Rhodes or Alexandria,' said Flaccus to Bato and Aristo, with barely a glance at Flavia, who had begun to count on her fingers. 'There's the statue of Zeus at Olympia,' she began, 'the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, the Colossus of – '

'Let's go down to the main deck,' said Flaccus abruptly to Aristo and Bato. 'We can talk more easily there.'

'How rude!' hissed Flavia when the three men had left the stern platform.

Lupus nodded.

'I didn't tell him there would be four children on board,' said Captain Geminus. He glanced over his shoulder at them. 'Flaccus is very rich and he's paying me well, so keep out of his way.'

'Happily,' muttered Flavia and then made her voice deep and cultured: 'My father left me a nice legacy,' she said, mimicking Flaccus and pretending to chomp. 'I thought I'd see the Seven Sights before I become a pompous lawyer up in Rome . . . '

Lupus laughed and Jonathan grinned.

Flavia snorted. 'Look at him, chewing like a cow. And Flaccus is a stupid name. It means big-eared or flabby.'

'Well, he doesn't have big ears and he certainly isn't flabby,' said Jonathan. 'He's got more muscles than most gladiators I know.'

'Then it must refer to his floppy hair.' Flavia clenched her fists to make her biceps big and flipped an imaginary fringe out of her eyes: 'I'm Gaius Vapidius Floppy,' she breathed huskily. 'But you can just call me Floppy.'

(from Roman Mystery VIII, The Colossus of Rhodes)

Flavia gets advice from Flaccus

Flavia twirled the blue parasol Pulchra had loaned her, and she tried swinging her hips a little, the way Leucosia the slave-girl did. But it made her stagger and she almost fell off her cork-heeled shoes. Suddenly a muscular arm blocked her way and she looked up to see Flaccus glaring down at her.

'Where do you think you're going?' he said, his hand pressing the plaster wall beside her. He looked very handsome in a dark-blue tunic bordered with gold thread.

'To the beach banquet,' she said.

'Looking like that?'

'Looking like what?'

'Looking so grown up. As if you're sixteen years old, with all that dark stuff around your eyes – '

'Thank you,' she said, twirling her parasol. 'It's kohl – '

' – and the colour on your mouth and cheeks… Take it off.'

'What do you mean?'

'Go back to your room and take it off.'

'Who do you think you are?' she cried. 'You're not my pater!'

He leaned closer, his face still grim. 'And if your pater were here? What would he say?'

(from Roman Mystery XI, The Sirens of Surrentum)

Flavia encourages Flaccus

‘If there is any immortality to be had in this world,’ said Flaccus quietly, ‘it is through the things we write. Cicero made the right decision.’ He paused and looked up at her with his dark eyes. ‘You know, the anniversary of his death is the day after tomorrow.’

‘The day of the trial!’ breathed Flavia. ‘Do you think it’s an omen?’

‘I hope not,’ he said with a shrug, but she thought she saw him shiver.

‘Drink your wine while it’s hot,’ she said. ‘It will warm you.’

He dutifully took a sip from the steaming beaker.

A breeze from the garden brought a scent of winter jasmine and ruffled his glossy dark hair. Flavia tucked her feet under her and studied him. She always forgot how handsome he was, with his long, thick eyelashes and straight nose and sensitive mouth. She remembered that once she had imagined kissing those lips.

He looked up at her and she felt her cheeks grow warm.

‘Flavia,’ he said. ‘May I tell you something?’

‘Of course,’ she said brightly.

‘Something very personal?’

‘Yes.’ Her heart beat faster.

‘You won't laugh?’

‘I promise.’

He looked down at the scroll. ‘I’m terrified.’

‘Terrified? Of what?’

‘Of the trial.’ His voice was very low.

‘But why?’

‘I've never pleaded a case before.’

‘But you studied rhetoric, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. At the academy in Athens.’

‘And didn’t you say you were going to practise law in Rome?’

‘I’ve been so busy searching for a master criminal that I haven’t had a chance.’

‘Oh. But didn’t you plead cases when you were studying in Athens?’

‘Only practice cases, like the one about Cicero. This is real. Someone’s freedom is at stake. Maybe their life.’ He suddenly seemed very young and vulnerable, and she remembered he was not yet twenty.

‘Oh, Gaius!’ The leather armchair creaked as she sat forward. ‘You’ll be marvellous. You have the most marvellous voice, and you look marvellous in a toga and you know lots of Greek and... you’ll be marvellous!’ She felt herself flushing and wondered if she had gone too far.

‘You repeated the word marvellous too many times,’ he said.

But then he smiled at her, and she knew she had said exactly the right thing.

(from Roman Mystery XIII, The Slave-girl from Jerusalem)

Flavia gets a proposal from Flaccus

‘Flavia,’ he said, his voice deep with emotion. ‘Flavia, will you marry me?’

Flavia closed her mouth.

Flaccus smiled and moved out from behind her father’s desk. ‘We won’t have the betrothal ceremony until June,’ he said, ‘when you come of age. And we don’t have to have the actual wedding until you’re fifteen or sixteen.’ He took another step towards her and now he was so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his muscular body.

‘I just want to know that one day you’ll be mine,’ he said softly, and added, ‘I know you have feelings for me. I can see it in your eyes.’

Flavia’s heart was pounding and she could feel her resolve wavering. Floppy loved her. He loved her!

...From the house next door came the sudden thin cry of a baby...

Flavia swallowed and shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Gaius Valerius Flaccus,’ she said. ‘But I have just this morning taken a vow of chastity. I made a vow to Diana. Nubia and I have renounced men forever.’

(from Roman Mystery XIV, The Beggar of Volubilis)

Flavia gets a shock

‘Floppy!’ She dropped the hat and ran across the marble floor and threw her arms around him. ‘Oh, Floppy! I can’t believe you’re here!’

For a wonderful moment she was hugging his slim warm waist and smelling his musky cinnamon body oil and hearing his heart thudding against her ear. But instead of greeting her in return, he took her gently by the shoulders and pushed her away. His hands were trembling and his face was very pale. ‘Flavia Gemina,’ he stammered. ‘Is it really you? We all thought you were… That is…’ He gestured stiffly towards two young women standing in the shadows behind him. ‘Flavia, I’d like you to meet Prudentilla. My sponsa.’

(from Roman Mystery XVI, The Prophet from Ephesus)

Eheu! Floppy is engaged to a woman called Prudentilla! What do you think? Is he the One? Or should Flavia forget Floppy and go for someone else? All will be revealed in the final book of the series: The Man from Pomegranate Street... In the meantime, vote for your choice in the poll at the top of this page on the left.

P.S. Gaius Valerius Flaccus was a real person. Not much is known of him, only that he started an epic poem called the Argonautica in about AD 79 and... but I wouldn't want to spoil anything.

[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. There are DVDs of some of the books as well as an interactive game.]

Serendipity in Surrentum

'How I discovered the Villa Limona' by Caroline Lawrence

Villa of Pollius Felix from the Roman Mysteries Treasury

'Let's go on a holiday to Rome and Naples,' said my sister one day, on the phone. It was 2000. I was living in London with my husband Richard, she was raising two boys in California.

'OK,' I said. 'You book the hotel in Rome, and I'll try to find a villa near Pompeii.'

This would fit perfectly with my research. My next books - The Secrets of Vesuvius & The Pirates of Pompeii - would be set before, during and after the eruption of Vesuvius. I had decided that the uncle of Flavia, my main character, owned a farm in Stabia. I chose Stabia because it's near Pompeii, but not too near.

I phoned a travel firm that specialized in Italian villas.

'I'd like a villa big enough for six people near Stabia,' I said.

Silence. Then 'Do you mean Castellammare di Stabia?' she said. 'We don't have villas there.'

'Or anywhere near Pompeii,' I said. 'I want to be in the plain near Pompeii.'

Another pause. 'Most people stay in Sorrento if they want to visit Pompeii.'

'Do you have villas in Sorrento?'

'Of course.' She went on to describe a big house called the Villa Citrona. Not only was it luxurious, with stunning views, but it had lemon groves and an outdoor swimming pool. And was available for mid-October. The only drawback was that it was up in the hills and we would need to rent a car in Naples. But apart from that, it sounded blissful. The lady asked if I would like to book it. (above: not the swimming pool of the Villa Citrona, but a set from The Roman Mysteries TV series)

'Yes,' I said excitedly. 'But I have to ring my sister and confirm it with her. I'll phone you straight back.' I phoned my sister and told her about the Villa Citrona.

'Sure. Book it,' she said.

Villa of Pollius Felix today

I phoned the travel agent. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'Someone else has just reserved the Villa Citrona. But I can give you the Villa Magnolia, on the Capo di Sorrento.'

'All right,' I sighed, dejected. 'I suppose I'll take that.'

As soon as we arrived in Naples and took the Circumvesuviana train to Sorrento, I realised several things.

First, the area around Pompeii is flat, industrial and ugly. It may have been lush and beautiful in Roman times, but today it's covered with factories and a pall of smog. I'm glad we didn't book a villa in Stabia.

Secondly, it's suicide to rent a car and drive in that part of Italy. Here is a joke the Italians tell: In Milan, traffic lights are the law. In Rome, traffic lights are a suggestion. In Naples, traffic lights are Christmas decoration. I'm glad we didn't get the Villa Citrona after all; we would have had to drive everywhere.

Third, being shunted to the Villa Magnolia was one of the best things that could have happened.

The first day we arrived I wandered down to the coast road to explore. I saw a yellow sign: Ruderi Villa Romana di Pollio Felice 1sec d.C. (The first century ruins of the Roman Villa of Pollius Felix) I had never heard of any Roman ruins here on the Capo di Sorrento. I followed it down and soon I caught glimpses of the blue sea through the olive trees on my right. Then I came to the end of the road. Before me lay the headland and the clear remains of an ancient building. When I saw the secret cove, I knew this had to be the setting for the pirates’ base in The Pirates of Pompeii.

Pollius Felix from The Roman Mysteries TV series

Back in England I discovered that Pollius Felix had been a powerful patron – probably of Greek origin – who lived exactly during the time of Flavia and her friends. Even more exciting, his wife may have been Polla Argentaria, the widow of Lucan, a poet who was implicated in a plot against Nero and forced to kill himself. A poem by a Roman called Statius describes Felix's villa and a shrine to Hercules on the Cape of Surrentum.

Millie Binks as Pulchra

Pollius Felix and his wife Polla and their eldest daughter Pulchra (right: from The Roman Mysteries TV series) became some of the most important characters in my books, and two of my favourites in the series - The Pirates of Pompeii and The Sirens of Surrentum - are set at the Villa of Pollius Felix. There are still people in the area with the name Pollio and the beach next to this headland is called Puolo.

If we hadn't been shunted to the Villa Magnolia, I might never have learnt of the Villa of Pollius Felix in Sorrento.

By the way, SERENDIPITY is when you make an unexpected, lucky discovery.

P.S. Two of my Roman Mystery books are set at the Villa of Pollius Felix: The Pirates of Pompeii and The Sirens of Surrentum. And don't forget the Roman Mysteries Travel Guide. 

Vivat Minimus!

A dozen years ago, I was a Latin teacher at a small independent primary school in London. I used the Cambridge Latin Course, supplemented by my own worksheets. The Cambridge Latin Course was excellent, but suited to children older than those eight to ten, the ages of my pupils. I wish now that I'd had a course like the popular Minimus. But by the time Minimus series came out, I had left teaching to become an author. I finally got around to reading the first Minimus textbook last week... and I loved it! I emailed Barbara Bell - the creator - to compliment her, and as a result we agreed to meet for lunch in the Court Restaurant of the British Museum.

It is a lovely fluffy spring day in London. I am a little early for my appointment with Barbara so I make our reservations and then go for a walk up to Waterstones on Gower Street. In the children's book section I notice a man looking at one of my books. 'I wrote those books,' I say, 'and if you'll buy one of them, I'll sign it!'

'Thank you,' he says, smiling, 'but I think my children already have them all.'

I notice he is with a girl and a boy. Although I am not a natural saleswoman, my retail instincts kick in. 'Do you have the Roman Mysteries Travel Guide?' I ask, pulling that book off the shelf and holding it up. 'Or Trimalchio's Feast and other Mini-mysteries?' I hold up this book, too.

The girl and the boy shake their heads. In the end I sign Trimalchio's Feast to 'Tim' and Travels with Flavia Gemina to 'Alice'. That makes me very happy.

I walk to the British Museum and wait under the statue of the naked guy on the horse. I am reading Percy Jackson and The Sword of Hades, a world book day book. It's OK, but I'm not a huge fan of fantasy... I like the Groovy Greeks on the back though!

Barbara arrives exactly on time. She looks very elegant with stylishly cut hair and lavender outfit. She has to look nice; she is going to City Hall to meet the mayor Boris Johnson, and other Classicists, to talk about bringing the classics to inner city schools. Everybody knows our mayor is a Classicist. Yay! I hand her a signed first edition of The Slave-girl from Jerusalem to give to him. Why that particular book? Because it has lots about Roman oratory, and Boris loves oratory.

I give Barbara a signed first-edition of The Sirens of Surrentum because it is the most 'grown-up' and romantic. It turns out she loves Sorrento as much as I do and is going there in a few days! Here are some other things we have in common.

1. We both adore Italy and especially Sorrento
2. We both have a character named Flavia
3. We have both been to the Villa of Pollius Felix more than once
4. We both love the Latin language, and especially Virgil
5. We both have books set in Vindolanda...
(or at any rate she does now and I soon will!)

As we wait for our tuna steak to come, Barbara gives me some adorable Minimus Mini Stories, and then tells me some exciting news: the sales of Minimus textbooks have just passed 100,000!

We almost order champagne to celebrate, but then don't. Barbara needs a clear head for the mayor's important meeting!

Go Barbara! Go Boris! Go Classics in inner city schools! And Vivat Minimus! (Long live Minimus!)

For more info about the mouse that made Latin cool, go to http://www.minimus.com

And you might like to know that Minimus - I mean Barbara - always stays at the beautiful Hotel del Mare in Marina Grande. It has stunning views across the Bay of Naples to Vesuvius and is close to the Villa of Pollius Felix. I'm certainly going to stay there next time I visit Sorrento. Maybe I'll see you there!

Classical Association Award

On Sunday 5 April something wonderful happened. I received the Classical Association Award for 2009. This award is given every year to a person (or team of people) who help make the Classics more accessible and popular to the public.

I was very honoured because – apart from my sponge-stick (ancient Roman toilet paper) – it is the first award I have ever won for my books. It means a lot to me that the award was chosen by Classics-lovers and experts in their fields. The four previous winners are all brilliant and it’s a huge honour for me to be in their company: Barbara Bell of the Minimus Latin Course; Hugh Lupton and Daniel Morden for their War with Troy project; Tom Holland, who writes wonderfully readable historical best-sellers like Rubicon; and Peter Parsons, author of the fascinating City of the Sharp-nosed Fish (which I used a lot in my research for The Scribes from Alexandria).

I fly up to Glasgow on Saturday and arrive at the luxurious Crowne Plaza Hotel, close to some of Glasgow’s funkiest architecture. I explore Glasgow on Saturday evening and on Sunday I hear some fascinating talks, including one about the Villa of Pollius Felix (the speaker doesn’t suspect it plays a major part in two of my books) and one about about how teachers can use Latin poems as mnemonics to help you remember different meters. One of my favourite talks is given by Andrew Reinhard. It is about how to use Mobile Phones in Latin Class. (Only the title is longer) It’s great to meet Andrew. He is very enthusiastic and imaginative and has an exciting website, which is ‘more wired than a Roman internet café’. I think I’ll be hanging out there a lot.

Some of the talks are so full of information that they make my brain hurt. Classicists are fiercely intelligent. You want to be careful not to get your brain snapped in two by their trap-like minds. Someone with a very trap-like mind is Richard Seaford, who gives a 50 minute speech without notes to all the delegates. They call this a ‘keynote’ speech. Sometimes they also call it ‘plenary’, which just means that everybody goes. (To see what he said, read Mary Beard’s great synopsis on her blog, A Don's Life.)

After the speech there is a drinks party. I see Classics celebrity Mary Beard. She was at Newnham College the same time I was, many years ago. I am really enjoying her new book on Pompeii and I tell her so. The drinks party soon becomes a bit of a scrum so I nip up to my room to do a quick ‘tweet’. (Hmmm. I hope you don't misunderstand this...) When I come back down, 400 people have disappeared! Finally some of the hotel staff see me wandering around. ‘There she is,’ one says. They show me to a massive banqueting room which has magically appeared, like Brigadoon. A man with a walkie-talkie shows me to the top table. Gulp! I find myself sitting up there like one of the gods on Mount Olympus, with lots of luminaries of the Classical world. I try not to get my brain pinched by their trap-like minds. Luckily I make it through to dessert.

After dessert and over coffee, Emma Stafford, the publicity officer for the Classical Association, gives a wonderful synopsis of my books and then presents me with the Classics Association Prize. It is an envelope with a cheque for £5000 inside. Euge!

I try to make my acceptance speech short and sweet. Thanks to my trusty sponge-on-a-stick, it gets a laugh. I then promise to give away some free copies of The Pirates of Pompeii at the end. When the banquet is officially over, there is a little rush to the top table, but like all good British, they form an orderly queue. However, one delegate gets wine spilled on her beautiful dress in her hurry not to lose a place in the queue. Luckily I have one book left. (BTW, if you were at the conference and didn’t get your free copy, email me at flaviagemina AT hotmail.com with your name and address, and I’ll send you a copy for free.)

After I have given away the last book and said thanks to the organizers, I go up to my room, buzzing with happiness and gratitude.

On Monday, the morning after the banquet, there are some more tempting talks, designed to discourage delegates from leaving early. I hear two different talks on Erotic Greek Pottery (which always makes me think of Hysterium in A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum) and one about ‘Dr Who in Pompeii’! (only the title is longer) See? Classicists can have fun sometimes.

The best bit is when a stunningly beautiful Classicist named Joanna Paul gives a talk on Pompeii in the Modern Novel (only the title is longer) and I get a mention between Edward Bulwer-Lytton and Robert Harris. My joy is complete. I am laetissima.

Gratias maximas ago, Classical Association and Classical Association of Scotland!

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.]