A Mysterious Roman Vase

Back in April of 2009, I blogged about the Riddle of the Portland Vase: who are the figures depicted on it?

Yesterday Bonhams, the London-based antiquities dealers, announced they have another Roman cameo vase on loan from a mysterious owner. You can read about it HERE. This is very exciting news to all Roman historians, archaeologists and glass experts. If the vase is genuine, and not a clever fake, it could rival or even surpass the Portland Vase in fame. This vase is so 'new' that experts aren't even sure what to call it. I will call it the Bonhams Newby Vase**.

So far the pictures of it are so small that it is hard to see any detail, but it is possible to get a rough idea of what is happening.

On one side is an heroically nude beardless youth trying to calm a horse bull (see comments below). Beneath the horse bull a woman rises up out of the ground: maybe a personification of a river? On the hero's left is a woman with lots of babies or Cupids. There are more figures to her left, including a struggling pair?

On the other side of the vase is a bearded man on a throne holding what might be a trident: Neptune? He is turning his head to look at a man in a tunic on his right. The man is turned away. A woman is clinging to the man's leg as if asking for mercy. To the right of the seated god are three other figures, one of whom seems to be dancing, like a maenad. In front of her a boy may be clapping his hands.

Underneath the two main scenes is a battle between figures on horseback and foot soldiers. We might expect Greeks v. Amazons or Centaurs v. Heroes but the battle depicted on the vase is not either of these.

Experts will be poring over this vase during the next few weeks, trying to determine whether it is real. One of the tests they might perform is on the chemical content of the glass, which will contain amounts of lead. If the lead content of the white glass on the vase matches the percentage of lead content of the Portland Vase then it is almost certainly genuine.*

Despite the handicap of not being able to examine the vase in close detail, my detectrix Flavia Gemina might try to determine whether it was real or not by making a list of clues.

Clues that the Bonhams Newby Vase might be real.

1. The owner does not want to sell at the moment and if it was a fake, the main motive would be getting rich by selling it.
2. Though bigger, the Bonhams Newby Vase is similar in shape to the Portland Vase.
3. The figures on the vase are just as mysterious as those on the Portland Vase, a forger might go for a well-known scene.
4. The hair and drapery of the figures is so close to those on the Portland Vase that they might be from the same workshop.
5. The handles are almost identical to those on the Portland Vase.

Clues that it might be a fake.

1. Perhaps the shape and style is too similar to the Portland Vase!
2. At first glance, it seems coarser than the Portland Vase, but it might just need a good clean.
3. The scenes are much more crowded and not as 'artistically' composed.

On balance, Flavia would conclude that the Bonhams Newby Vase is genuine. (Or by a very skilled and diabolically clever forger!)

Want to know more about Roman cameo glass? A new book called Roman Cameo Glass in the British Museum will be out in March. It is written by a team of experts: Paul Roberts, William Gudenrath, Veronica Tatton-Brown and David Whitehouse.
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*P.S. My friend Mark Taylor, a Roman glass expert, says this:
The white glass will have lead in it, but it will not necessarily be similar in amount to that of the Portland Vase, though it would be nice if it was. Glass batches in the ancient world, although all based on a soda-lime composition, were different for virtually every potfull that was melted - due to the impurities in the raw materials and to the recycled glass that was added to the melt. They were also dependent on the required colour. If the compositions are very similar, then it is possible that the blanks were made within a day or so of each other.

**P.P.S. I have since decided that The Newby Vase is a better name than the Bonhams Vase. Martine Newby of the Ashmolean Museum is the clever scholar who first realised the worth of this big Roman cameo vase.

[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. A new series set in Roman Britain follows characters from the Roman Mysteries a dozen years later...]

Odysseus in Portus?

There is great excitement among Classicists and archaeologists about the University of Southampton's find of what may or may not be a luxury mini-amphitheatre in Portus, the imperial harbour fourteen miles west of Rome. I've just been looking at the pictures on the BBC photo gallery and saw this wonderful head of a bearded man (left) wearing what might be a pileus. The pileus was a felt skullcap, rounded or pointed. It could be the hat of a freedman, but also of a craftsman.

The bearded head from Portus made me think of a marvellous collection of oil-lamps I saw in Lipari (one of the Aeolian Islands in Sicily) in May. One of the oil-lamps depicts a bearded man wearing a pileus. His hammer and tongs show he is a blacksmith. His heroic nudity hints that he might be Vulcan, god of fire and the forge (and fish), and husband of Venus. I wonder if the bearded head from Portus could be Vulcan? According to Smith's Dictionary, Vulcan (AKA Hephaistos) was one of the few mythological figures who wore a felt skullcap. Also, Vulcan had a strong presence in Ostia, a few miles south of Portus.

But another famous character from Greek and Roman mythology often shown in a skullcap is Odysseus. The bearded head from Portus is very similar to the head of the Odysseus from Sperlonga , where the emperor Tiberius had a monumental sculpture of Odysseus blinding the cyclops in a grotto of his summer retreat. (The name Sperlonga comes from Latin speluncae i.e. "grottoes"). (below: bearded head from Portus & Odysseus from Sperlonga)


The monumental sculptural group of Odysseus blinding the Cyclops Polyphemus was a popular one. The emperor Domitian had a similar sculpture in a grotto of his imperial retreat on Lake Albano, fourteen miles southeast of Rome. I saw fragments of it last April when I toured the ruins of Domitian's Alban Citadel at the Pope's summer retreat in Castelgandolfo. Sadly, Polyphemus is all that survives of Domitian's monumental group. (below)


Other figures from Greek mythology who wore the felt skullcap were Charon the ferryman and Daedalus the craftsman and father of Icarus.

You can read all the reports about the 'luxurious mini-amphitheatre' at Portus on the official Portus Project site, but do also read Mary Beard's caveat!

[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. There are DVDs of some of the books as well as an interactive game. Teachers, check out the SCHOOLS page.]

Cleopatra in Bath

(Caroline Lawrence's review of the Thermae Bath Spa in the town of Bath)

After my talk at the Bath Festival of Children’s Literature, I thought it might be fun to try out the new luxury Thermae Bath Spa. Built of glass and stone, it is surrounded by Georgian Buildings. You book your session in advance and if you get one of their 50 special ‘treatments’, you get two hours in the baths as well. I studied the options as listed on their website and plumped for the ‘Cleopatra goat’s milk bath flotation and foot massage’. After all, this session was for research purposes.

You pay for your session in advance (I’m sure Cleopatra had a gold card) and you turn up half an hour beforehand with your swimming things. If you book a treatment, the Spa loans you a white robe and towel for no extra charge, and they give you white terrycloth slippers to use and keep. (If you just visit the pools and steam room you have to rent these three items or bring your own.) Upon entry, you are given a plastic bracelet called a ‘SmartBand’ which you use to open and close your locker and to pay for meals in the restaurant. Most efficient. I think Julius Caesar would have approved.

The partitions between the changing rooms and shower cubicles are a made of frosted glass in eau-de-nil (pale Nile-water-green). At first glance they look as if they might be see-through but thankfully, they aren’t. After changing into my swimsuit and stowing my belongings in locker number LXXI, I don the white robe and terrycloth slippers and shuffle off to the lower ground floor. You can get to different levels by lift or stairs.


There are skylights and glass walls everywhere, so you get a delicious sense of space and light. Well done, Vitruvius! (Or whoever designed it…)

For treatments, you go to the Minerva Bath on the lowest floor and follow a ramp up. The glass walls allow you to see people frolicking in the Minerva Bath as you wait. The Minerva Bath is a big curved swimming pool with a circular section for a whirlpool and a fan shaped downward-pointing spout for an intermittent jet of water. As I fill out a brief medical questionnaire and wait for my treatment, I notice lots of cuddling couples in the pool. Plus ça change. The Romans knew very well how sensual a few hours of steam and water and massage could be. I imagine Cleo and Anthony would have enjoyed that big warm pool.

At precisely 6.15, the time of my appointment, one of the therapists comes to get me. She is dressed in blue uniform like the scrubs they wear in American hospital TV shows. Natalie takes me into a private room with ambient generic new-age mood music. There is a ceiling fan, a shower and a treatment table.

Natalie is charming. She asks me a few questions based on the questionnaire, then tells me to ‘Take off your robe and swimsuit and lie down on the table, please.’

‘Naked?’ I ask.

‘No, you put on these paper panties.’

I notice the massage table is covered by two sheets of plastic, a towel and some alarming looking pieces of blue marsh grass.

‘Are you going to whip me with those first?’ I ask.

Natalie laughs as she removes them. ‘No, they’re for decoration.’

As she leaves me to get ready I wonder if Cleopatra ever wore papyrus panties.

Alma-Tadema Roman bath

I lie face down on the bed, with a towel over me. Natalie comes back in and gives me a rather cursory dry skin brushing with a natural fiber brush (camel hair, perhaps?) Then she slathers me with a warm mixture of goatsmilk, ‘minerals’ and aloe vera. I guess a whole bath of the stuff would be terribly expensive, but I am a little disappointed. I imagined myself descending into an Alma-Tadema circular marble bath filled with warm goatsmilk as muscular Nubian slaves fanned me with peacock feathers. Oh well…

The goatsmilk mixture gets cold very quickly and there is a lot of tactful faffing about with the towel to preserve my modesty. (When I had a hot fango mud treatment in Ischia, my female therapist encouraged me to slather my modesty myself.) After I am more or less coated in this quickly cooling milky mixture, Natalie wraps the two plastic sheets around me and puts a warm, rosemary filled eye-mask over my eyes. Now for the floatation bit. A cushion filled with warm water rises up around me as the platform beneath my back sinks down into its base. I can feel the cushion’s warmth on my arms and cheeks, along with a sensation of floating. This reminds me of waterbeds from the 1980’s, only the warmth makes it much nicer. Nicer still is when Natalie gently massages my feet – the only part of me still sticking out - with ‘Oriental oil’. This is good because otherwise the water-filled flotation cushion might be a bit claustrophobic; the gentle foot massage gives your mind another point of focus. The ambient music is still playing. Although I wish it was more exotic and Egyptian, this part is blissful. I even drift off once or twice. The bright yellow chime of a yoga bell brings me back to the here and now.

I feel ‘stretched out’ as the panel comes back up and the floatation device melts away. Most of the goatsmilk and aloe vera mixture should have soaked into my skin, but Natalie massages in the last remnants to make sure it is all absorbed. After the delicious warmth of the floatation cushion it is uncomfortably chilly as my naked back is exposed, and I ask her to turn off the ceiling fan. She removes the plastic sheets by having me lift up my back and then my legs and finishes massaging in the mixture.

A final chime of the bell marks the end of my session. Natalie says she will get me a glass of water and that I can then dress in my own time. She reminds me not to forget to put on my ‘SmartBand’. I have just finished dressing when she comes back with a plastic cup of water. She shows me an area where I could go to have a herbal tea and relax, but I forego that because I want to go up to the rooftop pool and see the sunset.

Eheu! I’m too late. The sun has already set and it’s a bit overcast now. But never mind. The town of Bath still looks lovely from up here, with the Abbey floodlit and the sky not quite dark. Again, I notice lots of canoodling couples in the water, most in their 20’s. Suddenly, some bubbles start to rise up. ‘Here they come,’ says a hairy-backed man to his girlfriend. The bubbles are pretty feeble. Nothing to write home to Julius Caesar about. And the pool isn’t as warm as I’d expected. When you get out it is quite chilly. Not as nice as the hot pool in Bamff, surrounded by snowly peaks. Another flaw is that the terrycloth slippers soon get sodden and cold. White plastic flip-flops would be better, but probably not as cheap to produce.

a Nile blue lotus

Next I go to the steam room one floor below the rooftop pool. This is a huge steamy room with a central shower and four large cylindrical frosted glass pods full of even more steam. In one of the pods I see a couple alone and embracing. Edepol! This place really is like Baiae, the ancient mixed baths of Rome. Baiae was notorious for bathing establishments with mixed sex bathing and the inevitable debauchery that went along with that.

Most people are up on the rooftop pool, so apart from the embracing couple and one or two others, the steam pods are empty. I find one pod for myself. A circular bench of stone is very warm, but not too hot to sit or lie on. I try out the frankincense steam, the lavender, and the breathless eucalyptus. Of course, eucalyptus is from Australia and was unknown in Roman times. Cleopatra would have enjoyed saffron, rose or lotus. The foot massage pools around the side of the room don’t seem to be working. For some reason the plugs don’t stop the water going out. So I have to forego the ‘gentle water massage’ on my tootsies. By Isis! This is not good.

not the Thermae Bath Spa, but Pamukkale, Turkey

There are three hot baths in the complex, including the Cross bath at a slightly removed site, now closed for the evening. In actual fact the pools are warm - not hot - and as it s a cool September evening, it makes it slightly a chilly exercise as I descend three floors to the Minerva Bath. The water in this pool is only lukewarm, too. I wish it were warmer, like the baths I tried in Pamukkale in Turkey a year or two ago. I wonder if this is the natural temperature of the springs. I remember seeing the milky green water in the great pool of the Roman bath next door steaming in the cool air above it and I suspect not. I wait in the lukewarm pool under the fan-shaped shower for the massage jet. One of the bathers tells me that it comes on unexpectedly. This seems a bit pointless. I wait for ten minutes and am finally rewarded with a powerful jet of lukewarm water. Would be nice if it were hotter. But I suppose that might lead to people overheating and health and safety issues. Hmf. Cleopatra never had to worry about health and safety.

Now I am getting hungry. I decide to visit the Spring Restaurant. You get two complimentary hours in the baths with any treatment, and if you eat in the Spring Restaurant they add on 45 minutes. Suddenly I realize I left my ‘SmartBand’ in my therapy room. Doh! That wasn’t very smart of me. Luckily Natalie turned it in at reception and they hand it back with a smile. The restaurant could be warmer, too. But I find a table by a window and sit down in my damp bathing suite and toweling robe. I blink in surprise as a man and woman in Georgian costume walk by on the night cobblestones below me. Apparently Bath is popular for Jane Austen-themed weddings.

I long for my notebook or iPhone so I can make notes, but have to content myself with sipping my glass of house white and watching the other diners. It is quite a surreal experience to be dining in a room full of people wearing white robes and slippers. One bespectacled man has tucked his dark green paper napkin into the neck of his robe. I think of Fellini’s great film 8 1/2, with all its great spa scenes.

My crab cakes with sweet chili sauce and lemongrass salad arrive. Ugh! The sauce and pineapple in the salad are cloyingly sweet and the crab cakes too fishy. I should have ordered the Greek salad in honour of Cleopatra, who was Greek not Egyptian. She would have dined on crocodile steaks and ibis tongues, no doubt.

Another flaw in the Thermae Bath Spa is that you have to go right to the lowest level to shower, then back up a floor to the changing rooms. And the showers demand that you constantly hit their buttons, otherwise they only give you ten seconds of water. Annoying. Chop off somebody’s head. (right: the Pink Panther and Scooby Doo outside the baths... don't ask!)

What would Anthony and Cleopatra think of the Thermae Bath Spa? Well, apart from the absence of oiled Nubian slaves with peacock-feather fans and full immersion pools of goatsmilk (wasn’t it asses’ milk, anyway?) they would have loved the look of the place: the pale Nile-water-coloured cubicles, the light, the glass, the water and the romantic atmosphere. They might have enjoyed a steamy embrace in the frankincense pod and a luxurious couples’ massage in the therapy rooms. But if I were Cleopatra, heads would roll about the following flaws:
1. Too chilly
2. Soggy, clammy terrycloth slippers
3. Foot massage pools malfunction
4. Cloying crab cakes
5. Too many hoi polloi! I want it all to myself!

You can book a treatment at the Thermae Bath Spa by phoning 0844 888 0844, or by visiting their website www.thermaebathspa.com

And you might enjoy my blog about Ugly Cleopatra.

[The 17 books in the Roman Mysteries series are perfect for children aged 9+, especially those studying Romans, Greeks or Egyptians as a topic in Key Stage 2. There are DVDs of some of the books as well as an interactive game.] 

Henslow's Rose

If you're a fan of the 1998 Oscar-winning film Shakespeare in Love, and if you're in London in the next few weeks, why not drop by the Rose Theatre? It's not a full reconstruction like The Globe (which is just around the block), but rather a real archaeological site. The Rose was built in 1587 by Philip Henslow. Who can forget Henslow (as immortalised by Geoffrey Rush) getting his feet toasted by a debt collector? Or some of his wonderful lines like: 'Love and a bit with a dog, that's what they like.' And: 'Strangely enough it all turns out well.' How? 'I don't know. It's a mystery.'

Henslow built the Rose and maintained it for two decades. For five of those years he even kept a diary. This diary, now at Dulwich College, is full of fascinating facts about the day-to-day running of an Elizabethan theatre. There are lots of delightful details like how much he spent on gold braid for the actors' costumes. Coincidentally, when archaeologists were digging on the site of the Rose, they found several lengths of gold braid. They also found a gold ring. And the thigh bone of a Russian bear! Apparently, as well as plays by Shakespeare and Marlowe, the Rose put on combats between bears and bulls, and sometimes mastiffs, too. Those Elizabethans loved a good bear-baiting!

Anyway, every Monday to Saturday evening at 6.00 for the rest of August, you can see a short film called 'The Genius of Chrisopher Marlowe'. Some of Britains best actors perform scenes from Marlowe's plays: Joseph Fiennes, Tobias Menzies, Alan Rickman, Ian McKellan, Rebecca Knight, Anthony Sher and Henry Goodman just to name a few. (above right: Alan Rickman as the Duke of Guise from Marlowe's Massacre at Paris)

After this delightful Marlowe-taster, one of the site historians will tell you something about the Rose and its history. Did you know it was only rediscovered in 1989? Did you know it was originally surrounded by canals for market gardens? Did you know that they didn't use blanks in prop guns but rather real bullets? In 1587 an actor waved his hand while firing a pistol on stage. The bullet killed a pregnant member of the audience and her baby, and it also wounded a man. Eek!

The 35 minute film and the talk only cost £4.50. Great value.

The Rose Theatre isn't hard to find. I went to Waterloo, then walked up to the river, going along the South Bank past the polka dot trees and the skateboard park and the second-hand bookstall outside the NFT and Gabriel's Wharf and the Millenium Bridge and the Tate Modern. Turn right at the reconstructed Globe and walk down New Globe Walk with The Globe on your right and Starbucks on your left.

Take the first left down Park Street (left) and walk for about a minute until you reached the door by the blue plaque (below). If you pass some stairs or go under the bridge, you've gone too far. The doors of The Rose usually open from 5.45pm on. (If the door isn't actually open, give it a push) The film starts at 6.00. While you're waiting for it to start you look down at the level of the original Rose which - like almost every building from the past - is below street level. The archaeologists have marked its outline out in red lights, so you can see how big it was and where the stage was. There's also literature about the Rose, a small model of it and info boards on the wall.

There are several productions planned over the next few months, all on a much more intimate scale than the Globe. From 17 - 29 August, the Carpe Diem Theatre Company will be performing Shakespeare's Othello. A performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream is also planned. For mid-winter! Unusual? Maybe. But I think it will turn out well. How do I know? 'I don't! It's a mystery.'

For information about The Rose Theatre, go to the official site: www.rosetheatre.org.uk. The address is: The Rose Theatre, 21 New Globe St, London SE1 9DT

Orpheus & Orphée

In Greek mythology, Orpheus was the Thracian musician who was so talented that he could charm wild animals and trees and even rocks with his music.

He went with Jason on his quest for the Golden Fleece and had a novel way of deactivating the dangerous song of the Sirens: he played his music to drown out theirs.

One day Orpheus (pronounced or-fee-uss) fell in love with a beautiful girl called Eurydice, (pronounced yoor-id-iss-ee). On their wedding day she was running through the grass when a deadly viper bit her foot. She died in the arms of Orpheus, her betrothed. He was so distraught that he decided to go down to Hades and plead with Pluto to let her take him back.

You know the story. With his beautiful music Orpheus charms the ferryman who guides souls across the River Styx. With his beautiful music Orpheus charms Cerberus, the three-headed watchdog. With his beautiful music Orpheus even charms Pluto and Persephone, the King and Queen of the Underworld. They tell him he can take Eurydice back to the land of the living. But there is one condition. He must lead the way and not look back at her until they have safely arrived.

Orpheus sets out on the upward-sloping path, groping his way because it is so dark and silent. As he ascends, he becomes more and more worried. He can’t hear his beloved Eurydice behind him. He begins to wonder if it could be a trick of Pluto to get him to leave peacefully. When the light from the exit up ahead begins to dimly light the way, he is desperate to glance back, just to reassure himself that she is behind him. But he does not dare. He tells himself to be strong and to resist the temptation to look. Just a little longer!

Finally he steps into bright sunshine. Immediately he turns to see if his beloved Eurydice is behind him. She is! But she is still in the passage, still in the underworld. Even as he watches, she recedes from sight, her arms stretched out hopelessly and helplessly towards him. In some versions the messenger god Mercury sadly takes her arm and stops Orpheus from following.

Orpheus is stunned by his wife’s double death. He is in a torment of guilt and grief. If only he had waited a few more moments! Some say he renounced music. Others say he renounced women. For whatever reason, the frenzied followers of Dionysus called ‘maenads’ (pronounced mee-nadz), become angry with Orpheus and eventually kill him and tear him limb from limb.

Nymphs Finding the Head of Orpheus 1900

According to some accounts his head rolls into a stream and floats away, singing as it goes. The artist J.W. Waterhouse has chosen to paint the moment when two startled nymphs discover the beautiful, almost effeminate head with the long hair tangled in the chords of the lyre. Were these two among the crazed women of the night before? Or are they innocent?

We don’t really know. All we know is that Orpheus is finally reunited with his beloved Eurydice. In death.


Another artist fascinated by the myth of Orpheus was a multi-talented French genius named Jean Cocteau who flourished in the 50’s. He was not only a filmmaker but also a brilliant artist (see his head of Orpheus at the top right of this post) and poet. His black and white film Orphée, made from 1949-1950 soon after WWII, is considered a classic. (Orphée, pronounced or-fay, is the French for Orpheus) In Cocteau’s retelling of the myth, Orphée is a handsome poet who is adored by all. He is married to a pretty blonde named Eurydice, whom he loves, but in a twist to the tale, he also falls in love with Death, who is personified as a beautiful almost vampirical woman in black. Death is in love with him, too. When Eurydice dies, Orpheus goes to the underworld with a version of Mercury called Heurtebise, (pronounced... no, there is no way I can transliterate that!). A nice twist is that Heurtebise is in love with Eurydice. The scenes of the underworld were filmed in parts of Paris still in ruins from German bombing. They are some of the most haunting and dreamlike footage you will ever see. Orphée and Heurtebise bring Eurydice back from the underworld, but Orphée is forbidden to look at her ever again. Not just on the way back, but FOR EVER. (see above)

This is too much to ask, of course, and one day he accidentally catches sight of her in the rear view mirror of his car. She instantly returns to the underworld. Orphée goes back a second time and, in a poignant twist, Death decides to give him back Eurydice, even though she must suffer a punishment for this, and even though it means Orphée will not even remember her.

Cocteau introduces elements of other myths. For example, Death is like Persephone, who loved Adonis. Cocteau also likes the Narcissus myth. He uses mirrors a lot, in particular as the entrance to the underworld. These are some of the most breathtaking sequences. My favourite scene is where Orphée must put on magic gloves to pass through the mirror to the underworld. For this effect, Cocteau used a vat of mercury, because the actor’s fingers would have been visible beneath the surface of water. In this sequence there are several tricks. First, the footage of Orphée putting on the gloves is reversed. Second, the cameraman filmed his own gloved hands approaching those of the actor Jean Marais, who is in an identical room on the other side of the ‘mirror’. Third, the camera was tilted 90% to film the hands going into the vat of mercury. You can see the mirror sequence HERE.

The strongest reference to the Narcissus myth is in a sequence where Orphée awakens and hovers over a mirror-like pool. (below)

For me this is especially fascinating as I’m currently working on my own reworking of the Narcissus myth.

I was inspired to write this after visiting a Waterhouse exhibition at the Royal Academy in London. You can watch Orphée on the Criterion DVD (US) and in Europe and the UK there is an excellent DVD produced by the BFI with extras including an audio commentary and booklet about the making and makers of the film.

P.S. Thanks to Rod McKie, my twitterpal, for recommending that I re-visit Cocteau's 1950 masterpiece!

P.P.S. I was so inspired by this painting that I wrote my own Ode to Orpheus called Thracian O.

Thracian O

(inspired by J.W. Waterhouse's Nymphs finding the Head of Orpheus)

Thracian O
by Caroline Lawrence

My tears are small and bitter and hard to squeeze out.
What do you expect? I’m a raccoon.
I half resent him for making me feel this way…
Half love him, too. I want to rub up against his calf,
To kiss his ankle with my small wet nose.
But something in his manner keeps us at all a distance
Even though his music ensnares and attracts us,
We are held in his Thracian thrall. Gripped by his woodland notes.
Those rainbow chords strummed out on his lyre.
That throbbing net of music that holds me – paralysed – next to
Brother Wolf. (The Grey One will probably gobble me whole
The moment O puts down his lyre. More of embarrassment
Than instinct, I suspect - a desire to eliminate
any creature who witnessed his tears.)
O’s fingers pluck the dried stretched entrails of my pal,
A mountain lynx who perked his tufted ears and came too close
‘Pluck me,’ squeals my dead amigo. ‘Pluck me, baby!’

He fell in love once, our Thracian bard,
But she was one of those ethereal types: too beautiful to last long.
You know the type. Marble skin, laughing eyes, pillowy lips.
The kind of girl the cosmos likes to snuff out
Between its forefinger and thumb?
Brother Snake snacked on her heel one afternoon,
Trading her sweet blood for his poisoned saliva.
Not such a good deal if you ask me.
But she was running barefoot and carefree at the time,
All annoying with her slo-mo flying hair and backward glances,
luring O on, making him put down his lyre, taking him from us.
Serves her right for being all carefree and happy and barefoot.
Besides, he didn’t play as much when he was with her.
They did other things instead. Like get grass stains on their tunics.
Selfish O. Selfish E. We craved his music, like a drug.
But she kept him from us. So she had to go.
Even Brother Wolf hoped that now E was dead and gone
O would get back to his Woodland Tour.

The maenads felt the same way. They really resented E,
That groupie par excellence. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised
To learn that one of them had planted that snake in the grass
Just so he’d come back to us, his fans. But he didn’t come back.
He went away. And the woods were dark and rank
And empty and dank without him. For a long time.
We missed him. Missed his music. How dare he?
We never asked for his lachrymose music. But it was like
A drug. We craved it. He got us hooked. And then to just leave us?
Like a dealer leaves his junkie hanging around?
When we could be getting some useful scavenging done?

We skulked and moped and did some half-hearted foraging
The carnivores forced themselves to swallow a few herbivores.
I tell you: the latter went willingly. The pleasure had gone out of life
For us all. Then one day the trees themselves whispered the rumour
With rejoicing leaves; ‘He’s back! Back from death.
Back from the underworld!’ The aspen shuddered with pleasure.
The oak stood frozen with joy. The trees clapped.
See? Even they love his music. Hell, even the rocks like his music.

And then… Then he does nothing but mope. Come on, O!
Snap out of it! We’re waiting, man. We bought our tickets last year.
We’ve all been waiting. I camped out in line for three days
So I could get this seat near the front.
And now you say you’re retiring? I’m sorry, but no. That won’t do.
The maenads start the rave without him and then he appears
All sulky and in an artistic funk, saying his manager betrayed him.
And he refuses to play! Those crazy nymphs are furious.
Incandescent. One of them starts to beat him
With her thyrsus. The others join in. They just want to be noticed.
They all want a piece of him. Odi et amo, baby. They love him
And they hate him. One of them is kissing him while
Another bites off his toe. One nibbles his ear. Literally.
Then they get carried away and tear him limb from limb.
The fingers that plucked the strings? Scattered and bloody in the grass.
The arms that cradled the lyre? Pulled out of their shoulder sockets
And tossed away. One arm up a tree, the other down a ravine.
It was too hard to pull the legs from the torso.
So they left that. And trust me, there are some bits
You don’t even want to know about. And what about his head?
His beautiful rock-star head that we loved to gaze upon?
Floating down the stream, dude. Floating down the stream.

And then the next day they see his head and they’re like: ‘Ohmygod!
What happened?’ Stupid nymphs. Still, now I can get back to business.



J.W.Waterhouse: The Modern Pre-Raphaelite was on at the Royal Academy in 2009 but it has NOW FINISHED. You can read some of my thoughts about this painting at my blog called Orpheus & Orphée. And you can read my takes on these other paintings by Waterhouse: Ariadne, Hylas, Adonis, Narcissus and Circe.

[Despite the slightly risqué flavour of this poem, Caroline Lawrence's Roman Mysteries are perfect for children aged 9+, especially those studying Romans as a topic in Key Stage 2. There are DVDs of some of the books as well as an interactive game.]

Who Mourns Adonis?

I am currently writing a book about the most beautiful boy in the world in the year AD 96. In my book, everyone keeps calling him ‘Adonis’. That’s because in the Graeco-Roman world that name was synonymous for a beautiful youth. We still call a very good-looking young man ‘an Adonis' today. In Greek mythology, Adonis was so beautiful that he was loved by the Queen of the Underworld (Persephone), by Hercules(!) and by the goddess of love herself: Aphrodite (AKA Venus).

Have a look at the painting by J.W. Waterhouse, below. What do you think is happening?

At first glance it looks like Sleeping Beauty with the genders reversed, doesn’t it? As if a beautiful youth is stretching and waking up having just been kissed by a pink-clad nymph. But the painting is telling a much sadder story. The youth is Adonis and he is dying. The woman crouching over him is Aphrodite herself and her Cupids are giving us clues. Ovid wrote about Adonis in his Metamorphoses, but it seems Waterhouse found more inspiration from a Greek poet named Bion who probably lived in the first century BC.

Bion’s Lament for Adonis also inspired Percy Bysse Shelley, the famous Romantic poet, whose poem Adonaïs may have influenced the writers of Star Trek when they called episode 31 ‘Who Mourns for Adonais’ (below)

There are several versions and variations of the original Adonis myth, but here is the basic story. The beautiful youth Adonis loves to hunt and when Aphrodite begs him not to go, he just laughs. But Aphrodite’s worst fears are realised one day when a fierce boar gores Adonis in his upper thigh. Ovid, never one to pull his punches, tells us he was pierced in the groin. (ouch!) As Adonis lies bleeding to death, Aphrodite hears his groans and comes running. As she bends down to kiss him, she catches his dying breath.

‘Wake up, Adonis, for just a moment more, and kiss me one last time! Your briefest kiss will last my lifetime. I want to taste your inmost soul in my mouth and my heart, to breathe your last breath, to drain your sweet love-potion, to inhale all your love.’

Bion describes Adonis’s purple garments, his white thigh struck by the white tooth, the cries of Echo, and the crowd of mourners - hunting dogs, nymphs and Loves (Cupids) - who attend the dying youth. According to Bion, one Cupid treads on Adonis' arrows, another on his bow, one loosens his sandals, one brings water in a golden bowl and one fans him with his wings. Waterhouse has left out Echo and the other the nymphs, as well as the hunting dogs, but he has included the Cupids with a few changes. For example, in Waterhouse’s painting the only winged Cupid is shown blowing out a torch, to symbolize the extinguishing of life.

Bion says the drops of blood become roses and Aphrodite’s tears become anemones. That is another clue that Waterhouse was reading Bion as well as Ovid, who only mentions anemones. (If you don’t know what an anemone looks like, just look at Waterhouse’s painting. They are red and pale lavender.)

It’s too bad this was not one of the paintings on display at the Royal Academy. I would love to see it up close.

P.S. I have also blogged about Waterhouse’s interpretation of the myths of Narcissus, Hylas, Ariadne, Circe, Odysseus and also about Orpheus and the French film Orphée by Jean Cocteau. I even penned an Ode to Orpheus inspired by the Waterhouse painting Orpheus and the Nymphs. I even found out that the model for Adonis might have been an Anglo-Italian teenager living in Fulham London in the late 1800s.

P.P.S. I ended up writing different books called The Roman Quests. But beautiful ‘Adonis’ appears in those books. He calls himself ‘Castor’ and when he is 13 he discovers he has a twin brother who was kidnapped in infancy, grew up in Britannia and calls himself ‘Raven’. 

[My Roman Mysteries books are perfect for children aged 9+, especially those studying Greeks & Romans as a topic in Key Stage 2. The glossy BBC Roman Mysteries TV series did adaptations of some of these books. They are available in the UK and Europe on DVD.] 

Discovering Buffy

The year was 1999. I had been teaching for ten years. I had been married to Richard for eight. For the first time we had enough money to visit my family in California. Off we flew. Richard's very first trip to the USA.

We fly to LA. My brother Dan picks us up from LAX. We have dinner with him and his lovely wife Meredith in a TexMex place somewhere up high and watch the sun set over the beach where Nic Cage and his angels stand and where the Baywatch people run in slo-mo. That's where my brother and Meredith lived. Santa Monica. Where Route 66 hits the sea at Pacific Palisades. If you have to live in LA, Santa Monica is the place to live. You can reach everything on foot and it’s by Venice Beach and the boardwalk and it has the palm-lined streets and those little pastel houses that are all the best bits of LA.

The next morning my brother has to go to work. But Meredith says she’ll give us the LA tour. Bless her. She drives us through Beverley Hills and Bel Air. Then we drive to the UCLA campus.

Me: 'Why?'

Meredith: 'It's pretty. Also, we can get out and walk.’

Me: 'Walk? In L.A.? Cool.'

Richard (doing his Woody Allen impersonation): 'I can walk to the curb from here.'

Meredith: ‘Oh, look at the big catering trucks. They must be filming something here. Let’s go see.’

Sure enough, down by the student union we see cranes and cameras and people with clipboards.

‘What are they filming?’ asks Meredith, a native Los Angelean.

Random undergraduate: ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Season Four. Opening episode.’

Me: 'I've heard of that. Simon watches it.'
(Simon is my son. Ten years ago he was a teenager, old enough to be left at home with the cat and an air-pistol.)

We stand around for a while watching them set up the shot. It is July. It is hot. I am wearing a pale pink silk blouse over black leggings. Richard has a green silk shirt and a straw hat. Meredith wears cream linen.

Random undergraduate: 'There she goes. There's Sarah Michelle Gellar.'

Meredith: 'She's so short. Smaller than you'd expect.'

A gum-chomping girl with a clipboard comes up to us: ‘Want to be extras?’ she chomps.

We look at each other. ‘Sure,’ we shrug.

‘OK,’ chomps the girl. ‘You three stand over here by these three girls and when the director says "ACTION" act really jazzed to see each other. Like you’re friends who haven’t seen each other all summer. *chomp, chomp* Oh, and don’t look at the camera.’

We do as ordered. A couple of times. We act jazzed. We don’t look at the camera up on its crane. We do it with 'more energy'. We do it with 'less energy'.


‘Imagine,’ I say to Richard that evening. ‘Your first trip to America. You haven’t been in the country a day and already you’re in the movies.’

A week later we leave lovely Santa Monica to go visit my parents and my sister up north in the San Francisco Bay Area. That was the week my sister suggested I ‘write a book for kids, set in Pompeii.’ My ‘light-bulb’ moment.

Back in London, I write the first draft of The Thieves of Ostia over the last two weeks of the summer holidays.

A few months later, we watch Buffy Season Four opening episode, just to see ourselves. You can easily see me with my fluffy hair and pink shirt and black leggings with my back to the camera next to Richard in his hat. Turns out they used that high crane establishing shot for some classic episodes. So Meredith, Richard and I are in The Freshman, Hush and Pangs.

And that was how we discovered the best TV series in the history of the universe. When people ask me which four famous people living or dead I’d like to have lunch with, I always say Jesus Christ, Mary Renault, Mark Twain and Joss Whedon. Joss is a genius.

Bless Joss. Bless Buffy. Bless Meredith. Bless LA. Bless the summer of 99!

P.S. Forgot to mention that I met Anthony ('Giles') Head last year while he was filming outside our riverside flat here in London!

Silchester Open Day 09

Calleva Atrebatum, AKA Silchester, was made famous by Rosemary Sutcliffe in her classic historical novel Eagle of the Ninth. In her forward to the book, she writes this. During the excavation at Silchester... there was dug up under the green fields which now cover the pavements of Calleva Atrebatum, a wingless Roman eagle, a cast of which can be seen in the Reading Museum. Different people have different ideas of how it came to be there, but no one knows, just as no one knows what happened to the Ninth Legion after it marched into the northern mists...

On Saturday 18 July 2009, the University of Reading held one of its two annual Open Days at the site. (The second Silchester open day will be held on the 2nd of August, but the site is also open to visitors 10-4:30 every day except Fridays.) It was a perfect day. Sunny, with a cool breeze and fluffy clouds. The crowds poured in. Archeology students at the University of Reading who are digging on the site were encouraged to dress up... and it didn't have to be Roman.

There were tours of the site for adults and for children. Children could also try digging and recording grids. They saw a garden with Romano British plants and learned how to wash finds. Some of the most exciting artefacts were on display. Brooches, keys and coins. Kids could even get a Celtic tattoo (like Joseph, right).

My brilliant pal Hella Eckhardt (below in the blue shirt) invited me to come do some talks at the Open Day. Hella is a lecturer in the department of Archaeology. She is doing research on isotopes which prove that people came to Britannia from all over the Roman Empire. She gave me three lovely helpers, enthusiastic young archaeology students named Lydia, Laura and Zoe. They told me how much they loved being archaeologists.


When you first see the site, it looks like a big dirt field with lots of confusing holes and trenches, but when the site director Amanda explains it, it comes alive. Amanda's nephew Felix (below) is a top fan of the Roman Mysteries and he had brought a bagful of books for me to sign. He was brandishing a big wooden sword so you can bet I signed them cheerfully and without complaining.

I did the kids' tour, because they always tell you about the interesting things like toilets and food. After lunch I went up to the church (built on the site of a temple) and gave my talk called 'How to Write a Roman Mystery'. Thanks to Hella it was very well attended and I met some wonderful fans and scholars both young and old!

At the end of the day, Laura and Zoe showed me the Roman amphitheater. Apparently the male diggers play extreme frisby here on their free afternoons and the girls sit on the verge and cheer. 'Why don't you play, too?' I ask my lovely and vivacious guides. 'Oh,' says Zoe, 'They get very competitive and quite fierce.' After a long day of digging and their games of extreme frisby, the young archaeologist go to the local pub which provides special 'Diggers' Dinners'.

If you like history, camping, pub food, digging in the dirt and extreme frisby, then archaeology is obviously the career for you!

For more info on Calleva Atrebatum check out my blog entry on Roman Silchester from two years ago!
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Gory Roman Medicine

I've just spent the weekend in Wales at a Roman site called Caerleon. Known as 'King Arthur's Mount' it is the site of a Flavian fort and amphitheatre. (Flavian means it was built during the reign of the three Flavian emperors: Vespasian, Titus and Domitian). The fort was probably started about AD 75 as part of the Roman conquest of Britannia. In addition to the amphitheatre, which lay just outside the fort walls, there are remains of barracks, a giant smithy and a bath house. Excavator Peter Guest says it's an archaeologist's dream because nobody has built over the fort since Roman times. The fields have mainly been used as rugby pitches.

Anyway, the annual Military Spectacular put on by the National Legionary Museum of Wales was held last weekend (11 & 12 July 2009). As well as the fabulous Ermine Street Guard (more on that in another blog) there were falconers, like young Aaron (above left), two Roman doctors and the most famous Romano British cook in Britain: Sally Grainger.

My old friend Sally does all her Roman cooking on proper Roman hearths with coals and everything. She uses ancient recipes, especially those of Apicius, and has been on TV documentaries. She is probably one of the most accurate 'Roman' cooks in the world. Helped by her faithful partner Chris, she made a delicious patina of mushrooms, leeks, lovage, eggs, liquamen and honey. Here she is adding the honey. 'Patina' was the name for the pot as well as the dish (like casserole). The dish was what you see and the result was a kind of crustless quiche. In my books, Alma often cooks Flavia and her friends a nice patina. (Come to think of it, Alma is a lot like Sally!) She let me try her mushroom and leek patina. It was delicious.

I also met someone new: Roger Morgan AKA Gaius Festus Severus, a Roman doctor or 'medicus'. Like Doctor Mordecai in my books, he believes a doctor should bleed only in certain circumstances, not as a panacea. In the film clip below, Festus demonstrates how bleeding is done on a boy who seems to have a swollen hand. (The 'swollen hand' was actually one of those big foam hands with the thumb out so you can do a giant thumbs-up or thumbs-down, but I didn't want to spoil the doctor's fun)



Festus also showed me how trepanning is done. Trepanning is when you remove a circular piece of the skull to relieve pressure after a concussion. As Festus explained, it is known from neolithic times. I found his demonstration absolutely fascinating.

Circe Invidiosa

One of the most striking paintings in the Waterhouse exhibition at London's Royal Academy is a tall painting of a beautiful woman tipping luminous turquoise water into an azure pool. It is a luscious vision of blue green.


Going closer, I see the title is Circe Invidiosa: Jealous Circe. I know who Circe is - the sorceress who turned Odysseus men in to swine - but I don't know this particular story. So I do some detective work. Ovid. Metamorphoses. Of course.

In Metamorphoses Book 14, Ovid tells of a fisherman named Glaucus who comes to Circe with a problem. He loves a girl named Scylla. She lives on the island of Sicily and although he has courted her in every manner, she has rejected him. Circe looks Glaucus up and down and says 'Forget love potions. Become my lover. Spurn the one who spurns you and reward she who admires you, and in that one act be twice revenged.'

'Seaweed will grow on the hills,' says Glaucus, 'before I love anybody but her.'

The sorceress is furious and decides to take revenge, not on Glaucus, whom she decides she loves, but on the innocent Scylla. Circe Invidiosa (jealous Circe) prepares a terrible potion and pours it in the grotto where Scylla goes to bathe. As soon as Scylla steps into the pool, the 'water around her groin erupts with yelping monsters'. Seven dogs' heads rise snarling out of the sea. Scylla screams and tries to slap them away. But every blow causes her pain because they are part of her. Her lower limbs have become horrible man-eating dogs.

Revolted and traumatized by this metamorphosis, the once-beautiful Scylla takes shelter in a grotto near the straits of Messina, the place where Sicily almost touches the toe of Italy. And when sailors pass by, her monstrous dog-heads dart out and gulp them down still living. Poor Odysseus loses six men this way.


Waterhouse has shown Circe wearing a stunning gown of peacock feathers. The poison matches her dress. It is a luminous turquoise, like a liquid jewel. But this beautiful mixture will cause unimaginable horror and pain to poor innocent Scylla. Mercifully, the monsterfied girl is eventually turned into a rock, and so her suffering ends.



Note that Circe is shown standing on one of her many beasts in thrall, a kind of dog-faced sea creature that hints at what is to come.

Nowhere does Ovid say Glaucus is good looking, so why does Circe want his love? I think Circe is like one of those beautiful girls who wants every man to desire her, and always pursues the one man who doesn't. Ovid describes her as passing through a crowd of fawning animals. These are enchanted men who have drunk the potion of Circe's beauty and have been made bestial by their desire for her. Although she has a crowd of admirers, she wants Glaucus, the one man who seems resistent to her beauty. But you know that if ever he was ensnared by her and professed his love, she would soon grow bored with him.

J.W.Waterhouse: The Modern Pre-Raphaelite was an exhibition at London's Royal Academy in 2009. It is now finished, kaput, over.

If you liked this post check out my takes on these other paintings by Waterhouse: Ariadne, Hylas, Adonis, Narcissus and Orpheus.

[The Roman Mysteries books are perfect for children aged 9+, especially those studying Romans as a topic in Key Stage 2. The BBC televised some of the books and you can get DVDs.]