A Dirty Dozen Roman Artifacts

by Caroline Lawrence
(this is a longer and "Americanized" version of an article I wrote for the Classical Association Blog)

Whenever I visit schools to talk about my books set in Ancient Rome, I bring along some of my favorite artifacts. Most of these aren't real antique objects, but convincing replicas made by my re-enactor friends or bought in museum gift shops. But they are close enough to the original to give children a visible, tangible idea of how 1st century Rome differed from 21st century Britain or America. I let the kids look at them, sometimes handle and sniff them, even taste them. The Roman poet Martial mentions some of these artifacts in his fourteenth book of Apophoreta, poetic Saturnalia gift-tags. In these charming two-line epigrams the gifts sometimes speak in first person. e.g. the bedroom lamp which promises that no matter what it sees, tacebo: 'I won't talk.'

These artifacts help me get a little closer to the mindset of a first century Roman. Quite a few of them end up appearing as clues in my Roman Mysteries series of books. Here are a dozen of my favorites.

I. Clay oil-lamp

A clay oil-lamp like this reminds us that Romans had no electricity. Roman houses would have been dimly lit at night and smoke-streaked during the day. Fire was a constant risk. This fun oil-lamp in the shape of a sandalled foot is a replica of an oil-lamp found in Londinium. I bought this particular lamp at the Museum of London and as you can see from the scorched big toe, I've tried it out. It even has hobnails on the bottom. In my third Roman Mystery, The Pirates of Pompeii, Jonathan tells oil-lamp jokes (the ancient equivalent of light-bulb jokes) to cheer up children captured by pirates.

II. Strigil

This strigil or scraper reminds us that Roman bathing habits were very different from ours. They didn't use soap, but oil (hence the bottle) in a public ritual of oiling up, exercising, steaming, sweating and then scraping with the strigil. As you pulled the strigil across your sweaty skin, it would remove the oil, and along with it the layer of dead skin cells, dirt and sweat. You would get a bath attendant or slave to do your back. In Martial 14.51, a strigil tells us that if you regularly use him you won't have to take your towel to the cleaner's so often. Even more exciting is the claim by Pliny the Elder in his Natural History that some gladiators collected their scrapings (charmingly called gloios) and sold the disgusting mixture to rich Roman ladies.
To find out how rich Roman women used gladiator scrapings, read the sixth Roman Mystery, The Twelve Tasks of Flavia Gemina.

III. Wax-tablet

Wax tablets like this one remind us that Romans didn't have email or text messages, or even a cheap version of writing paper. You had to use parchment, papyrus, thin sheets of wood, or re-usable wooden tablets with wax in a shallow depression. You would use a tool called a stylus with a sharp end for writing and a flat end for rubbing out. The wax on the famous tablets from Vindolanda has long gone, but clever archaeologists can still make out traces of letters and words in the wood underneath. In my fourth Roman Mystery, The Assassins of Rome, my mute character, Lupus, figures out how to retrieve a life-or-death message which disappeared after blazing summer sunshine melted the wax on an open tablet.

IV. Bleeding cup

This large bleeding cup (they also come in small) reminds us that Romans had a different concept of medicine and health. Bronze bleeding cups were used for both ‘dry’ and ‘wet’ cupping. In dry cupping, a flaming piece of lint was put in the cup and then applied to skin. The flame immediately went out and a vacuum sucked out the "bad humor". In wet cupping the doctor made an incision in your arm and drained a cupful of blood. This was the Roman equivalent of taking two aspirin. There must have been some benefit, people have been doing this since Roman times. A few years ago, the actress Gwyneth Paltrow was seen with distinctive marks of 'dry cupping' on her back. In my seventh Roman Mystery, The Enemies of Jupiter, there is a plague in Rome. Nubia and her friends see first-hand how bleeding is done by both experts and quacks. Not for the squeamish!

V. Roman spoon

A spoon like this reminds us that food was a constant preoccupation of the Romans. The strange kink in this spoon is a relic of spoons that could be folded in half for easier carrying in a belt-pouch. If invited to dinner, you took your own spoon. Some Romans took their own napkins, too. As well as dabbing your mouth, you could use it to carry home leftovers as a sort of 'doggy bag'. The sharp end on the spoon is for spearing goodies previously cut into bite-sized pieces by helpful slaves. Some spoons had little hooks on this end; they were snail-spoons. Martial's snail-spoon says, "I'm useful for eggs as well as snails, so why do they call me a 'snail-spoon'?" (Martial 14.121) There were no forks in Roman times, apart from the big ones used by gladiators, that is. I had fun with a dinner party scene from my first Roman Mystery, The Thieves of Ostia.

Alma proudly carried in the first course and set it on the table: sea snails fried in olive oil, garlic and pepper. The snails had been placed back in their shells and Alma handed each diner a special spoon with a small hook at one end to extract the snail...Flavia showed Jonathan how to extract a snail and then watched as he gingerly picked up one of the shells between finger and thumb and hooked out its contents. He paused to examine it: the snail was small and twisted and rubbery and brown. Jonathan closed his eyes, took a deep breath and put it in his mouth. (The Thieves of Ostia, p 37 )

VI. Nuggets of gum mastic

These little nuggest of mastic resin from the Greek island of Chios remind us that in many ways the Romans were just like us; this is their version of chewing gum.  I bought these in a small shop on the island of Kos, famous for its medical sanctuary. To me, mastic tastes like a combination of cumin and carrot, only sweeter. Pop one of these in your mouth and chew for a few minutes then take it out. It will have gone white, just like modern chewing gum. In fact you can still buy mastic gum today in Greece or in specialist shops. They say chewing it is good for stomach complaints. And of course it freshens your breath, like the fennel seeds in the bowl above. We know from Martial 14.22 that you could even get toothpicks made of gum mastic. In my ninth Roman Mystery, The Colossus of Rhodes, Flavia meets a good-looking, rich Roman patrician on his "gap year". He makes a bad first impression by ignoring her and also by chewing gum:

Gaius Valerius Flaccus 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.' (The Colossus of Rhodes, p14)

VII. Phallic amulet

This fascinum or charm reminds us that the Romans were deeply superstitious. This little willy flanked by two big ones wasn’t rude; it was designed to avert the evil eye. You can see a few tiny phallus amulets in the Roman Life Room of the British Museum, they were specially for babies and young children, who were particularly vulnerable. You can also see bigger "wind chime" versions with wings and bells on, to protect the whole house. I bought this particular replica at a Roman site (Empúries) in Spain. I had fun introducing this on the very first page of The Colossus of Rhodes:

Lupus stared in amazement at the little bronze pendant hanging from its linen cord. 
It was shaped like a part of the body. 
Part of a boy's body. 
A very private part of a boy's body. 

VIII. Glass ‘chariot beaker’

Beautiful glass beakers like this remind us that Romans had the ancient equivalent of souvenir mugs. This authentically-made mold-blown cup by Roman Glassmakers David and Mark is a replica of one from Colchester in Britannia (known as the "Colchester Cup"). Although none of this exact type have been found in Italy, versions of it must have been sold in the Circus Maximus, for it shows the spina (central barrier) of that arena in the middle band. Below the spina are four quadrigae. Right at the top, the charioteers are named: Antilochus, Hierax, Olympas and the winner Crescens, who holds his right hand up in triumph.
Naturally this beaker makes an appearance in my chariot-race-themed Roman Mystery, The Charioteer from Delphi, where Flavia and her friends meet an ancient Roman version of David the Roman Glassmaker. And of course all the charioteers named in the beaker make appearances, too.

IX. Wooden dice

Dice remind us that the Romans adored board games and games of chance, even though gambling was illegal apart from during the Saturnalia. When I visit schools, I bring cheap wooden dice in a wooden shaking cup. What I'd really like to bring is this beautiful rock crystal die from room 69 – the Roman Life Room – in the British Museum. I love this artifact so much that I made it a vital clue in my first book, The Thieves of Ostia, about dog-murder in Rome's ancient port. Martial's die claims to be better than knucklebones, which were also used for gambling (Martial 14.15) I also have an amusing scened at the beginning of The Twelve Tasks of Flavia Gemina, where the Geminus household are throwing dice to see who will be crowned 'King of the Saturnalia'. When Flavia's turn comes she uses one of Lupus's special 'shaved dice' to ensure that she wins. Cheat!

X. Brass seal box for wills

This little teardrop-shaped bronze seal box reminds us that Romans were concerned with law, order and munus (duty). It was every Roman’s duty to make a will and have it properly witnessed and stored. Wills were written on wooden wax-tablets, then bound and sealed, often with a small bronze box like this. You dripped sealing wax into the open box and it would stick to the wood and twine wrapped around it. There would be no way of opening the will or altering it without disturbing the seal. In this picture we see the underside of the seal box with holes for the wax to leak through. My unlucky thirteenth Roman Mystery, The Slave-girl from Jerusalem, has lots to do with will-making, death and funerals.
You can buy a seal box like this and in different models online at Armamenta.

XI. An ‘as’ of Domitian

This bronze coin reminds us that Romans were among the first to use the idea of a product brand in the picture of the emperor… on money. This as (a coin worth a fourth of a sestertius) is a genuine first century artifact. I bought it at the antique dealers opposite the British Museum. I'd prefer a coin of Titus who was the emperor when my books are set, but he reigned for a brief 26 months, so coins with his face are quite hard to find. In the final book of the series, The Man from Pomegranate Street, I try to solve the mystery of whether Titus's sudden death was natural or not. And if not, was he murdered by his younger brother Domitian?

XII. Sponge-stick

This delightfully disgusting object, a soft sea sponge on a stick, reminds us that the Romans were both fastidious and revolting to our modern sensibilities. This was a spongia, a bottom-wiper. You can read more about it HERE. The sponge-on-the-stick appears at the beginning of Lupus's special book, The Dolphins of Laurentum, and also features in the first of my new spin-off Roman Mystery Scrolls for early readers, The Sewer Demon. 

Roman Poo & Pee

[WARNING: this blog entry contains excerpts from a talk I gave at the British Museum called "Ancient Romans & their Poo". It will make you go "Ewww!"]

When I first started studying Classics, I thought ancient Rome must have been nice and clean because of their marvelous engineering and the aqueducts that brought tons of water from miles away. I thought ancient Rome had luxurious bath-houses and sparkling white marble columns and steps, like this scene (right) from the 1953 film Julius Caesar. I thought everybody wore nice clean tunics and no rubbish marred the streets. And of course Romans used sponges-on-sticks as toilet paper. The next best thing to puppy-soft Andrex. (read more in my blog So What's with the Sponge-Stick?) What could be more sanitary than a soft sea-sponge on a stick?

toilet in shape of chariot

However, as I researched my books and travelled the world, I realized that Rome was probably more like a hot, crowded third-world city: Calcutta, Marrakesh or Cairo. Roman cities would have been colourful but also dirty, crumbly, smelly and very unsanitary. There would have been human and animal dung in the road, plus pee, dead animals, flies, sick and infected people, tainted water, sour wine, mud, blood, rotting vegetables and rubble. Romans didn't know about bacteria or germs, so in many Roman homes you often find the toilet is right next to the hearth in the kitchen. Very rarely do you find a toilet like this luxurious marble one from the Baths of Caracalla, (shaped like a chariot in case you need to go in a hurry!)

In my first book, The Thieves of Ostia, Vespasian is Emperor.

One ancient Roman described Vespasian's expression as that of a man sitting on the toilet trying to do a poo. Here he is (right) with his son Titus. Both these portraits are upstairs in the British Museum. What do you think? Does Vespasian have a strained expression on his face?

When Vespasian was emperor he did several eccentric things, including putting a tax on urine. The ancient version of dry-cleaners were called fullers and they used urine (pee) for part of their cleaning process. (In fact the Latin word for urine is lotium and is linked to the word for wash.) The fullers often had pots outside their establishments where men could stop to pee. They also bought urine from the public latrines, and this was when the tax was paid.

Soon after this urine tax was imposed, Roman wits started calling piss-pots "vespasians". Embarrassed, Vespasian's son Titus asked his father why he insisted on making money by taxing smelly urine. Vespasian pulled out a sestertius and asked Titus to sniff it. "So?" shrugged Titus. "You see," said Vespasian. "Money doesn’t stink."  Some people in Germany liked this story so much that they made a family board game based on going to the toilet in Roman times! It’s called PECUNIA NON OLET which means "money doesn’t stink." Sadly, it doesn't exist in English.

In my second book, about the eruption of Vesuvius, I investigated the different types of graffiti on Roman walls. As well as the Christian graffiti that appears in this book they wrote things like DON'T POO HERE! We also know from inscriptions and graffiti that there were often queues outside the public loos! That meant the public latrines - the foricae - were heavily used and therefore probably quite filthy.

Romans didn't have soap. Instead, they had olive oil. They would go into the baths, strip off and rub scented olive oil all over their bodies. After some exercise and maybe a session in the steam room, they would then scrape it off with a bronze knife thingy called a strigil. Then they flicked this oily mixture of dead skin, oil, sweat and dirt (called gloios) onto the floor by the drains. They did this in the public baths. Imagine if you used your public swimming pool to get clean… along with all the neighbours on your block, young and old, healthy and sick. I used to belong to a health club until I found out people kept getting sick from going in the jacuzzi, the warm tub. If that can happen in today’s world, think how icky it must have been in Roman times!

a Roman chamberpot

In The Charioteer of Delphi, my characters Jonathan and Lupus go to the new Baths of Titus near the Circus Maximus in Rome. Jonathan finds something floating in the hot plunge. This probably happened a lot, unless pools were cleaned regularly. In addition to floaters, imagine a thin scum of dead skin, hair and scabs floating on top of the pool. As well as a scum on the water, think of what would cover the floor. Slippery gloios, spilled oil, and also crumbs from snacks, which we know people ate in the baths. It’s no wonder Pliny the Elder tells us that cockroaches loved the warm and steamy Roman Baths.

Because the Romans didn’t really understand about hygiene, there were probably flies everywhere. Vespasian’s younger brother Domitian used to amuse himself by trying to spear lazy summer flies with his stylus (the sharp implement used to write on wax tablets). One day a man went to see Domitian and asked his Greek scribe if there was anyone else in the room with the Emperor's younger brother. “Nobody,” replied the secretary dryly. “Not even a fly.”

Zoe from Blue Peter drinks pee?

My seventh Roman Mystery, The Enemies of Jupiter, has lots of gruesome facts about medicine and doctors. Doctors were called "dung-eaters" because some of them sipped your pee and tasted your poo to diagnose what was wrong with you. In that book I also tell how one doctor bleached his teeth by drinking his own urine! When I was on Blue Peter a few years ago I convinced presenter Zoe to try some urine teeth-bleaching mouthwash. She didn't like the taste! (Of course she was just pretending.) You can watch the clip on YouTube; the Roman beauty bit starts 4 minutes in. (That's me standing behind Zoe, in the unbleached stola.)

The Sirens of Surrentum is full of passion and poison. For this book I researched half a dozen deadly plants and their antidotes and learned some more fascinating facts. For example, everybody knows an antidote is something you take to stop poison taking effect. But what most books and TV shows don’t tell you is that an antidote counteracts poison by getting your body to expel it, either by vomiting or pooing! Or both.

In The Fugitive from Corinth, a Roman Mystery set on the Greek mainland, somebody accidentally empties a chamberpot out of a tavern window onto somebody down below! What is a chamberpot? It’s a pot you keep underneath your bed or in a corner of your room as a portable toilet. One Latin word for chamberpot is matella, which usually means a narrow necked flagon. Other words were pelvis, scaphium and situla. A Roman poet called Martial wrote an epigram about a  chamberpot "peeing from a chip in the side". (Epigram XII.32) Some scholars think chamberpots might have been more hygienic than toilets over pits or sewers. This is because animals might crawl out of the pit or sewer and track bacteria from poo onto food and bedding.

title card for my British Museum talk

There have always been urban myths about creatures climbing up out of the sewers or toilet. You can read more about this on my blog called Demon in the Toilet. You might think the Romans were silly and superstitious to believe there were demons in the loos. But in her forthcoming book, Roman Toilets: their Archaeology and Cultural History, Dr Gemma Jansen, a Dutch archaeologist, suggests that demons were the ancient Roman equivalent of bacteria. I think that is a brilliant idea. Like demons, bacteria are virtually invisible, but frightening because of what they can do to you… If a demon possessed you, he could make you sick or even kill you. Just like bad bacteria, germs or viruses.

don't worry; it's fake

There may not be pigs, alligators or demons in the loo, but there are germs. We know what the poor Romans didn't know: to wash our hands after doing a poo or a pee!

P.S. Thanks to everyone at the British Museum, and to all the kids who brought their parents to my talk, and to all of you brave enough to touch my fake dog poo. It was "sticky and stretchy"... Ewww!

P.P.S. If you want to know which of my Roman Mysteries has the highest 'yuk' factor it is probably The Enemies of Jupiter, now available as ebook and audio, as well as in the old fashioned format!

[The 17 books in the Roman Mysteries series are perfect for children 9+ studying Romans as a topic in Key Stage 2. The Roman Mystery Scrolls series is aimed at kids aged 7+ and the Roman Quests series, set in Roman Britain, is a follow on for kids 9+]