I thought I would try a new series of blog posts looking briefly at everyday items in the ancient world.
Historical fiction is often about great battles, political events, and large-than-life characters.
However, one of the things that anchors these stories more firmly in the past are the everyday items that decorate the homes of the characters around whom the stories revolve, or the tools they use without a passing thought.
We might not notice these items ourselves, as readers, but trust me, if they were missing you would get the impression that the story was not quite authentic, or that it was lacking something you couldn’t put your finger on.
I was going through some photos I had taken the other day and saw this one of some Etruscan mirrors in the display cabinet at the Royal Ontario Museum.
Etruscan polished bronze mirrors at the Royal Ontario Museum
Today, mirrors are things that we definitely take for granted, though I bet we all glance in them a few times a day.
The first mirrors were probably calm pools of water into which people could gaze at their reflections, or crude vessels filled with water. These are primitive, but they are still mirrors.
Polished stone mirror
The earliest man-made mirrors appear to have been made of volcanic glass, or obsidian, and examples of these have been found in Anatolia which date to about 6000 B.C.
Obsidian Mirror from Anatolia
Polished copper mirrors have been found in Mesopotamia which date to about 4000 B.C., and some in Egypt which date to roughly 3000 B.C.
Egyptian Mirror
Dating to around 2000 B.C. there are examples of polished stone mirrors from Central and South America, and bronze mirrors from China dating to the same period.
During the ancient Greek and Roman period, polished bronze mirrors such as those pictured above seem to have been the norm, though these were not something that would have been possessed by the lower classes. Mirrors were probably more of a luxury item, especially the ornate ones. There is also mention of metal-coated mirrors, or glass mirrors backed with gold during the Roman period.
Ancient Greek Mirror
Mirrors such as these have been found among grave goods, indicating that they were, in some cases, prized possessions of the deceased.
When I see these more or less unassuming artifacts, it always makes me wonder who held this mirror, and what did they see, or think, or feel when they saw their own image staring back at them.
This is one of the things I love about archaeology and storytelling.
It’s always a sad thing to hear of the passing of an artist whose work has made a lasting impression.
It seems that every year more and more names shuffle off this mortal coil, leaving us with our own perceptions of their public face, but more so the faces of the roles they played.
This morning I found out that British actor Nigel Terry passed away at the age of 69.
Many people might not know Nigel Terry at first mention. He was not necessarily a Titan of the big screen. However, he did appear in a few historical/fantasy dramas, most notably John Boorman’s 1981 film Excalibur.
I used to devour all things Arthurian, and it still is my favourite realm to visit, whether of history, literature, or archaeology.
Excalibur, based on Sir Thomas Malory’s Morte D’Arthur, will always be one of those movies that made a lasting impression upon me. The film brought to life the magic and mystery of the Arthurian legend like nothing else. It explored the nature of the king’s relationship to the land he is bound to protect, and took you on the quest with the Knights of the Round Table, from their courageous departure to find the Holy Grail, to depths of madness, despair, and pain, to the glorious attainment of the Grail, and the final confrontation at the Battle of Camlann.
Nigel Terry’s Arthur was of a different sort – naïve, daring, stern, trusting, brave, flawed, honourable. Whenever I imagine an historical Arthur in my head, it is often Nigel Terry’s face that appears.
If you have never seen the movie Excalibur, and you like Arthuriana, then you should definitely watch this movie. While you’re at it, see how many famous actors’ young faces you can spot in the cast about Nigel Terry.
Most of Nigel Terry’s work was done on stage, but I will forever remember him in historical films. Apart from Excalibur, he was also in the wonderful screen adaptation of the play, The Lion in Winter.
When it comes to medieval history, the 12th century has always been my favourite period, and the Plantagenets the family to watch. In The Lion in Winter, Nigel Terry plays a young Prince John, son of Henry II (Peter O’Toole) and Eleanor of Aquitaine (Katherine Hepburn), and brother to Richard Lionheart (Anthony Hopkins). You will also see a young Timothy Dalton as the French King, Phillip.
Nigel Terry as Prince John beside Peter O’Toole as Henry II
This story is set at Chinon, in France, where the royal family has assembled for Christmas court and a battle of wills and verbal sparring that is really second to none. And the young Nigel Terry certainly holds his own next to the greats of the acting world.
During the 1990’s, there was an often forgotten television series called Covington Cross, in which Nigel Terry portrayed a widower knight who is trying to keep his three sons, and a willful daughter, safe from their enemies at court. Though not acclaimed in any way, I loved this show because it was a fun medieval romp, complete with drama, laughs, and of course, sword fighting. Who doesn’t like that? I was beginning my medieval studies at that time and this show with Nigel Terry at the helm, was just what I wanted to fan the spark of my interest in history, a spark which eventually turned into a full-on blaze.
Nigel Terry as Sir Thomas Grey in Covington Cross
One of the last things I saw Nigel Terry in was the movie Troy, where he was re-united with Peter O’Toole who played King Priam.
Nigel Terry played the high priest of Apollo in Troy, and though he did not have a major role, you were drawn to his strong screen presence, despite the heavy hitters all around him.
As the High Priest of Apollo in Troy
That’s the thing with historical dramatizations – there always seem to be regulars in the cast, people whom you picture more in period dress than in modernity’s garb.
It was always a comfort to me when Nigel Terry’s face showed up, as if I knew that I was going to experience good historical drama with some solid acting, even if it was only while he was on screen.
Now my mind floats back to the end of Excalibur where I will forever remember Nigel Terry as Arthur, grievously wounded on the deck of a solemn barge, and guarded by the three ladies of Avalon as he is carried to the sacred Isle until needed again someday.
Sailing to Avalon
Of course, Nigel Terry had countless more acting credits to his name than the four I have mentioned. These are but my personal favourites.
There is a truth which I have forgotten lately. With the day-to-day workings of my modern, connected life, I’ve been missing out on something essential, something that in the past has always helped me to nurture my creativity, and better my historical fiction. What is it?
Quiet.
Yes. That illusive modern-day grail, that has the power to slow us down, to help us think, to regroup and empower ourselves.
Now that I write that, it really does seem obvious, not ground-breaking at all. But it is, and I’ve found that without taking some calm time to contemplate the past, my fiction suffers.
Like many, I suspect, my days are pretty full. All the tasks and to dos that are swirling around me feel more numerous at times than the number of arrows raining down on the Spartans at Thermopylae, blotting out the sun.
Now, I’m sure there are a great many people who have much busier days. We all have our own threshold.
There is a distinct lack of quiet time, and by this, I mean time in which I sit away from a computer or device, not doing any sort of task, and actually think about history and historic places, the things that I love and that fascinate me.
Of course, I think about history throughout the day, but contemplation of the sand seas of Roman North Africa, or the city streets of the Forum Romanum doesn’t come as easily on a crowded subway car when one is trying to ignore some anonymous person’s flatulence. So gross.
Lately, I’ve ‘forced’ myself to set aside all computers and devices when I have some spare moments (even 5 minutes!) in favour of sitting down with one of my favourite, big, coffee table books about ancient Greece and Rome, or the Middle Ages.
I’ll look at anything from architecture to landscapes, artifacts and archaeological sites, to artistic recreations of places and everyday life in the past. It all helps, it all inspires.
If I can sit in a sunny spot with a cup of coffee and some of my favourite soundtrack music on, even better.
I’ve found, or rather, I’ve remembered, that when sit quietly and allow my mind to wander calmly through some part of history, I am more in touch with it. When I do that, I am better able to bring that world to life when I’m writing about it.
For me, historical fiction is highly dependent on setting.
You can have the most wonderful three-dimensional characters ever, but if you don’t have the historical setting to transport the reader, or place those characters firmly in the past, then your book could be taking place at any time in history.
I don’t know about you, but when I pick a work of historical fiction, I pick it largely for the period. If I’m not transported to that period in history, I’m disappointed.
I’ve had a lot of readers tell me that they loved my books because they learned a lot about the ancient world, or about the Roman Empire. That makes me very happy, as it has always been my goal to make history interesting and entertaining.
Without having taken the time to be Quiet, and to contemplate the physical world of those distant eras, I know I would not have managed to pull it off.
I’d like to share with you a very special book about the Roman Empire that has given me no end of inspiration. It is Splendours of the Roman World, by Anna Maria Liberati and Mario Bourbon.
This book was a gift from my parents who bought it at the Roman Bath museum, in Bath. Ever since I first flipped through it, I was rapt, sucked into the ancient world.
I have many other books that do this for me, but this is one that I continue to go back to again and again.
Are there any books that you like to flip through at a leisurely pace, or that inspire you and fire your view of an historic period?
Or, do have a favourite work of historical fiction that you felt really did a good job of transporting you as a reader?
Share your favourite book titles in the comments below.
While you do that, I’m going to step away from the computer, sit quietly, and immerse myself in the ancient world.
In the previous installment we visited Rome, the centre of the world when the Roman Empire was at its greatest extent. We will now leave that ancient city for an even more ancient landscape. What we know today as Tuscany, the central and western region of Italy, was then part of the larger central Italian kingdom of Etruria. This region plays a large role in Children of Apollo, as it is the ancestral land of Lucius Metellus Anguis’ family. For them, the family estate is a place of childhood memory, of escape, and of mystery. Their roots run deep in that ancient land.
Chimera of Arezzo
I won’t go into detail about the history of the Etruscans here, suffice it to say that Etruscan culture was the dominant and more advanced culture in the Italian peninsula around 650 B.C. Their realm included not only modern Tuscany, but also Umbria, Latium, and Emilia-Romagna. Indeed Etruscan kings ruled Rome itself until about 509 B.C. when the last king, Lucius Tarquinius Superbus, was expelled from Rome by Lucius Junius Brutus, who led the uprising. With the rape of Lucretia by the king’s son, Sextus Tarquinius, Etruscan kingship in Rome ended.
Etruscan Tomb interior
However, the Etruscans left a legacy and influence over the Roman people, other than a hatred of kingship. The Etruscan kings were also responsible for much of Rome’s architecture and religious practices. Etruscan artwork too is stunning, and though it had a great deal of Hellenic influence due to trade with Greece, it has a style all its own, be it the massive bronze burial urns, the elaborately painted tombs, or the magnificent Chimera of Arezzo. To see a magnificent collection of Etruscan artefacts, the archaeological museum in Bologna is a definite must.
Etrurian Vineyards
History aside for a moment, the thing that inspired me most about Tuscany (I’ll use the modern name now) was the countryside. I am deeply influenced in my writing by physical surroundings and Tuscany, particularly the Chianti Classico region where I spent some time and where part of the book is set, left a definite mark. Not to dissuade anyone from visiting Florence or Siena, those two medieval adversaries. I thoroughly enjoyed walking the streets of both, eating bruschetta and gelato between museum and market stops. It’s a magnificent region to visit.
Radda in Chianti
Heading into the countryside between Florence and Siena, leaving the world of the Medicis and tourist throngs behind, was a very special experience. I had expected a drier landscape my first time there, rocky and hot, similar to the Peloponnese or southern Italy. It was anything but. Tuscany was lush, quite hilly and tree-clad. The weather went from sun to storm quickly and then back to sun. Amid acres of vineyards where my favourite wine is made (Chianti, of course!), are castles and medieval towns where they still take siesta and where you can enter a cellar (there is a great one in Radda) to purchase bottles of magnificent wine, cheese and the best wild boar sausage you’ve ever had. And the bread, did I mention the bread? For those of you who are interested, you can rent a villa in Tuscany for a very good price, and it’s well worth it.
Chianti Classico Region
After having driven around Chianti, I knew I had to set part of the book there. The Metellus family villa is, of course, fictional. However, the look and feel are real. The villa itself is a typical villa rustica, an open air villa in the countryside, usually at the centre of an agricultural estate, as it is in the book. It was not uncommon for many noble Roman families to have countryside estates outside of Rome to which they could escape for leisure, or in times of crisis. These were often handed down generation to generation.
Etruscan tomb interior – Castelina in Chianti
Up the mountain from the Metellus villa and outbuildings, is another tie to the family, something linking them to their Etruscan roots. In a part of the book, Lucius’ younger brother Quintus finds out a terrible family secret when he overhears a conversation in the tomb at the top of the mountain. Without giving too much away, this turns the young boy’s life upside down. The setting for the tomb of the Metellus family ancestors was inspired by the Etruscan tomb just outside of Castelina in Chianti. The tomb is quite unassuming on the outside, a large green mound topped by cypress trees which were often associated with the necropolis and rites for the dead in ancient times. The tomb is entered via stone-lined corridors with small chambers to either side. If you do go in, look out for snakes! It’s nice and cool inside.
Ipogeo Etrusco de Montecalvario (6th century B.C.)
There is more I could say about this beautiful landscape but really, there is no substitute for actually going there. For a great price, you can rent a refurbished medieval stone villa in amongst the vineyards and eat at a different restaurant in a different village every night. Enjoy wine and food (try the Trattoria Grotta della Rana in San Sano) and afterward walk along a small road flanked by olive groves on one side and grape vines on the other. Watch snakes and lizards skitter across dusty, sun-soaked lanes lined by sleek cypresses, and listen to all manner of birdsong in the hills. Most of all, enjoy the history of the land on which you are walking and savour the fact that it has not changed all that much since the Etruscan chariots thundered across the valleys.
In the next instalment of The World of Children of Apollo, we will head south, along the coast, to ancient Cumae and the cave of the Sybil.
An Abderite saw a eunuch and asked him how many kids he had. When that guy said that he didn’t have the balls, so as to be able to have children, the Abderite asked when he was going to get the balls(Philagelos, #114)
Is that funny to you? A little? Or does it make you scratch your head and wonder if I’ve gone off the deep end?
It’s not my joke, thankfully. In truth, I’m not a very funny person, but I do enjoy a good laugh, as many of us do.
The joke above is actually a Roman joke about 2000 years old. Yes, that old. It’s one of 250-odd jokes in the oldest joke book in the world known as the Philagelos, or ‘The Laughter Lover’. It is thought that this text is a compendium of jokes over several hundred years. The earliest manuscript is thought to date to the 4th or 5th centuries A.D.
I’m not funny!
Humour in the ancient world is not really something I’ve thought about in my writing and research. If there has ever been humour in my books, it has been a reflection of my own modern perceptions of what humour is, or should be. Otherwise, my modern readers would be left scratching their heads.
A colleague of mine recently shared a CBC interview with eminent classicist and historian Mary Beard on the subject of her book about humour in the Roman world entitled: Laughter in Ancient Rome: On Joking, Tickling, and Cracking Up
Mary Beard
The wonderful interview with Mary Beard got me to thinking about this little-thought-of aspect of life in the ancient world.
As I mentioned, I’m not funny, so until recently my idea of humour in the ancient world was partly based on the musical A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum by the brilliant Stephen Sondheim. The latter is not a completely inaccurate view since the story is based on the farces of the Roman playwright Plautus (251–183 BC). Bawdiness played a large role from the theatre to the marching songs of Rome’s legionaries.
Slap stick comedy was a part of humour in the ancient world, but in the interview Mary Beard has put forth the idea that there are other aspects of ancient humour which we might not, or cannot, understand.
A professional beggar had been letting his girlfriend think that he was rich and of noble birth. Once, when he was getting a handout at the neighbor’s house, he suddenly saw her. He turned around and said: “Have my dinner-clothes sent here.” (Philagelos, #106)
When it comes to many ancient jokes, our cultural and temporal disconnect make them simply ‘not funny’.
Another reason why the humour of some ancient jokes may be lost on us is that perhaps the medieval monks copying these down simply made mistakes or interpreted them incorrectly.
Salve, Titus! Heard any good jokes lately?
Mary Beard points out that there is no real way to know how ancient people laughed either. This is a bit of a trickier concept to wrap one’s head around. What were ancients’ reactions to laughing? Did they have uncontrollable laughter?
My thought is that yes, maybe our jokes are different from what Roman jokes were, just like how some people find Monty Python funny (I know I do!), while others wonder what the big deal is. I also think that we are perhaps not so different in our physical reactions. For example, there is the quote from Cassius Dio, whom I have used as a source for much of my writing, and who Mary Beard uses as an example.
Anybody heard the one about the intellectual?
Here is a portion from the Roman History in which Cassius Dio and other senators are watching Emperor Commodus slay ostriches in the amphitheatre. As we know, Commodus was off his head, and prone to killing whomever he wanted.
This fear was shared by all, by us senators as well as by the rest. And here is another thing that he did to us senators which gave us every reason to look for our death. Having killed an ostrich and cut off his head, he came up to where we were sitting, holding the head in his left hand and in his right hand raising aloft his bloody sword; and though he spoke not a word, yet he wagged his head with a grin, indicating that he would treat us in the same way. And many would indeed have perished by the sword on the spot, for laughing at him (for it was laughter rather than indignation that overcame us), if I had not chewed some laurel leaves, which I got from my garland, myself, and persuaded the others who were sitting near me to do the same, so that in the steady movement of our armies we might conceal the fact that we were laughing. (Cassius Dio, Roman History LXXIII)
What a sight that must have been! Even though it meant certain death, Dio and the other senators had to chew laurels so as not to give in to what was presumably an urge to laugh hysterically.
A young man said to his libido-driven wife: “What should we do, darling? Eat or have sex?” And she replied: “You can choose. But there’s not a crumb in the house.” (Philagelos, #244)
How about some tickles?
Bawdiness creeps in all the time in ancient humour, and why not? Everyone (well almost everyone) likes a sex joke. If you peruse the jokes in the Philagelos, you’ll see that many of them have to do with sex.
And this didn’t just apply to the Romans. The ancient Greeks found sex and humour to be comfortable bedfellows (no pun intended).
I remember going to an evening performance of Aristophanes’ Lysistrata at the ancient theatre of Epidaurus one summer night. It was a beautiful setting with the mountains as a backdrop to the ancient odeon, the sun setting orange and red, and then a great canopy of silver stars in the sky above.
Lysistrata is a play about a woman’s determination to stop the Peloponnesian War by withholding sex from her husband, and getting all other women to do the same. It seemed quite the political statement on the waste and futility of war, as well as ancient gender issues.
You’re not getting any until you end this stupid war!
But then the men, who had not had sex for a long time, came prancing about the stage with giant, bulbous phalluses dangling between their legs, moaning with the pain of their ancient world blue balls. Some of the crowd roared with laughter, others tittered in embarrassment, and still others sat stalk still like the statues in the site museum.
Perhaps that is the point? Maybe in ancient times, just as today, some jokes were funny to some and not to others? Are we that different from our ancient Roman and Greek counterparts?
Ms. Beard points out that ancient writers like Cicero speak of the different types of humour. There is derision (laughing at others), puns (word play), incongruity (pairing of opposites), and humour as a release from tension.
An incompetent astrologer cast a boy’s horoscope and said: “He will be a lawyer, then a city-official, then a governor.” But when this child died, the mother confronted the astrologer: “He’s dead — the one you said was going to be a lawyer and an official and a governor.” “By his holy memory,” he replied, “if he had lived, he would have been all of those things!” (Philgelos, #202)
Maybe we’re not so different after all?
She also mentions tickling, and how Romans are said to have felt ticklish on their lips, a part that has been highly erotized today. Prostitutes, she says, were said to be ‘big laughers’.
I think you’re hilarious, Lupa!
Hmmm.
I don’t frequent brothels, but perhaps that is as true today as it was 1500 years ago.
This is a much bigger topic than I had expected. It’s fascinating to think of laughter in an ancient context.
Do I find ancient jokes funnier than before? Not really, though I do find they reveal something more of Roman society.
Will I start inserting ancient jokes in my writing?
No, unless I too find it funny.
The reason for this is that when an author writes humour in historical fiction, if he or she wants his or her audience to actually find it funny, it will need to resonate with our modern-day humour and ways of laughter. The audience has to recognize it to an extent. That doesn’t mean a joke that modern readers will understand can’t be cloaked in ancient garb.
At the end of the day, perhaps it is as simple as this: there will always be crap jokes, but it is the funny ones that stand out, that will tickle you and set you to laughing.
Thank you for reading.
I’d love to hear what your thoughts are in the comments below.
Would you like to see ancient jokes transferred to your historical fiction exactly as they are? Or should humour be written in a way that a modern audience can understand it?
Lastly, if you have looked at the Philagelos (Click HERE to read it!), which joke is your favourite?
Well, I’ve done it! I’ve gone and posted my first foray into video book readings. If you watched the video above, I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to share it around.
Yes, I know. I’m a bit awkward, and not entirely video-friendly (or is it that video is not friendly to me?). But, if I don’t try new things out, and take some risks, new adventures will remain out of reach. With time, I promise I’ll find my video groove.
Lest we forget, these stories were a part of an ancient oral tradition, and were meant to be spoken aloud. What would ‘the poet’ think of YouTube, I wonder?
Chariot of the Son was released on Amazon in December, but I thought I would post this video reading now because it just became available on Kobo and iTunes/iBooks.
If you haven’t got a copy, and your interest is piqued after reading the EXCERPT, be sure to head on over to one of the retailers to grab a copy. This is a story that can be enjoyed by anyone who likes Greek mythology, from young adults on up. The Percy Jackson crowd might enjoy this!
Chariot of the Son was a real joy to write, and I’m really excited to write more in the Mythologia series. After I finalize the three projects I’m working on now, I’ll get to work on the next in the series which I think will be a retelling of the story of Bellerophon and the Chimera. How does that sound?
In the meantime, if you’ve read Chariot of the Son, I would really appreciate it if you posted an honest review at any one of the retailers mentioned, or on Goodreads, as reviews really do help others to find the book.
That’s all for this week.
I’ll be back soon with a ‘funny’ post about the lighter aspects of life in the Roman Empire.
Thank you for reading.
If there are other myths you would be interested in reading about, tell us in the comments below. We all have our favourites! Which are yours?
Over the past months, the on-line world has been set ablaze with Greek fire.
By that, I mean that the talk in ancient history and archaeology circles has been dominated by one of the most exciting discoveries in recent memory – The Amphipolis Tomb.
You may have heard about this ‘Alexander the Great era’ tomb in media around the world. The Rumours and theories about what it contains are as thick and the sarrissae of a Macedonian phalanx.
Before we get into the finds, we should look at where Amphipolis is.
Amphipolis is located 100 kms east of the northern Greek city of Thassaloniki, along the river Strymon. This is the region of Thrace.
The settlement was founded by the Athenians circa 437 B.C. near some gold and silver mines in the hills. It was conquered by Philip of Macedon in the year 357 B.C. and then, during the reign of Alexander the Great, was a major naval base.
The first major excavations at Amphipolis were undertaken in 1964, but it is the current excavation of the tomb, begun in 2012, that has grabbed the attention of the world by getting into the mound and revealing some of its treasures.
The Amphipolis tomb dates to the late 4th century B.C., the Hellenistic era, and is about 2,300 years old.
This is the largest burial monument ever discovered in Greece, and archaeologists have only just scratched the surface.
What have they found? Let’s make our way into the tomb in the order of discoveries.
The Lion of Amphipolis
Lion of Amphipolis (Wikimedia Commons)
The first discovery was actually not within the tomb, but nearby, and was discovered in 1912.
The Lion of Amphipolis is a 4th century B.C. sculpture that was first found by Greek soldiers around Amphipolis during the Second Balkan War, with more pieces of the lion being found by British troops during World War I.
For some time, archaeologists believed this was a tomb sculpture or monument to Alexander the Great’s admiral, Laomedon of Mytilene.
It is now believed that the Lion was actually located on top of the Amphipolis tomb which would have looked impressive and been seen from miles around, including from the sea.
The lion is over 4 meters tall, but with the base it sits on, it reaches over 8 meters in height.
The question is, what lay beneath the muscular body of this titanic lion?
The Wall
Amphipolis wall close-up
One of the most amazing things about the tomb is the sheer size of it. This monument was meant to impress!
The tomb itself has a circular wall that is 500 meters all the way around, and 3 meters high. It’s made of marble and limestone which is in remarkably excellent condition.
The archaeologists have excavated the earth around the entire monument, and from the pictures in the trench it is possible to get a sense of the size of this place.
Amphipolis intact wall section
Next, the entrance to the tomb was discovered where a wide staircase leads down to the next exciting discovery.
The Sphinxes
Meeting the Sphinxes at the entrance to the tomb
Above the entrance to the tomb stand two Sphinxes facing each other. To me this is a truly haunting image. Imagine entering this subterranean world beneath the gaze of these two guardians? It would be something to send a chill down one’s spine as you entered the realm of the dead.
The Sphinxes are both 2 meters tall, and seem to have been very detailed in their rendering. You can see the heavily-muscled bodies of these ancient creatures, whose heads and wings are sadly broken off.
Amphipolis – Sphinx Head found on floor
They stand above a frescoed entrance that is 1.67 meters wide, and without a door.
Amphipolis – first chamber wall detail
Once you pass beneath the guardians, you find yourself in the first chamber which has a unique floor, barrel-vaulted roof, and smooth marble panelling on the walls either side.
But as archaeologists moved forward, ever-so-carefully, they found even more wonders…
The Caryatids
Amphipolis – The Caryatids
A caryatid is a sculpture of a female body that is used as an architectural support, a more ornate version of a regular column. The most famous are probably the caryatids from the Erechtheion on the Acropolis in Athens, sometimes called the ‘porch of the maidens’.
As excavators removed the dirt from the rest of the first chamber they were met by two tall, beautiful, skillfully-carved Caryatids flanking the entrance to the second chamber.
When I say they are beautiful, I mean it. These maids are lovely, solemn, and awe-inspiring, from their carved platform sandals, to their flowing robes, the wonderfully ornate braids of their long hair, and the serene beauty of their faces.
Caryatid face
It must have been amazing to uncover these!
And they are not small, either. The Caryatids at Amphipolis are 2.27 meters (7.5 feet) tall, but if you include the bases on which they stand, they tower over visitors at about 3.66 meters (12 feet).
As we move into the second chamber, we come to even more ornamentation, and this time, it is something that hints at who the tomb might belong to.
The Mosaic
Amphipolis Mosaic
As the dirt from the second chamber was painstakingly removed, and the floor reached, archaeologists were confronted with a thing of beauty.
As it turned out, the entire floor of the second chamber is covered by a mosaic that is 3 meters wide and 4.5 meters long.
As you can see from the picture, it is a work of magnificent craftsmanship. The colours, even thousands of years later, are still brilliant.
The scene depicts the abduction of Persephone by Hades (Pluto), the Lord of the Underworld. He carries the reluctant girl away in his chariot for her annual sojourn in his realm beneath the earth. Leading the way is the god Hermes, whose traditional role was to lead souls to the Underworld. You can see the caduceus in Hermes’ left hand. The entire scene is surrounded by a Greek Key (meander) and wave motif.
Now, the exciting thing about this mosaic is related to one of the theories we will discuss shortly. A hint however, is in the rendering of the faces of the three people represented.
Another discovery in chamber two can be found on the walls.
As you can see, there are faint hints of frescoes portraying a man, a woman, and what appears to be a bull. Perhaps a sacrifice scene?
Amphipolis – second chamber – architrave frescoes
Let’s hope the restoration teams can give us a clearer glimpse someday soon.
And now, let us have a brief look at the most recent discovery in the Amphipolis tomb.
The Human Remains
Amphipolis remains
Who is buried in the Amphipolis tomb? Who was it built for?
These are the questions that dominate, and when archaeologists moved into the third chamber they came one step closer to possible answers.
Beyond what were a pair of marble doors (fallen) on tracks in the floor, they have found a chamber with a burial in the floor with human bones. However, to complicate things, there were more bones and cremated remains in the soil on top of the burial.
Amphipolis – broken marble door – chamber 3
Due to earthquakes, and early grave robbers, the remains, and perhaps any grave goods that were present have been scattered or looted.
Putting the pieces of this particular puzzle together is a painstaking process that will take a lot of time and patience.
For the moment, it seems that in chamber 3 of the Amphipolis tomb, there are the remains of five individuals: a woman over 60 years of age (buried in the sarcophagus beneath the floor), two men between the ages of 35 and 45, a newborn child, and a cremated adult.
In total, mixed up in over 8 feet of soil, archaeologists have recovered 550 pieces of human bone. The question of who the bones belong to is something we will have to wait a long time to answer.
Amphipolis burial sarcophagus
The Theories
There have been a lot of wild theories about who this tomb was intended for. Obviously, it was not for just one person.
Many trigger-happy theorists and philhellenes have immediately jumped to the conclusion that the Amphipolis tomb could only belong to Alexander the Great.
One reason for this guess (or hope?) is the immense size of the monument; remember, this is the biggest burial in Greece. What better monument for one of the greatest generals and conquerors the world has ever known?
Another reason is that the Amphipolis tomb is thought to have been designed by Alexander’s personal architect, the man who helped build Alexandria, and who used Egyptian measurements for Amphipolis: Dinocrates of Rhodes.
Dinocrates helped Alexander plan Alexandria, the ideal city, and designed the reconstruction of the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. For some people, this is further proof that Amphipolis was meant for Alexander himself. Who else but his favourite architect would design his tomb?
Amphipolis tomb artist impression (illustrated by Gerasimos Gerolymatos – Creative Commons)
The problem with this theory is that Alexander the Great was buried in Alexandria, in Egypt, the city that he had designed. It is pretty well-documented that his body was taken there to be entombed, under the care of Ptolemy who ruled in Egypt after Alexander’s death.
Now, if there were plans to move the body, or steal it, who can say? (That’s the author in me throwing a log on the fire!) Which of the Companions would not want to be the custodian of the immortal conqueror’s remains?
As for Dinocrates, he would have needed to find work after the death of his patron. If he was Alexander’s favoured architect, he would have been in high demand, no? Perhaps he was engaged by someone in Macedonia to build Amphipolis and brought with him his knowledge from Egypt.
However much people wish it, at this point, it seems doubtful that Amphipolis holds the remains of Alexander the Great.
The next theory may be more plausible, and this is where the mosaic comes in.
If you look at the mosaic, the faces of Hermes, Hades, and Persephone do look a little familiar.
Some people believe that in looking at this mosaic, we are in fact looking at likenesses of a young Alexander (Hermes), Philip of Macedon (Hades), and Alexander’s mother, Olympias (Persephone). Is this a royal family portrait?
We know that Philip was buried in the royal tombs at Vergina, and recently his remains were positively identified.
When the mosaic was discovered, some scholars began exploring the possibility then that Amphipolis may have been the tomb of either Olympias, or Roxana, Alexander’s Bactrian wife and mother of his son.
Could the Persephone in the mosaic be either Olympias or Roxana?
It is a tantalizing theory, to be sure. And when this theory came about, they had not yet discovered the remains in chamber 3, those of the woman in her sixties, and an infant child.
Still, it’s hard to say. Roxana and her son did return to Greece under the ‘protection’ of Cassander, one of Alexander’s generals, and certainly, Olympias would have had an interest in being close to and protecting her grandson and daughter-in-law.
Unfortunately, Cassander was not the kindest person and, according to the sources, he had Olympias executed in 316 B.C., and later ordered the murder of Roxana and her son in 310 B.C.
Amphipolis 3D Reconstruction (Wikimedia Commons)
Now, the remains of the woman in chamber 3 are too old to be those of Roxana, and those of the infant are perhaps too young to be Alexander’s son. However, it remains plausible that the woman who was buried in the sarcophagus beneath the floor could be Olympias herself.
It will take some time before we know, but the mosaic and the age of the female skeleton (about 60 years), which was about Olympias’ age at her death, are the best leads thus far.
But there are arguments against even that – Would the Macedonians build such a monument to a woman? Would Cassander so honour a woman whom he had had murdered, with such a monument?
Confusing the theories further is one that the two male skeletons may in fact be Cassander’s sons. Analysis will need to be done to see if they are related, but if they are, why would they be buried with Olympias? Were the bones all separate and then dumped all together by the ancient looters?
For me, one telling thing is also the size of the three excavated chambers compared to the rest of the monument. When you look at the area these initial excavations have covered, it is but a small portion of the entire tomb.
With some initial geophysical survey results showing other possibly man-made areas within the hill, one has to wonder if the main occupant of the Amphipolis tomb has even been found yet. Perhaps Cassander himself is buried in some grand chamber filled with art and riches from the East, an afterlife monument to match the ego and ambition which he was apparently in possession of? Perhaps he did bury Olympias, a descendant of Achilles, out of duty to Alexander? Who knows…
Unfortunately, there are far more questions and dead ends than there are answers.
Isn’t that exciting?
Only the archaeology can tell us what we need with any certainty, but that takes time and patience if it is to be done properly.
Amphipolis – pictorial synopsis
Those proponents of sensationalist theories on the Web might not like this waiting game, but for me, as an historian and archaeologist, it is well worth the wait. When the answers finally do come, the author in me will be ready and waiting.
What do you think about the Amphipolis tomb? Tell us your own theories and ideas in the comments below!
Last week the international news was awash with the horrible events that occurred in Tunis, at the Bardo Museum.
Our thoughts and prayers go out to the families who have been affected by this terrible crime, and to the people of Tunisia.
Having been to the Bardo Museum for my research, it is hard to imagine the sound of gunfire and screams in such a lovely house of the Muses.
I suspect that many would-be tourists will be scared away from the Bardo now, and that is truly a shame. I spent some hours there, immersed in the ancient world, listening to its many voices. It was a place of serenity, and of beauty.
So, rather than focussing on the violence that has so recently tainted this wonderful place, I thought I would focus on the beauty of the Bardo Museum.
This is a post I originally wrote in June 2013 entitled, Mosaic Masterpieces – Treasures of Roman North Africa. I hope you enjoy it…
For a writer of historical fiction, and for an historian, the museum is the place to go for research.
Not only can you learn a lot about people and places, you can also come face to face with the possessions of the people and places about which you are writing. You can interact with the items that decorated and served long-ago worlds – Egypt, Babylon, Greece, Carthage and Rome etc. etc.
In a museum, culture is frozen in time as a sort of gift to future generations, a window to peer through and better understand those who went before us.
I’ve been to a lot of museums in my travels, large and small, great and not-so-great. But there was always something to be learned, something to take away with me that I could use in my writing.
This post, I wanted to touch on a particularly wonderful museum that I visited in Tunisia – The Bardo Museum in Tunis.
When I went to Tunisia to do research for Children of Apollo and Killing the Hydra, visiting Punic and Roman sites on the fringes of the Sahara was one of the biggest thrills of my travels.
When our 4×4 left the desert behind, I was disappointed to be back in the city. Tunis held none of the allure of the southern desert or the fertile green hills of central Tunisia. There were no ruined temples or amphitheatres, no mosaics or ancient streets as open to the sky, unsuffocated by modernity.
We pulled up outside a rather unassuming building and were told this was the ‘famous’ Bardo Museum. I probably rolled my eyes, remembered swaying palms and Saharan sand beneath my feet. I dreaded the dark building before me after so much perceived freedom.
I was so wrong. When we entered the Bardo, my eyes fell upon some of the most magnificent artistic creations I have ever seen.
The walls and floors were absolutely covered with myriad mosaics of such colour, such intricacy – I thought the images would jump right out at me.
Floor to ceiling mosaics in the Bardo
And they were tucked away in this little museum that, up until that point, I had never heard mentioned by anyone at university or elsewhere.
I decided this week to look back over some of the photos I took at the museum and enjoyed revisiting those moments when I locked eyes with a tesseraed Triton or the striking statue of a Roman woman.
When I looked at the website for the Bardo Museum, I found that they have moved to a completely new, more spacious building.
The new museum is stunning, but for me the mosaics still take centre stage.
Triton mosaic
What is amazing about these creations is that they were what decorated the homes of the people who inhabited the period about which I am writing.
The visual that these mosaics provided for me and my written world was priceless.
Suddenly, my characters’ homes no longer contained shabby dirt or terra cotta floors, or even plain marble. Triclinii, peristylii and atrii came to life with the mythological and natural scenes that decorated Roman homes.
Gladiatorial scene
But these mosaics at the Bardo, and elsewhere, do not only depict the religious or fanciful aspects of belief.
More importantly to our knowledge, they depict the everyday activities of people ages ago. We see people hunting, fishing, tilling, and bringing in the harvest. We see images of the food they ate, the sports they watched and the heroes they worshiped.
These mosaics tell us so much about a world that would otherwise be lost to us. Thanks to these masterpieces, we know more about the buildings they decorated and the importance placed upon particular rooms within private homes, public and religious spaces.
The Days of the Week
When I stepped out of the Bardo Museum into the setting sunlight on a Tunis street, I felt as though I had been a guest at sumptuous banquet in someone’s home, far off on the edge of the Empire. This was not some flee-infested frontier region. No.
The Roman provinces of Africa Proconsularis and Numidia yielded not only the oil, grain and garum upon which the Empire depended, but also artistic treasures that have left a mark on time.
At the Bardo Museum, you can walk among these treasured mosaics with many silent, sentinel statues as your fellow guests.
Champion Horses
If you ever get the chance to visit this place, do so. You’ll not regret it, and the memory of what you see will linger with you for years to come.
Thank you for reading.
What are your thoughts on the Bardo Museum? Given the chance, would you go? What do you think you could learn from the wealth of mosaics on display?
My research for the current book I’m writing has taken me to a place that has been in the news of late.
The news from the Middle East has not been good for many years, especially on the human scale. But things have taken another sad turn with the added destruction of cultural heritage in Iraq. A couple weeks ago, we heard of the wanton destruction of the ancient, Assyrian Bronze Age city of Nimrud, and this loss of world heritage has shaken the archaeological and historical communities.
But last week, came yet another catastrophic blow. The ancient city of Hatra, just 290 kms northwest of Baghdad, was bulldozed to the ground. The supposed reasons for this vile act being that Hatra did not represent the religion of the group in question.
Hatra.
Prior to the levelling of this ancient site, I had been admiring its magnificent, intact ruins as part of my research for a prequel to my novel, Children of Apollo. This is… was… an amazing place.
Hatra was built in the third century B.C. under the Seleucid Empire, founded by Alexander the Great’s general, Seleucas. It was later located on the edge of the mighty Parthian Empire with which Rome would wage terrible war.
The city of Hatra was one of the best-preserved Parthian cities in the Middle East. It had inner and outer walls that were about 6 kms around, with 160 towers. These walls were so strong and well-fortified that of all the Parthian possessions, including the capital of Ctesiphon, Hatra was the only frontier city that withstood attacks from Rome’s legions.
Map of Hatra (source: UNESCO)
The emperors who laid siege to Hatra were no slouches either! Both the warlike emperors Trajan (in A.D. 116/117) and Septimius Severus (in A.D. 198/199) attacked the city, only to be turned away by the walls, the defenders, and the harsh environment outside of those walls. Some say, the gods themselves had a hand in the successful defence of Hatra…
Eventually, the city fell to the Sassanid Emperor, Shapur I in A.D. 241, but that warrior ruler did not destroy the city. Hatra stood for over two thousand years… that is, until last week.
Emperor Trajan
It wasn’t the walls that kept Hatra standing, nor the power of the Parthians, for both of those things were breeched in the end. What kept Hatra alive, so to speak, was respect and a common sense of heritage.
In my research, it has been interesting to read about how Hatra was a place of religious fusion, of great harmony among faiths.
The architecture may have been a beautiful melding of Hellenistic and Roman styles, but the great temples at the heart of Hatra belonged to the Assyrian and Babylonian faiths, to the beliefs of Greeks, Syrians and Aramaeans, Arabians and Mesopotamians. The age-old gods of all of these faiths co-existed at the heart of this circular city in the desert, standing proud and protected around the base of the Great Temple itself, with its 30 meter columns.
The Great Temple
I’ve not seen recent pictures, but from what I’ve heard, Hatra has been levelled.
There are no words, really.
Think of it this way – even Saddam Hussein saw value (however selfishly) and wanted to restore Hatra, as well as Nineveh, Nimrud, Ashur, and Babylon. He didn’t bulldoze them.
For over a thousand years, Muslims have preserved these ancient sites, including Hatra, because they represented a glorious past, humankind’s past. The towering columns and temple pediments, the ornate reliefs carved by our ancient ancestors did not represent a threat. They were artistic glories, the ornamentations of the houses of many gods, side by side.
In my prequel to Children of Apollo, I’ll be writing about Septimius Severus’ two sieges of Hatra, and how, despite his rage and being repelled twice, the city yet stood. Some stories say it was the threat of mutiny, others that it was the Empress, Julia Domna who urged him to spare the city because of the magnificent temples within that honoured so many gods.
Septimius Severus
Whether the story is true or not, Severus respected the gods, and the monuments built in their honour. He left them alone, even though the Hatrans angered him with their stubbornness.
Severus now crossed Mesopotamia and made an attempt on Hatra, which was not far off, but accomplished nothing; on the contrary, his siege engines were burned, many soldiers perished, and vast numbers were wounded…
…He himself made another expedition against Hatra, having first got ready a large store of food and prepared many siege engines; for he felt it was disgraceful, now that the other places had been subdued, that this one alone, lying there in their midst, should continue to resist. But he lost a vast amount of money, all his engines, except those built by Priscus, as I have stated above, and many soldiers besides. A good many were lost on foraging expeditions, as the barbarian cavalry (I mean that of the Arabians) kept assailing them everywhere in swift and violent attacks. The archery, too, of the Atreni was effective at very long range, since they hurled some of their missile by means of engines, so that they actually struck many even of Severus’ guards; for they discharged two missiles at one and the same shot and there were many hands and many bows hurling the missiles all at the same time. But they inflicted the greatest damage on their assailants when these approached the wall, and much more still after they had broken down a small portion of it; for they hurled down upon them, among things, the bituminous naphtha, of which I wrote above, and consumed the engines and all the soldiers on whom it fell. Severus observed all this from a lofty tribunal. When a portion of the outer circuit had fallen in one place and all the soldiers were eager to force their way inside the remainder, Severus checked them from doing so by ordering the signal for retreat to be clearly sounded on every side. For the place enjoyed great fame, containing as it did a vast number of offering to the Sun-god as well as vast sums of money; and he expected the Arabians to come to terms voluntarily, in order to avoid being forcibly captured and enslaved. At any rate, he allowed one day to pass; then, when no one came to him with any overtures for peace, he commanded the soldiers to assault the wall once more, though it had been built up during the night. But the Europeans, who alone of his army had the ability to do anything, were so angry that not one of them would any longer obey him, and the others, Syrians, who were compelled to make the assault in their place, were miserably destroyed. Thus Heaven, that saved the city, first caused Severus to recall the soldiers when they could have entered the place, and in turn caused the soldiers to hinder him from capturing it when he later wished to do so.
(Cassius Dio – Roman History LXXVI)
Who was living in Hatra last week, when it was ground to dust? No one.
All that was there were the silent stone monuments of history, tufts of grass and wildflower sprouting up from around the column bases, and the desert sand whirling about them, as it had for so many centuries.
You may not have known of Hatra before last week, but now, I would urge you to spare a thought for its ghost and the shared history of the peoples who called it home over the ages.
Thank you for reading…
What are your thoughts on the destruction of Hatra and other sites? Let us know in the comments below…
We’re finally into the month of March and Spring is in our sights.
If we were living in ancient Rome, this would have been a very exciting time. Mars’ month, or mensis Martius, was almost entirely taken up with various celebrations to honour the Roman god of War.
The festival of Mars included the Equirria, a horse-racing festival at Rome, and the Tubilustrium, the day when the sacred war trumpets were purified. The festival of Mars also coincided with the Matronalia, the festival of Juno, mother of Mars, to whom prayers were offered. During the latter, husbands gave gifts to their wives, and female slaves were feasted by their masters.
One of the fixtures of the Festival of Mars were the dancing, or leaping, priests of Mars known as the Salii.
Artist impression of Salii
Throughout the festival, the Salii would process through the streets of Rome wearing military dress and armour, and stop at certain places along the way to perform ritual dances and sing their ancient hymns known as the Carmen Saliare, sung at the beginning (March) and end (October) of the military campaign season. Here is a small fragment:
Sing of him, the father of the gods! Appeal to the God of gods!
When thou thunderest, O God of light, they tremble before thee!
All gods beneath thee have heard thee thunder!
…
but to have acquired all that is spread out
Now the good … of Ceres … or Janus
…
In the Roman state religion, there were no full-time, professional priests. Most were taken from the aristocracy, including the Salii who were supposed to be patricians with both parents still living.
Artist impression of theTemple of Mars Ultor
But where did the order of Salii come from?
Legend has it that Rome’s second king, Numa Pompilius (715 – 673 B.C.) created them in order to protect the sacred shields of Mars, called the ancilia, which the Salii carried in their processions, and which were stored in the Temple of Mars. Dionysius of Halicarnassus relates the legend:
Among the vast number of bucklers [the ancilia] which both the Salii themselves bear and some of their servants carry suspended from rods, they say there is one that fell from heaven and was found in the palace of Numa, though no one had brought it thither and no buckler of that shape had ever before been known among the Italians; and that for both these reasons the Romans concluded that this buckler had been sent by the gods. They add that Numa, desiring that it should be honoured by being carried through the city on holy days by the most distinguished young men and that annual sacrifices should be offered to it, but at the same time being fearful both of the plot of his enemies and of its disappearance by theft, caused many other bucklers to be made resembling the one which fell from heaven, Mamurius, an artificer, having undertaken the work; so that, as a result of the perfect resemblance of the man-made imitations, the shape of the buckler sent by the gods was rendered inconspicuous and difficult to be distinguished by those who might plot to possess themselves of it.
(Dionysius of Halicarnassus; Roman Antiquities)
King Numa instituted twelve Salii to guard the sacred shields and perform the rites for Mars, and his successor, King Tullus Hostilius, is said to have instituted another twelve Salii, bringing the number to twenty-four which became the norm for generations.
Salii carrying the sacred Ancilia
It must have been quite a sight to see these patrician priests dancing through Rome’s streets, carrying the sacred shields while singing, and dancing or leaping before the crowds.
We should remember that this was not some clown-like activity. Mars, war, and the rites to honour both were extremely sacred to the Roman people. When the Salii came into a square, or stood before a temple, I can imagine a hush falling over the people of Rome as they watched the dances and listened to the ancient hymns. Or perhaps the crowd chanted and stomped their feet along with the Salii, all of them honouring the god who had helped to make Rome the superpower it had become?
This dance they perform when they carry the sacred bucklers [the ancilia] through the streets of the city in the month of March, clad in purple tunics, girt with broad belts of bronze, wearing bronze helmets on their heads, and carrying small daggers with which they strike the shields. But the dance is chiefly a matter of step; for they move gracefully, and execute with vigour and agility certain shifting convolutions, in quick and oft-recurring rhythm. (Plutarch; Numa)
Artist impression of the Salii performing the ritual dance to honour Mars
I love learning about ancient religions not only for what they tell us about ancient cultures, but also for the uniqueness of the rites themselves, the origins and mythologies of the beliefs, and the glimpse they give us of what life was like in the ancient world.
Armed and dancing priests during the month of Mars? Who doesn’t like that?
Thank you for reading.
Ruins of the Temple of Mars Ultor (Mars the ‘Avenger’)
