The novel is set in AD193, at a time when the mighty Roman Empire was still reeling from an almost unimaginable series of events. The increasingly crazed and profligate Commodus was dead – finally assassinated on New Year’s Eve after several failed attempts – and his immediate successor, the austere and upright Helvetius Pertinax (the ex-governor of Britannia who has featured in these books as the supposed friend and patron of the fictitious Marcus Septimus) did not survive for long.
Pertinax’s attempts to curb expenditure – including the cessation of the lavish banquets, gifts and entertainments for which his predecessor had been famed – did not endear him to the former beneficiaries, and when he refused to honour a bonus to the elite Praetorian Guard (the Emperor’s personal protection) on the grounds that there was not enough money in the treasury, he was set upon and killed. That was a political outrage in itself, but what followed was a scandal that rocked the Empire.
Two rival candidates appeared, each claiming the Imperial purple for himself, facing each other across the citadel and each promising increasingly high bribes to the Praetorian Guards for their support – effectively an auction for the Roman Empire. As with any auction, the highest bidder won and Didius Julianus was acclaimed as Emperor. However, if Pertinax’s tenure of the office had been brief, his successor’s grip on power was shaky from the start.
For one thing, he quickly discovered that Pertinax was right – there was insufficient money to pay the promised bribe – so the Praetorian Guard could not be relied on for support. At the same time, new claimants had emerged. No less than three outraged supporters of the previous Emperor, each asserting that he’d been named as successor by Pertinax himself, sent immediate emissaries to Rome and had themselves severally proclaimed as rightful heir. All three were serving Provincial Governors, with substantial troops at their command: Pescennius Niger, the governor of Syria and probably the senate’s favoured candidate; Septimius Severus, who had the support of the entire Danube army; and (significantly for our story) Clodius Albinus, the serving Governor of Britannia. The situation was clearly dangerous.
Didius, in Rome, continued to attempt to cling to power. At first, it seems, his instinct was to try to buy support (promising influence and promotion if not actual cash to known sympathizers with the old regime), and exiling and indicting those he could not bribe. Chroniclers vary in their accounts of how bloody and severe his measures eventually became, but there are stories of violence and assassination in the streets of Rome, and swingeing edicts against his enemies elsewhere. Allegiance to Didius – never strong – continued to ebb inexorably away. Wealthy citizens began to flee, seeking the safety of their country homes, while his increasingly desperate attempts to treat and compromise as a rival army neared the capital were undermined when even his own ambassadors defected.
This is the background of unrest against which the action of the book is set, although I have taken some liberties with historical probabilities – choosing details from (sometimes questionable) near-contemporary accounts to suit the narrative.
It is frankly doubtful that the news from Rome would arrive in Glevum as quickly as the story suggests, but when Commodus died a claim was made that the news had ‘reached all corners of the Empire within half a moon’, and throughout these novels the same time-scale is assumed. (It is slightly more feasible, at this season of the year, as the mountain roads would be passable!) This convention means that by the Ides of June – which fall on the thirteenth, rather than the fifteenth, as June was one of the short months in the Roman calendar – news of what happened on the Kalends would be imminent.
Also, it is distinctly possible, despite the suggestion to the contrary in this tale, that Didius did not directly order the violence and murders which took place in Rome – indeed, the reports may be exaggerated tales, invented by later critics to discredit him. (When Didius fell, as he inevitably did, he is rumoured to have asked his executioner, ‘Why? Whom did I kill?’) Nor is there evidence that the order from Clodius Albinus summoning the Britannic legions to march in his support was actually ever issued (for reasons which emerge in the narrative) though it was clearly planned. However, for the purposes of the story, both of these events are assumed to have occurred.
The Britannia to which this Clodius had been appointed governor was the most remote and northerly of all Roman provinces: still occupied by Roman legions, criss-crossed by Roman roads, and subject to Roman laws and taxes. Latin was the language of the educated: people – especially in the newly founded towns – were adopting Roman dress and habits, and citizenship, with the precious social and legal rights which it conferred, was the aspiration of almost everyone. However, Celtic life and customs continued to exist, most especially in country areas, and many poorer families (like the trappers in this tale) living in native settlements well off the major roads, might have little contact with Roman ways at all, except for essential trade and business purposes.
These major roads were military routes, built by soldiers for the army’s use, but they had transformed communication within a century. Travel between towns (themselves a Roman concept) was still difficult, of course, but paved roads made long distances possible, as the journey outlined in the book suggests. Travellers were obliged to leave the carriageway and take to the verges if the army passed, but otherwise were free to use the roads, though with brutal penalties for highway robbery. Trade flourished, and soon civilian inns and hostelries appeared, offering refreshment and accommodation on the way.
These ‘casual’ inns were hardly welcoming; one was likely to share a bed with fellow travellers, let alone a room, and bedding (difficult to clean) might not be changed for months. The food was basic, there were bugs, and sanitary arrangements were rudimentary at best. But fleas, filth and overcrowding were the least of the hazards one might face. Many establishments were notorious drinking-dens, frequented by thieves and prostitutes, where rape, robbery and even murder were not unknown. (The innkeeper who lodged the Holy Family in the stable, may have been acting in their interests.)
Of course there were exceptions – as suggested in the text – especially in country areas, but respectable citizens avoided such places whenever possible, preferring the official military inns. However, the army mansio (like the respectable private guest houses in towns and the accommodation offered at some shrines) did not cater for casual passing trade, requiring a letter of recommendation under seal before it would admit civilian travellers. However, as with the characters in this book, obtaining such a permit was not always practical.
The centres of population which were linked by these main roads, varied in size and status and sometimes purpose, too. Glevum (modern Gloucester) was an important place, thriving with shipping, trade and industry. Its historic basis as a colonia for retired legionaries gave it special privileges: all freemen born within its walls were citizens by right. Most inhabitants of Glevum, however, were not citizens at all. Many were freemen born outside the walls, scratching a precarious living from a trade. Hundreds more were slaves – mere chattels of their masters, to be bought and sold with no more rights or status than any other domestic animal. Some slaves led pitiable lives, but others were highly regarded by their owners and might be treated well, though female slaves were available for their master’s pleasure at all times and any resultant offspring might be sold or killed (perfectly legally – infants were not considered to be possessed of souls as yet). However, a slave in a kindly household, ensured of food and clothes, might have a more enviable lot than many a poor freeman starving in a squalid hut, and – as in this story – desperate families sometimes sold their children into servitude, at least partly to ensure that they survived.
Aquae Sulis (modern Bath) was a different sort of town. Recent research suggests that it was not a town at first, but simply a large walled temple complex built around the spring. The road led past it to a strategic river-crossing further on, controlled by an army guard-post, which attracted a few tradesmen to supply their needs. As the shrine became more famous and more visitors arrived (hot water rising directly from the earth must have seemed miraculous), a straggle of habitations arose along this road, followed by small businesses and stalls, until they occupied the entire area and flourished into a busy market-town – and that is the interpretation favoured in this tale.
Power, in town and country, was vested almost entirely in men. Although individual women might inherit large estates, and many wielded considerable influence within the house, they were excluded from public office and a woman (of any age) was deemed a child in law, requiring a man to speak for her and manage her affairs – a father, husband, or a legal ‘guardian’. Widows might fare better, if they were named as heirs, but those whose husbands did not leave a will might find themselves under the protection of some distant relative, or forced into remarriage with a husband found for them, either by their guardian or by order of the courts.
Marriage and motherhood were the only realistic goals for well-bred women, although tradesmen’s wives and daughters often worked beside their men and in the poorest households everybody toiled. One occupation, however, was available – reasonably well-paid and respectable enough – to those of lower rank. Rich women often put their infants out to nurse – meaning that some poorer mother with a baby of her own would breastfeed a highborn child till it was old enough to wean, often taking it into her own family meanwhile. The role was sought-after, not merely because it afforded welcome income, but because breastfeeding was thought to have contraceptive powers. (Only the really wealthy, like Marcus’s wife in the story, could afford a full-time wet-nurse living in the home.) Part of the content of this book hinges on the difference between the life and expectations of a woman of high rank and those of her humbler sisters, who might be citizens, but who lacked the wealth and status to merit privilege.
The rest of the Romano-British background to this book has been derived from a number of (sometimes contradictory) pictorial and written sources as well as artefacts. However, although I have done my best to create an accurate picture of the times, this remains a work of fiction and there is no claim to total academic authenticity. Didius Julianus and (most) events in Rome are historically attested, as is the existence and basic geography of the two British towns. The rest is the product of my imagination.
Relata refero. Ne Iupiter quidem omnibus placet. I only tell you what I heard. Jove himself can’t please everyone.