by marthamarks | Agriculture
In Rubies of the Viper , the Varro family’s closest-to-home source of wealth is their large agricultural estate, or plantation (latifundium; pl: latifundia). This was a relatively recent development in the first century A.D. and an important one. It’s worth understanding how the latifundia developed and how they changed Roman society forever.
The traditional Italian lifestyle was based on the family farm.
For hundreds of years—from the original tribal settlements (starting about 1,000-900 B.C.) through the Roman kings (752 B.C.-509 B.C.) and the first centuries of the Roman Republic (509 B.C.-27 B.C.)—family-owned and -operated farms were the backbone of the economy. Small-scale, privately owned parcels could be worked productively by a free man and his wife, sons, and daughters, plus a handful of born-on-the-farm slaves (collectively called the familia rustica).
The great latifundia came about as the result of war and other interrelated social changes.
1. During the Punic Wars (against Carthage, 3rd to 2nd century B.C.), many Italian farmers were compelled to serve in the Roman army and sometimes spent years at a time away from home. In their absence, wives and children—hard pressed to maintain the agricultural activities that had sustained their families—often were forced to sell their land and slaves to wealthier individuals, simply to survive.
2. In the second century B.C., the ager publicus—large tracts of publicly owned lands in newly conquered parts of Italy and beyond—began to be leased to generals, to heroes of military campaigns, and to wealthy individuals. At first, these estates were modeled on the traditional single-family farm, each with its villa (similar to Theodosia’s Villa Varroniana), near-by pastures, and crop land.
3. As time went on, slaves from conquered lands began to be imported into Italy. Most had done agricultural work at home, so it made sense to put them to work on Italian estates. As the conquests mounted, so did the number of slaves brought in.
4. It didn’t take long before this vast pool of cheap labor began to put the family farmers out of business. Few small, family-owned and -worked farms could compete with the gigantic, slave-worked latifundia. One after another, farmers sold their land and slaves to wealthier people, many of them absentee landlords, who gradually solidified their control over the agricultural landscape. (Obviously, this situation was much like that of modern corporate agribusinesses, which outcompete and often buy up the small family farms in a given area.)
5. Former land owners were forced to seek other ways of making a living. Most either became tenant farmers on land they had previously owned, or joined the army, or migrated to Rome, where they added to the burgeoning population of urban poor living in a vast slum called Subura.
In one Rubies of the Viper scene, set in A.D. 53, the fast-fading, traditional farming lifestyle is reflected in the following exchange between Theodosia Varro and two legionaries:
“Do you build bonfires, Vespillo, when you’re home for Saturnalia?”
“Sure. We’ve only got three slaves to work the fields with my father, but tonight they’ll be the kings of the harvest. Father and my sisters should be serving ‘em dinner about now.” He sighed. “I ain’t been home for Saturnalia in years.”
“Where’s home?”
“Arretium. Just this side of the Apennines.”
“So… you’re an Umbrian! And you, sir?”
“From Tarentum, in the south,” Silvanus said. “Too poor to have land or slaves. Me and my oldest son are both in the army. My wife and younger children live off our wages. Ain’t much of a life.”
And this description accurately captures the history of the land that now belongs to Theodosia:
Rolling pinewoods stretched for miles on both sides of the Via Aurelia, broken only by occasional patches of once-cultivated land. A century earlier—before the rise of rich landowners like the Varros—those had been small farms. Now they fed no one. Few farm families could compete with the big, slave-worked plantations.
Theodosia felt a quick flash of guilt. Still, there was no denying that those overgrown fields were beautiful. Gray-green leaves of gnarled olive trees rustled in the breeze. Strips of wildflowers carpeted the spaces between them and spread out along the roadway, mixed with wild fennel and rosemary. The scent was incomparable.
She led the way across a stone bridge toward a hill that promised a fine view of the sea. Guiding the filly off the paving stones, she threaded her way up the slope through pines and plane trees. At the top, she reined in again to savor the panorama of her property. To the north and east lay forests and hills. Somewhere inland was the farm. To the southwest, beside the sea, sat her villa… its red-tile roof seemingly afire in the afternoon sun.
—text copyright © Martha Marks—
by marthamarks | Italy, Rural Places
An Etruscan necropolis outside the ancient Italian town of Caere (modern-day Cerveteri) serves as a “sleeper” location in Rubies of the Viper. I say “sleeper” because at first the necropolis seems merely to provide local color, but it turns out to play a critical role in the story.
I had already written Rubies of the Viper, including those scenes in the necropolis, before I actually set foot in that real-life city of the dead… at which point I was delighted to discover how spot-on my descriptions (based on extensive research) were—both on the outside and within a specific tomb. Walking those ancient, rutted streets gave me goose bumps… not only because of the Etruscan presence on that spot thousands of years earlier, but also because several very-real-to-me characters had also “been there.” I kept saying to my husband: “Alexander did such-and-such right here!” and “That’s where Theodosia met so-and-so!”
The necropolis near Caere/Cerveteri was almost a millennium old by the first century A.D. It had been established circa 900-800 B.C. by the Etruscans, a local tribe that ultimately colonized a large area that included all of modern Tuscany. The etymological root of “Tuscany” is, of course, “Etruscan.” (Similarly, the body of water to the west of the Italian peninsula was called the Etruscan Sea in Roman times; it’s still known as the Tyrrhenian Sea… “Tyrrhenian” being another word for “Etruscan.”)
The Etruscan culture is fascinating for many reasons. Unlike most other ancient civilizations (and many modern ones), they enjoyed equality of the sexes. They were the first tribe in Italy to develop writing, using an alphabet they created based on the Greek one. Their language was spoken for well over a thousand years… continuing in use for several hundred years A.D. Rivals to the Greeks, they developed impressive agricultural and shipping enterprises as well as finely crafted works of art.
By the time Theodosia, Alexander, and Stefan paid their first visit there in A.D. 53, the necropolis at Caere had already been plundered for treasures (coins, jewels, pottery, funeral urns, etc)… the best of which ended up in homes of the uber-wealthy… such as Theodosia’s Villa Varroniana.
From the outside, the necropolis at Caere/Cerveteri is a mass of grass-covered, beehive-shaped mounds, plus a few rectangular structures, all connected by a series of unpaved streets with deep ruts carved over the centuries by wagons bearing bodies to the tombs. This web page offers two exterior photos, a map, and additional information.
On the inside, the tombs were set up like the Etruscans’ homes: with benches, rooms, doors, colorful frescoes on the walls, etc. They were mostly subterranean, so they had stairs—in some cases quite long ones—leading down from the street.
For somebody else’s photos of the tombs, click here and be sure to click “next” to see many more great images.
The image above is from the Italian website, Comune di Cerveteri.
—text copyright © Martha Marks—
by marthamarks | Travel
Writing The Viper Amulet sent me on an Internet voyage to discover how first-century travelers managed to navigate their way around the Mediterranean Sea… a water-world of islands, inlets, rocks, shoals, and sandbars surrounded by—and occasionally interspersed with—chunks of terra firma. Many ancient ships sank in the Mediterranean, so sailing must have been an immensely dangerous endeavor.
The information I turned up was fascinating, but putting it to good novelistic use required imagination and shrewd powers of deduction. Fortunately, I have plenty of each!
I learned that there was little dependable navigational guidance available until late in the life of Emperor Claudius (10 B.C. – 54 A.D., which ended a year after Rubies of the Viper begins). Sailors apparently followed the coastlines as closely as they safely could. Venturing without modern aids across the biggest body of water in their known world must have taken great courage.
In 43 A.D., Pomponius Mela, an Iberian geographer living in Rome, “published” a short book (ie, a scroll) describing in words a bare-bones outline of the Mediterranean Sea. He had access to some older sources, mostly Greek texts, which he combined and elaborated on. Logically, for someone born in southern Spain, his description begins with the Straights of Gibraltar; moves east along the north-African coast, northeast along Judea and Syria, and north to the Black Sea. Eventually, his description makes its way around Greece and Italy and winds up back in Spain.
Other than their general shapes, Mela did not describe the land masses surrounding the Mediterranean. Places whose size and shape were generally unknown at the time (eg, Africa) are greatly reduced from what we moderns know to be their actual size.
If you’d like to see a graphic portrayal of Pomponius Mela’s vision of the world, click here.
So… Pomponius Mela provided an overall geographical description of the Mediterranean. But how did all that verbiage translate into something useful for naval captains and ordinary sailors and fishermen, most of whom must have been illiterate and none of whom would have possessed a one-of-a-kind manuscript?
Here’s where my powers of deduction come in.
Pomponius Mela’s geographical description certainly made it into the hands of Emperor Claudius, a scholar who would have appreciated the work and realized the value of this new information. (In fact, getting it to Claudius was probably the reason Mela wrote his book in the first place. It’s a safe guess that he—like so many other foreigners in the imperial capital—was ambitious to get a good appointment in the palace.)
In writing The Viper Amulet, I’ve made the assumption that Claudius would have encouraged somebody in the palace, perhaps even Mela himself, to accept the task of developing a visual rendition of this verbal description… to put it into a format that could be more easily used. In modern words: to create a map.
It wouldn’t have been called a map in those days, of course.
The best term that my adviser on all things classical has suggested to describe this wondrous first-century creation is: a drawing on parchment. So, in The Viper Amulet, my characters have the benefit of a new-fangled “drawing on parchment.”
My characters wouldn’t have had the original drawing, of course. No doubt that was safely kept in the imperial palace in Rome, a fact that could have continued to make life difficult for those sailing the Mediterranean. So—again using those powers of deduction—I assume that hand-made copies of the original “drawing on parchment” would have been distributed to Roman Navy captains. Subsequently, one can envision the many generations of copies—copies of copies of copies—that would have been produced, in all probability becoming less and less accurate, but still better than nothing at all.
To my mind, this is a logical series of steps… starting from the historical reality of Pomponius Mela’s written description and imagining the development of graphic representations that would have helped all who could get their hands on them. I can’t prove that my characters obtained travel assistance in exactly this way, but the “copies of copies” that they manage to find in Sicily surely would have been a big help to anyone in their situation.
—text copyright © Martha Marks—
by marthamarks | FICTIONAL CHARACTERS, Theodosia Varro, Women (Roman)
After living with Theodosia Varro for the five years it took me to write Rubies of the Viper—during which time she quite literally had her own way with the story—I’ve developed a great respect and affection for her. The best test for me is that, after spending so much time with her already, I found her fascinating enough to continue exploring her life in a sequel, The Viper Amulet.
Here’s how I see Theodosia… and there are no spoilers here!
Personality-wise, she’s stubborn, impetuous, and thoughtless—with a love of horses, bright clothing, personal independence, and self-determination—but she also demonstrates remarkable kindness and generosity for an upper-class woman of her time.
Socially, she’s a misfit from birth… a half-Greek/half-Roman girl given no training whatsoever for managing the wealth and high social position that fall into her lap at the beginning of the novel. She was raised by a Greek slave nurse—a surrogate for the mother who died in childbirth—who had no capacity to prepare her to be a proper lady. Her father treated her in a way that no “ordinary” patrician girl would ever have been treated: more as a fun companion than as a future Roman wife and mother. He taught her to love books and ride a horse as well as a man, but made no provision for her marriage and no effort to ensure that she was equipped to survive after his death. (See What Theodosia Never Learned and Is Theodosia Stupid? on this site.)
Emotionally, she’s naive, unprepared, and inexperienced at first… easy prey in a society full of ambitious, money- and status-seeking men. She grows in wisdom and experience as the story progresses, and it’s safe to say that the Theodosia of Chapter 30 is a far cry from the Theodosia of Chapter 1.
In my eyes, this adds up to a multi-dimensional character who learns to hold her own despite the many forces aligned against her. Theodosia creates many of her own problems, but by the end of the novel, she proves to be clever, resourceful, courageous, resilient, honest with herself and others, willing to admit mistakes, and strong—both physically and emotionally.
As one Amazon reviewer pointed out… Theodosia “leaves several characters so appreciative of her that they risk their lives and freedom on her behalf.” I’d say that’s a pretty good sign of an appealing protagonist.
If you’ve read Rubies of the Viper, please leave a comment and let me know what you think of Theodosia Varro. Just remember… no spoilers, please!
—text copyright © Martha Marks—
by marthamarks | FICTIONAL CHARACTERS, Theodosia Varro, Women (Roman)
Only by understanding the normal expectations and restrictions placed on patrician women in Roman society can one see how profoundly different is the situation in which Theodosia Varro, the protagonist of Rubies of the Viper, finds herself at the beginning of the novel.
A Roman lady of the upper classes was trained from childhood for her primary tasks in life: to run a household, manage slaves, entertain her husband’s friends and political allies, and raise her children.
But… Theodosia Varro was given no training for any of this. (See Not Your Garden-Variety Roman Lady and Is Theodosia stupid?)
The life of a typical Roman lady of the upper classes was restricted from start to finish. She had minimal education, little encouragement to understand politics, and few opportunities for meaningful engagement with the world outside her home. While a free Roman woman was considered a citizen, she had no right to vote, hold office, or engage in any political activities.
Legally, both a woman and any property she inherited were under the control of a male member of the family: her father, husband, or son. She didn’t have the right to select her own husband, say no to her father’s choice, or wait until she was older than the customary marriage age of 12-14.
A Roman lady didn’t have a legal right to her children. She couldn’t even protect a newborn baby girl (or, on occasion, a sickly baby boy) if the father chose to allow the baby to die of starvation or exposure. If the lady divorced her husband, she had to leave her children behind.
It was common for a girl at puberty to be married off to a considerably older man… becoming perhaps his third or fourth wife. Wives were expected to bear children as often as possible, because few survived and because sons were so desirable. Women wore out fast; twenty to thirty years was the expected life span of a female who survived past childhood.
While adulterous relationships were common, only a woman could be put to death for adultery.
Unlike Greek woman, who were confined almost all the time to their homes, Roman women regularly went out in public, especially to the public baths (which were social occasions as well as opportunities for hygiene); to parties, races and gladiatorial events; and to religious celebrations. They enjoyed friends of their own class, both male and female.
A good book on this subject is Goddesses, Whores, Wives and Slaves: Women in Classical Antiquity.
—text copyright © Martha Marks—
by marthamarks | Communications
How in heck did I come up with THE PURPLE PARCHMENT? It’s a cute, alliterative name for a blog, to be sure… but does it mean anything?
Actually, it does.
In Ancient Roman times, people had three ways of writing things down.
Wax tablets might be called the first-century equivalent of our spiral notebooks. Using styluses, schoolboys wrote their lessons on wax tablets, which could be rubbed out and reused. Secretaries took dictation on them, using a form of shorthand.
Papyrus was the closest thing to our paper… used for some degree of permanence but obviously destructible.
Parchment was the most lasting medium of communication… used for things the writer wanted to endure, such as Imperial decrees, wills/deeds/bills of sale/certificates of manumission/et al, and Biblical texts.
Parchment was made of stretched animal skins, which explains the durability factor. Documents written on parchment would not tear, and it was tough to cut them up. When burned (as happens once in Rubies of the Viper), they stank and melted into a puddle of waxy ashes.
Usually, parchments were a natural tan. For special documents, however, they might be dyed. Purple parchments were the medium of choice for messages sent by the emperor and his family or staff.
Really important imperial messages always went out on purple parchment, dyed using secretions from a mollusk. They had a special name: Codex Purpureus. Ink used on these purple parchments was made with either gold or silver.
I figure… if purple parchment was good enough for Emperor Nero, it’s good enough for me.
—text copyright © Martha Marks—
