One of the things that makes being an author such a joy is meeting and getting to know other authors and their works. When it comes to all things Wars of the Roses, one expert stands out... Anne Easter Smith. I read her excellent work on Richard III this past year, and found her usage of his burial's excavation account within her text as pure genius. I'd like to welcome Anne to my blog. You're sure to enjoy her words this week.


Thanks so much for having me join your blog today, Brook. You told me I could write about anything I liked, so I have!
 
“Write what you know” was often advised when I plunged into the murky waters of literary endeavor and found myself floundering about in that terrifying first foray. So I did. 

What I “knew” centered on a king who died 528 years ago on a boggy field outside of Leicester, smack in the middle of England. A history nut from adolescence, I came upon a book in my early twenties by English mystery writer Josephine Tey called DAUGHTER OF TIME that repudiated everything I had learned at school about one of our “Bad” kings, Richard III. When I had turned the last page, I became a Ricardian fanatic.
 
What they didn’t tell me about writing was that, along with your knowledge of a subject, a strong dose of passion would lift your book above the ordinary. I learned this when an editor recognized it in my first effort at a novel, “A Rose for the Crown.” She told me my passion for righting the wrong done to Richard shone through every page.
 
For more than 40 years I devoured everything I could find about Shakespeare’s crookback protagonist, the much-maligned King Richard. Boy, oh boy, must Richard have flipped over in his grave as Will penned his play. (Now that we have found Richard’s bones under a car park in Leicester and know he was squashed, without even a shroud, into a shallow, makeshift spot under the nave of the one-time Greyfriars church, the poor man couldn’t have done much more than wiggle a toe much less turn over.) For 40 years, I would rave passionately about how erroneously Shakespeare and the other Tudor propagandists had chronicled Richard’s story.

But pontificating (read, being a bore) at parties didn’t fulfill my manic obsession to tell the world how wrong the history books were. Mercifully, I found I was not alone. There is actually a Richard III Society, begun in the 1920s, to attempt to redress his reputation. Today there are several thousand of us all over the world.
 
To write that first book, I became a self-styled expert on all things Wars of the Roses. My library of reference books on the period has grown to fill a bookcase and three drawers of a filing cabinet! After writing five books at the behest of Simon & Schuster, I became a victim of the current downturn in the industry. “Historical fiction readers want strong female protagonists,” my agent was told by most of the editors to whom we pitched THIS SON OF YORK. “They don’t want to read about men. Also, unfortunately for you, the medieval period is now OUT. Why don’t you write me a book about World War II? And besides the book is far too long for today’s busy readers.” (Hilary Mantel, take note!)
 
So three strikes, and I was out of the running to have my “passion project” traditionally published. Thankfully, I hooked up with a small independent publisher in my home state of Massachusetts, Bellastoria Press, and I believe they have done a wonderful job producing the book, with the help of cover artist Sanford Farrier, so it blends in with my other books on the shelf. I hope you will agree. This is the book I should have written first but was too chicken to get into Richard’s head! After writing around him for the first five, I think I have the measure of him now, and he spoke quite easily through me during the writing of his story.


Again, a huge thanks to Anne for taking time to be my guest blogger for April. Below are links to all of her books, so for those of you with a thirst for reads taking place in the late Middle Ages, have at it! 

​Everyone stay well and be sure to drop me a line if there's something you'd like me to blog about!

When I was a child, I remember watching Ben Hur, starring Charlton Heston, and being particularly moved by the scene in which Judah goes into the leper's colony to find his mother and sister. This was the first movie I'd ever watched about the ancient world, and to this day, it remains one of my favorites. The pitiable isolation of the lepers and their doomed condition in a world that didn't understand disease came to mind today, as I was considering what to write on for this week's blog. 

I am not a doctor or medical professional, but everyone who reads this blog has been touched in some way by COVID-19. Whether you are currently living under a lock-down due to this virus, or practicing social-distancing, every single one of us is in new territory for which none of us could imagine two months ago. So tonight, I cracked open my Oxford Classical Dictionary and turned to the topic of disease, thinking it would be most appropriate to learn a little about what the ancient world regarded as pestilence. 

First of all, disease was the number-one killer of people two-thousand years ago. According to writings from Galen, two in particular took a heavy toll: malaria and tuberculosis. Even in ancient times, physicians were able to identify three separate types of malaria, caused by mosquitoes. But the common symptom of all three were high fevers every two to three days, and these usually presented in either summer or fall. People of all ages were succeptable, and surprisingly, Malaria could be common in regions without marshes or wetlands. That being said, there are some scholars convinced that it was this mosquito-borne illness that may have led to the demise of the Etruscan civilization in Italy. Another killer in antiquity was tuberculosis, which mostly struck at young adults, especially in crowded city-centers. Physicians of the day believed it to be fatal, and most of the time, it probably was.

Though ancient sources don't offer much information on childhood diseases, many illnesses were were common ones for which most people are innoculated against today: diphtheria, chickenpox, mumps, and whooping cough. That being said, childhood anemia, iron-deficiencies, and other malnutrition ailments were common and have shown up in skeletal remains. Some archaeological digs have even yielded evidence of cancers, and Galen specifically mentions in his writings that breast cancer was especially prevalent. 

Having read all this tonight, I was reminded that even now, in an age of high technology and information overloads, we can still live in uncertain times, as did our ancestors. Each of us, in retrospection, probably never could have guessed that we'd be dealing with a pandemic at our doorsteps. I'd like to wish all of my readers a bill of clean health as I write this. Whether you're in lock-down, quarantine, or may be struggling with the Coronavirus itself, please know that you and your families are in my thoughts and prayers. 

In the meantime, wash your hands, boil some water, enjoy a cup of tea, choose a good book, and READ ON!

Marcus rubbed sleep from his eyes, considering. Why would Decimus Brutus be intervening to get Caesar to the Senate? That sounded suspicious.
Hackles raised, he threw the coverlet off.
“What day is it?” mumbled Fulvia, stretching and turning over.
“The ides of Martius,” Marcus replied, yawning. “Eros, get my toga. It seems I must look like a consul today after all.”

In Roman times, the calendar often had several terms signifying a particular date. The 15th of March, May, July, or October was considered the “ides”. All other months had an “ides”, as well; theirs landing on the 13th day of the month.

During Gaius Julius Caesar’s dictatorship, the ides in the month of March was to change Roman history permanently. In fact, it was a date so ingrained in the history of western civilization, that the Ides of March connotes a day of infamy—of bad luck. Each March 15th in Rome, actors descend upon the area where Caesar was killed to “replay” the deed. And then, people with a real fascination for Caesar’s history still deposit roses on the very place his body was cremated—within the ruined remains of the Temple of Caesar. (see photo at left)

If Caesar is so well-remembered today, then when why was he killed in the first place?

In 44 BC, Caesar had been granted the title of “Dictator for life”. This was a pretty big deal. Ever since Rome had first become a Republic, the mere thought of single-man rule was abhorrent—in fact traitorous. When the Senate allowed Caesar this honor, it was beyond anything that had been done before. Caesar was given a political permanence that no other dictator had been granted. However, one must remember that he won that permanence by military force. Once his final rival, Pompeius Magnus was dead, Caesar had full control over Rome.
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Compared to his predecessors, Julius Caesar held a more worldly, global-based view of the Roman world. The exclusivity of Roman citizenship was now available for Gallic people and people in the east. But Caesar took it a step more, granting senatorial status to Gallic-born men. For hard-core Romans like Brutus, Cassius, and others, this was like swallowing poison. And Caesar had pretty much claimed divine roots by this time, too. He had always boasted that his family was descended from the goddess Venus Genetrix (Venus of the family—meaning his) and shortly before his death, he had a temple completed and consecrated in Rome, dedicated to her. But the juiciest tidbit about that, which turned into a raging scandal, was that the cult-statue inside the temple had a high-profile model—Cleopatra of Egypt, Caesar’s mistress!  Ruins of this very temple can still be seen today in the Forum. (see below left)

Good ol’ down-home, strait-laced Roman senators just couldn’t take any more.

A group of them, led by Gaius Cassius Longinus and Marcus Junius Brutus began to plan an assassination. On the day they chose to strike, it was assumed that Caesar would actually be appointed “king” over all Roman possessions, only excluding Rome itself. That fateful day?

The Ides of March.

Though Caesar was stabbed twenty-three times, it’s estimated that as many as sixty men were in on the plot. One man, Decimus Brutus (no big relation of Marcus Brutus, by the way) was actually a beneficiary in Caesar’s will! There’s some argument of whether or not Marcus Antonius (Marc Antony) was involved. However, Antonius was well-known as Caesar’s “right-hand man” by that time and he was also known for his loyalty to friends and family. 

So what exactly happened on the Ides?

Strangely enough, Caesar nearly missed his own assassination! Romans were a very superstitious people, and because of some dark portent, Calpurnia’s nightmare, or perhaps a real warning, he opted NOT to go—at first. However, the senator Decimus Brutus may have been the one to intervene and convince Caesar to attend.

Antonius was usually at Caesar’s side. Because of his physical size and reputation as a fine soldier, the assassins came up with a plan to separate Antonius from Caesar. As soon as Caesar and Antonius entered the Theater of Pompeius’s curia (where the Senate was meeting at the time), a friend of Antonius insisted he speak with him. This “friend” was Gaius Trebonius, a military colleague of Antonius. Both had fought for Caesar during the Gallic Wars at the final, bloody siege at Alesia. The two had shared a tent and as soldiers often do, had formed a close bond. Little did Antonius know that Trebonius was no longer his friend!

Once Caesar had taken his place in the Senate, “deliberations” of a sort began, with some petitions. Servilius Casca was the first to strike a blow and Caesar—always a fighter, even in encroaching age and illness—fought him off with a writing utensil known as a stylus. Ah, the power of the pen!

Sadly for Caesar, the pen didn’t save him. It’s generally accepted that Marcus Brutus was the last man to stab the dictator. Brutus probably did have a lot of conflicted feelings. His mother had been Caesar’s mistress, he had also served Caesar in Gaul, and had even been pardoned by him after the civil war with Pompeius.
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Regardless of whether Brutus’s jab finished the job, Caesar died shortly thereafter of multiple stab-wounds. Later, Brutus had a coin issued, commemorating his participation in the deed. (see below) One side of it features two daggers surrounding a cap. This was the type of cap that freed slaves often wore upon their liberation.

Thus, all of the conspirators, who at this point termed themselves as “liberators” fled to the Temple of Jupiter. It was located on the highest hill in Rome—the Capitoline—not an easy place to approach from a military standpoint. History tells us that Antonius was pretty slick during the days that followed. He walked the fine political line between civil unrest (again!) and keeping the peace, doing an admirable, if not wily job of it. And he gave his stellar funeral oration that not only stirred the plebians into a frenzy by cremating Caesar themselves, but spooked Brutus and Cassius all the way to Greece!

At this, the plebs became frenzied, chanting oaths to Caesar’s shade, jumping up and down in unison and lifting hands or balling fists in emotion. Their fervor encouraged Marcus, and in a daring move, he kicked the lid off of the basket at his feet. Inside was Caesar’s bloodied toga, and he whipped it out to thousands of gasps. One of his lictors stepped forward on cue, and Marcus took up his fasces, draping the stained garment over the axe. He lifted it high, striding back and forth across the Rostra, displaying it like a banner.
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                                                    Italicized samples are from Brook Allen's newest novel, Antonius: Second in Command 

 If you fought in a Roman legion, what protected you? 

It was called a scutum in Latin. Early ones in the regnal period up until the early Republic were known as the clipeus and were round. Sometime in the 4th century BC, an oval, oblong-shaped shield was developed and that became the first scutum. By the 1st century AD or even the late Republic, these shields took on the shape that most "HollyRome" movies portray--curved and rectangular. That being said, cavalrymen like my protagonist, Marcus Antonius in Antonius: Son of Rome, would have wielded lighter, circular shields, known as the parma.

Scuta were made of layers of wood that were carefully glued. The wood was then covered with leather and topped with canvas which was brightly painted. We know this, since a phenomenal artifact was found intact in Syria, known as the Dura Scutum. (see photo at upper right) Looking at the photo, it's easy to see where the metal boss would have been--in the dead center. Bosses were probably made of either iron or bronze and were especially useful when the scutum was used as an offensive weapon. Each shield had a light, smoothly sanded wooden grip behind the boss and legionaries sometimes used sheepskin to further protect their hands during combat. Stats for the Dura Europos scutum ​were 41.5 inches long, 16 inches wide, and about a foot deep, in the curvature. And how much did this extremely necessary piece of equipment weigh? It was surprisingly light for its size: about twenty-two pounds. And it's jaw-droppingly beautiful! Shields decorated like this must have been an impressive sight, with thousands of men marching with them.

So what else protected you, besides your shield, armor, helmet, gladius, and pilum? 

Numbers protected you! The movie Gladiator, starring Russell Crowe very accurately showed the necessity of legionaries depending on one another for maneuvers, protection, and morale. In one of the more memorable scenes, supposedly in the Roman Colosseum, Maximus shouts to his men, "As one!" Indeed, that's how a legion fought: AS ONE--and I'd bet my life that the best soldiers in today's modern age are trained to rely on one another, too. Scuta could be used either as a defensive or offensive weapon. In a scene from Antonius: Second in Command, Marcus uses his parma shield offensively:
 
"As he cantered past a thicket, focusing on what was happening ahead of him, his horse shied at the sound of snapping branches He could barely think before two Britons on foot erupted out of the dense green foliage. Spooked and panicked, Marcus's horse squealed and feinted sideways, nearly pitching him into one of his enemy's arms. Legs burning, he clamped his calves around his frightened animal to stay on. His right hand frantically grasped his horse's mane in an attempt to right himself. Simultaneously, his left arm pummeled his shield hard atop one of the Britons' heads, and the man's skull crunched..."
                                                                   from Antonius: Second in Command by Brook Allen

At other times, generals like Marcus Antonius used a widely known maneuver called the testudo (tortoise formation). In my upcoming book Antonius: Legend, this formation is a tactic used against the Parthians and Marcus's men would have died without it. "As one" again, legionaries would create a tortoise-shell out of their scuta; those in front and on the ends of their unit forming a shield wall. Men inside the formation lifted their scuta above their heads. There were times in Parthia when Antonius's men literally marched like this all day long. Ugh! But it saved lives (and probably built biceps, too!). At other times, during stationary combat, men in front would actually kneel.

Since I'm an author and words fascinate me, I thought I'd share one last fun fact. Years ago, I worked as a naturalist in Everglades National Park. I was around alligators all day long and the wildlife there fascinated me. Coincidenatlly, the boney ridges along the backs of alligators and crocodiles  are called "scutes". It wasn't until I starte studying Roman History in depth that I realized from where this word was derived. 

Read on, wash your hands, and if you have ideas for my blogs, let me know! I love hearing from you. 

The re-enactor's shield below shows a scutum complete with its boss. How would you like that ​mercilessly shoved in your face?