A new perspective on an ancient problem
By Victoria Collins
Utter desperation and disillusionment brought me to tears on arrival at the Roman Forum. But by the end of my two-week research trip, I would have whole new perspective on an ancient problem.
First, I found my love interest selling watercolours from plywood stands under threat of rain in Piazza Navona. My plot called for an artist but my female protagonist needed a masculine, rough-edged type. The watercolourist, Antonio, had solid thighs, a tradesman’s shoulders and gentle dark blue eyes. Perfect.
Part of my search was for those details that bring a story to life: to know what a marble column feels like against my back; to feel its mass; to feel in the people the weight of being Roman; to know if the January winds invigorate or bite.
The rest of my trip was about archaeology. My biggest challenge was that The Novel is set in the second century BC – not so long ago that there are no records or archaeology; long enough ago that the details are sketchy. Also, it’s in a real place with real people recorded in history. If I wrote something inaccurate, the world would know.
I needed to walk the Forum and stand in the temples and feel their size and their floor plans; stand at their doors and see what my protagonist would have seen. I needed an archaeologist to walk with me and help me see it all in my mind’s eye. And I needed dates, and names.
But the grand temples in the library’s academic drawings lay in a pile of rubble a thousand years wide – from the earliest days of the Republic in the 6th century BC and further, to the beginnings of Roman Christianity in the 4th century AD. It took the first week just to establish what was not present in my chosen time.
For the second week of my trip, I pieced together what might probably have been in The Forum in the 2nd century BC and approximately-if-we’ve-guessed-right where.
As my second week diminished before me, I found that the most valuable information I had was, ironically, how much I didn’t know.
Rome is an impasto of centuries of construction. Cemeteries lay under storehouses lay under temples lay under churches. Some sites can’t be dug because of the value of the buildings on top. Even the surviving buildings are later incarnations of themselves, with more modern building materials and extended floor plans. The foundation stones of The Forum’s earliest temple, the Temple of Jupiter, are under the floor of the Capitoline Museum which was once a medieval palace partly designed by Michelangelo. It’s mind boggling.
“We just don’t know for sure,” said my archaeologist guide, Vittoria, in her Italian/American accent. “Even when archaeologists talk like they’re sure, a lot is presumption and estimation.” She handed me a map criss-crossed with the dotted lines of approximated floor plans under the current remains – three layers, often with different orientations.
“Even when we know what was there, we can’t be really sure what it looked like,” said Vittoria. Ancient coins gave some exciting impressions of early commemorated buildings – but there’s only so much detail can go on a coin. Diggings and studies continue but can take a lifetime, and longer still to be published.
“But that’s good for you; you’re a writer, you can fill the gaps how you like.”
Somehow hearing this from an archaeologist felt like true licence to play with history. Could I really? Are you sure? A smile crept across my face as my imagination launched to flight. Actually, it was my duty. I’d be misleading my readers to present a view of ancient Rome based on uncertain research.
And did I really need to know every detail anyway? My readers could still find a connection with the setting, just as I had. All I needed was enough to write convincingly, and to not contradict what is known.
There are details missing that would need to be filled somehow – why not do so to suit the drama? If all I knew of a key historical figure was their name, I could use whatever voice I wanted. And I had a solid enough historical framework to hold it together.
On my last night in Rome I returned to Piazza Navona with the light-hearted intention of asking the handsome Antonio to accompany me in some wine and conversation. From across the piazza I could see another woman had his attention. I walked away. I will call him Tarquin.
