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A haunting work of historical fiction set amid the turmoil of the last days of the Roman Empire. From the blood-stained desert sands of Mesopotamia, to the barbaric wilderness and the dreaded painted tribesmen of northern Scotland, to the streets, courtyards and treacherous palaces of a small provincial capital called Londinium, this is the story of Marcus and Julia: two young lovers trying desperately to stay alive and find each other in the twilight days of the greatest Empire the world has ever known.
From the Author
One of the most astonishing Roman discoveries of recent times was made on March 15th 1999, on a bright, chilly spring day. It was in the UK, in the heart of the City of London, just off historic Bishopsgate – the old Roman Ermine Street that ran all the way to York. That morning, Bishopsgate was the usual hectic, big-city blur of diesel fumes and black cabs and red buses. Just to the south lay the square mile of the City, the wealthiest square mile in the world, dedicated to London’s only true and lasting religion: making lots and lots of money. It all felt very routine and twentieth century that morning. The archaeologists working on the site well knew that in Roman times, this area lay just outside the city walls. It was a cemetery. But nothing had prepared them for what they were about to uncover. Suddenly, one of them called out. A find: partly buried in the yellow London clay, the massive stone lid of a Roman sarcophagus. No fewer than five archaeologists risked back injury to pull it free. As soon as there was a gap, they slipped steel scaffolding poles underneath to lever it off. The excitement was palpable. A sarcophagus this imposing must have belonged to someone very important indeed. A crowd of onlookers gathered, executives from the development company, builders above on a gantry, even a couple of television crews, who had heard only the day before that the sarcophagus was to be opened this morning. Of course, it might contain nothing at all, or only unidentifiable remnants, brittle bones, time’s rags. But then again … The lid had been broken in two, centuries ago. There might have been nothing inside. They managed to ease off the smaller part and look down. The roar of the traffic stopped, the twentieth century vanished, time’s arrow ran backwards. They were looking down at the 4th century AD. Inside the sarcophagus, perfectly preserved, untouched for seventeen centuries, lay a beautifully decorated lead coffin. And there was something mysterious about the burial. Around the sarcophagus in the soft clay, they found unexpected objects: glassware, phials, objects made of jet. It was four days before they could get the lifting gear in place and move the sarcophagus, and almost another month before they opened it. On 14th April 1999, with the gentlemen of the press assembled, at precisely 7.45pm, the lid was prised off. Inside lay a perfectly preserved skeleton. It was a moment, as the Museum put it, ‘both incredibly intimate and unbearably public.’ In the course of the next few days and weeks, they built up a remarkable picture of the Spitalfields find, or the ‘Roman yuppie,’ as the newspapers dubbed her. Yes: a woman: wealthy, pagan, much beloved and much mourned. So she died and was buried in London. But before long, the archaeologists made a further, astonishing discovery: she spent her childhood in Southern Europe. In Italy or Spain ….
A haunting work of historical fiction set amid the turmoil of the last days of the Roman Empire. From the blood-stained desert sands of Mesopotamia, to the barbaric wilderness and the dreaded painted tribesmen of northern Scotland, to the streets, courtyards and treacherous palaces of a small provincial capital called Londinium, this is the story of Marcus and Julia: two young lovers trying desperately to stay alive and find each other in the twilight days of the greatest Empire the world has ever known.
From the Author
One of the most astonishing Roman discoveries of recent times was made on March 15th 1999, on a bright, chilly spring day. It was in the UK, in the heart of the City of London, just off historic Bishopsgate – the old Roman Ermine Street that ran all the way to York. That morning, Bishopsgate was the usual hectic, big-city blur of diesel fumes and black cabs and red buses. Just to the south lay the square mile of the City, the wealthiest square mile in the world, dedicated to London’s only true and lasting religion: making lots and lots of money. It all felt very routine and twentieth century that morning. The archaeologists working on the site well knew that in Roman times, this area lay just outside the city walls. It was a cemetery. But nothing had prepared them for what they were about to uncover. Suddenly, one of them called out. A find: partly buried in the yellow London clay, the massive stone lid of a Roman sarcophagus. No fewer than five archaeologists risked back injury to pull it free. As soon as there was a gap, they slipped steel scaffolding poles underneath to lever it off. The excitement was palpable. A sarcophagus this imposing must have belonged to someone very important indeed. A crowd of onlookers gathered, executives from the development company, builders above on a gantry, even a couple of television crews, who had heard only the day before that the sarcophagus was to be opened this morning. Of course, it might contain nothing at all, or only unidentifiable remnants, brittle bones, time’s rags. But then again … The lid had been broken in two, centuries ago. There might have been nothing inside. They managed to ease off the smaller part and look down. The roar of the traffic stopped, the twentieth century vanished, time’s arrow ran backwards. They were looking down at the 4th century AD. Inside the sarcophagus, perfectly preserved, untouched for seventeen centuries, lay a beautifully decorated lead coffin. And there was something mysterious about the burial. Around the sarcophagus in the soft clay, they found unexpected objects: glassware, phials, objects made of jet. It was four days before they could get the lifting gear in place and move the sarcophagus, and almost another month before they opened it. On 14th April 1999, with the gentlemen of the press assembled, at precisely 7.45pm, the lid was prised off. Inside lay a perfectly preserved skeleton. It was a moment, as the Museum put it, ‘both incredibly intimate and unbearably public.’ In the course of the next few days and weeks, they built up a remarkable picture of the Spitalfields find, or the ‘Roman yuppie,’ as the newspapers dubbed her. Yes: a woman: wealthy, pagan, much beloved and much mourned. So she died and was buried in London. But before long, the archaeologists made a further, astonishing discovery: she spent her childhood in Southern Europe. In Italy or Spain ….
I remember first reading about her in the newspapers, back in the spring of 1999, and being tantalized by the few available facts. She died in London, around 350 AD, or so they reckoned. But she spent her childhood in Italy or Spain. She died in her early twenties, without having had children, and most probably unmarried. She had a lavish, and pagan burial, at a time when the Roman Empire was officially Christian, and increasingly intolerant of non-Christians. She did not die a violent death, but most probably of an
infectious disease. She was rich, cultured, dark-haired and dark-eyed, petite, around 5’4. And this was about all they knew of her. They didn’t even know her name. But in my mind, I had already decided it was ‘Julia.’ I have always had a fascination for the Ancient World, and now here was a glimpse of it, right on my doorstep. My novelist’s imagination was fired. Why did she come to London? Was she running away from something? And what must it have been like, to make that long, perilous sea crossing as a child? And then what happened in London? How must life have been for a wealthy pagan woman and her family, in an officially Christian Empire? As I started wondering, I begun to read around the subject in the history books, and became more and more intrigued. The period during which she had died was a dark and turbulent one. In Britain, the wild tribesmen of the North, the Picts, were making more and more frequent incursions over the great Wall built by Hadrian. The first Saxon raiders were attacking the east coast. Across the Empire there was rampant inflation, civil unrest, sporadic civil war. Rome’s mighty frontiers were crumbling, and her oldest and greatest enemy, Persia, was massing on her eastern borders. And in London, at exactly this period, there was the most extraordinary period of brutal repression, interrogation, torture and other horrors, under the command of a sinister Imperial officer called Paulus Catena: Paulus ‘The Chain.’ And most of his victims were wealthy, and pagan . . . So this is how the story began in my mind. How it ended . . . but that would be telling. I hope you enjoy finding out for yourself. William Napier
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