Eboracum is the Roman name for the City of York; it is where I was born. As a youngster, I walked the medieval City walls built atop Roman foundations laid down almost two thousand years ago. It was the quickest way to school. As were other shortcuts, which might lead through ancient graveyards with stones too weathered to read, or along narrow streets that once echoed to the feet of Roman soldiers, Saxon raiders, Viking plunderers, Norman house-carls, and a succession of armies from both Scotland, and other parts of England. I find it amazing that it meant little more to me than a walk through a housing development. But in my younger days, the thousands of fascinating characters who once haunted York’s streets, and perhaps still do, were merely dull names in my history texts, followed by even duller dates.
It has been said that the history of York is the history of England. And like most of the recorded history of England, York’s ‘annals’ began with the arrival of the Romans. Not with the invasion under Claudius in 43 A.D., when they finally came to stay, but almost thirty years later, in 71. A.D.
It was a fascinating time. York, or Eboracum, lay in the underbelly of Brigantia, the home of a far flung, loosely knit tribe that occupied most of Yorkshire in the East, perhaps as far North as Durham; and in the West, all of Lancashire, perhaps as far South as Merseyside. Brigantia was the Northern border of Roman occupied territory, ranging from the wild, barren landscapes of the Pennine mountains, to the lush, forested plain of York, all of which was hemmed in, on either side, by well over a hundred miles of coastline.
As long as the Brigantes remained friendly to Rome, the people were a buffer against the wilder tribes of what one day would be Scotland. The queen was Cartimandua, who must have been quite a woman. It was she who kept the peace with Rome. Her husband was Venutius, a king who, to give him his due, tried more than once to do the same, but in the long run seemed unable. His shield bearer was a man called Vellocatus, possibly a king in his own right, and if not, at least a very substantial chieftain.
The Romans restored Cartimandua to her throne at least twice and somewhere along the line she divorced Venutius. Was it because she finally was fed up with his rebellion, or did he leave her, or was she simply infatuated with his shield bearer Vellocatus, whom she later married? It doesn’t matter; it happened. And it makes a fine background for a book. As does the fact that Cartimandua is maligned in the history books for what was called an act of treachery: giving up the ‘Braveheart’ of her day to the Romans, a man called Caradoc, or Caractacus, depending which translation you want to use.
Caradoc had led the Romans a merry chase for years, actually fighting them in the field, a rare event, before finally reaching the end of his tether in the Welsh mountains. He sought refuge in the North with Cartimandua, who was possibly his cousin. Soon after, she turned him over to Rome, supposedly in chains. But did she really? Was Tacitus, who wrote about the event, nothing more than a sycophant reporter, catering to the establishment? See what Vellocatus himself has to say about that in the book!
All of which brings me to the fact that over the years, I developed an urge to write about the founding of my home town. Which in turn means that a lot of background detail would have to be filled in. Yes, the facts to be found about York at that time are fascinating; but not, perhaps, as fascinating as the facts that cannot be found! A settlement, surely, must have been built where York's two rivers joined, even though there seems to be no conclusive proof. It was simply too ideal a site. And just as surely, those who might have lived there, would have lived in a small village, and chosen a minor chieftain to lead them.
And when the fortress itself was laid down and roughed in for the first time, there must have been an engineer who saw to its construction, working hand in glove (or sword in hand?) with the Ninth Legion’s Primus Pilus. And Cartimandua herself would have seen it all, for it was in her territory, and she was, at a rough guess, in her mid forties. Venutius would surely have known of the fortress as well, for his brooding, hostile presence seems to have been one of the reasons Rome finally decided to move further north.
All these facts and suppositions had the ring of an historic action novel, which was how the first draft of the book was written: history and action! It was in the first person, alternately playing Cethen, the minor chieftain, against Gaius, the Roman engineer. Their wives were introduced in due course, plus a few other characters, and along with them, a few more women. And of course, once you introduce married couples, the children go along with the package.
The next stage, or first rewrite, followed the ‘let’s cool it for while, and read it again’ period. This provided a degree of objectivity, and led to taking a harder look at the women who had been introduced along the way. I found that I really liked them. So much so, that their parts became greatly enhanced. By this time I was more at ease with the plot and characters, and began to feel confident enough to introduce three new, distinct overtones to the novel.
The first was based on what I felt must have been the relationship of the Romans to the Britons: it was probably, in many ways, akin to that of the Europeans with the Indian tribes, when they arrived in North America. There are many similarities of circumstance. So, in ‘casting’ my Britons in particular, I kept that in mind.
The second was humour. I spent seventeen years in the Canadian Armed Forces Reserve, and almost a lifetime in business. During that time, I learned an awful lot about both, including the good and the bad. Key among this was the fact that nothing ever seems to go according to plan! Or, as I once heard a battle plan described, this should be good until the first shot is fired. Which is true. And sometimes, when mayhem does happen, it can be damned funny---though not necessarily at the time. So in the interest of reality, I tried to build a good deal of humour (some of it quite dark) into the book.
And finally, there was romance. Most of the characters in this first book are either in their early thirties, or reaching that stage of life that we moderns might describe as the period of mid life crisis. In particular, I found that when I first finished writing about the women, I had some pretty strong willed girls on my hands. I had to do something with them. So I did.
In the end, they became an integral and crucial part of my plot. So my historic novel, which after one rewrite turned into an historical adventure novel, ended up as an historical adventure romance, if there is such a thing. On reflection, there certainly is. It’s called: Eboracvm, The Village.
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