out.
I think it must have been this unnerving manifestation of St Mary’s collective boredom that prompted Dr Bairstow to move the schedule along a little. A few days later, Peterson and I were called to his office, handed the familiar file folders, and told to get on with it. And to take Mr Markham with us. I didn’t enquire, but I definitely got the impression that bringing him back was a bit of an optional extra.
Chief Farrell performed his usual miracles, announced Pod Three was fit for purpose, and that it was a shame the same couldn’t be said of the crew.
I held a mini-briefing in my office. Present were Peterson and Van Owen, representing the History department. Major Guthrie and Markham represented – they said – the more stable element at St Mary’s, which came as a complete surprise to everyone else because we never knew we had one. Mrs Enderby from Wardrobe was there to advise on costume and coach us on the wearing thereof, and Professor Rapson and Dr Dowson prepared to argue each other to death in the interests of historical accuracy.
‘Good morning,’ I said. ‘Thank you all for coming. This is the first stage of our Ancient Rome assignment and it’s a good one. I’m sure it won’t come as a complete surprise to anyone. Caesar and Cleopatra. 44 BC. Ancient Rome.’
A stir of anticipation ran around the room. Scratchpads were opened up and we got stuck in.
‘In another of his moves to become, effectively, the sole ruler of the Roman Empire, Gaius Julius Caesar has invited his bit on the side, Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, to stay with him Rome. He’s the coming man. He’s a cocky self-publicist. He’s arrogant and insensitive. He’s installed his mistress – that’s Cleopatra, as so vividly brought to life by Mr Markham just recently – in his own home. His wife, Calpurnia, who, famously, is above reproach, is still in residence, so only the gods know what his home life must be like at the moment.
‘It doesn’t matter much, however, because we’re only six weeks or so away from the infamous Ides of March which is when he gets his comeuppance. Twenty-three times, actually, just as he’s poised to take the final step to absolute power. Cleopatra will flee to Egypt, taking her son Caesarion with her. Later, she’ll shack up with Mark Anthony, lose the Battle of Actium, and commit suicide with the probably unwilling participation of an asp or two.
‘We won’t be around for that, however. Our assignment is simply to observe the crucial run up to his assassination, gauge the mood of the people, and, if possible, catch a glimpse of the fabled Queen of the Nile.’
‘And return to St Mary’s, unscathed,’ muttered Guthrie.
‘Yes. And that, of course,’ I said quickly, glossing over the fact that sometimes, that doesn’t always happen. Quite rarely happens, actually. All right – not at all. However, there’s always a first time and we live in hope.
‘We intend to locate Caesar’s villa, apparently just outside of Rome, in the Transtiberina area. You all have maps – please familiarise yourselves with the layout of the city.
‘Now, I’ll be going in as a Roman matron of impeccable antecedents. Roman society is heavily patriarchal, but a well-dressed lady, accompanied by an impressive retinue, will command immense respect. Sadly, however, instead of an impressive retinue, my escort will consist of Dr Peterson and Miss Van Owen, with Major Guthrie and Mr Markham to keep us safe.’
A word about Roman names would perhaps be useful at this point. Roman men typically have three names: their personal name, their tribal name, and their family name, which is the equivalent of a surname. Hence, with Gaius Julius Caesar, Gaius is his first name, Julius is his tribal name – he belongs to the Julian tribe – and Caesar is his family name. Women have only two names. They’re named for their tribe – hence Julius Caesar’s daughter would be named Julia. I was Rupilia Euphemia –
I think it must have been this unnerving manifestation of St Mary’s collective boredom that prompted Dr Bairstow to move the schedule along a little. A few days later, Peterson and I were called to his office, handed the familiar file folders, and told to get on with it. And to take Mr Markham with us. I didn’t enquire, but I definitely got the impression that bringing him back was a bit of an optional extra.
Chief Farrell performed his usual miracles, announced Pod Three was fit for purpose, and that it was a shame the same couldn’t be said of the crew.
I held a mini-briefing in my office. Present were Peterson and Van Owen, representing the History department. Major Guthrie and Markham represented – they said – the more stable element at St Mary’s, which came as a complete surprise to everyone else because we never knew we had one. Mrs Enderby from Wardrobe was there to advise on costume and coach us on the wearing thereof, and Professor Rapson and Dr Dowson prepared to argue each other to death in the interests of historical accuracy.
‘Good morning,’ I said. ‘Thank you all for coming. This is the first stage of our Ancient Rome assignment and it’s a good one. I’m sure it won’t come as a complete surprise to anyone. Caesar and Cleopatra. 44 BC. Ancient Rome.’
A stir of anticipation ran around the room. Scratchpads were opened up and we got stuck in.
‘In another of his moves to become, effectively, the sole ruler of the Roman Empire, Gaius Julius Caesar has invited his bit on the side, Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, to stay with him Rome. He’s the coming man. He’s a cocky self-publicist. He’s arrogant and insensitive. He’s installed his mistress – that’s Cleopatra, as so vividly brought to life by Mr Markham just recently – in his own home. His wife, Calpurnia, who, famously, is above reproach, is still in residence, so only the gods know what his home life must be like at the moment.
‘It doesn’t matter much, however, because we’re only six weeks or so away from the infamous Ides of March which is when he gets his comeuppance. Twenty-three times, actually, just as he’s poised to take the final step to absolute power. Cleopatra will flee to Egypt, taking her son Caesarion with her. Later, she’ll shack up with Mark Anthony, lose the Battle of Actium, and commit suicide with the probably unwilling participation of an asp or two.
‘We won’t be around for that, however. Our assignment is simply to observe the crucial run up to his assassination, gauge the mood of the people, and, if possible, catch a glimpse of the fabled Queen of the Nile.’
‘And return to St Mary’s, unscathed,’ muttered Guthrie.
‘Yes. And that, of course,’ I said quickly, glossing over the fact that sometimes, that doesn’t always happen. Quite rarely happens, actually. All right – not at all. However, there’s always a first time and we live in hope.
‘We intend to locate Caesar’s villa, apparently just outside of Rome, in the Transtiberina area. You all have maps – please familiarise yourselves with the layout of the city.
‘Now, I’ll be going in as a Roman matron of impeccable antecedents. Roman society is heavily patriarchal, but a well-dressed lady, accompanied by an impressive retinue, will command immense respect. Sadly, however, instead of an impressive retinue, my escort will consist of Dr Peterson and Miss Van Owen, with Major Guthrie and Mr Markham to keep us safe.’
A word about Roman names would perhaps be useful at this point. Roman men typically have three names: their personal name, their tribal name, and their family name, which is the equivalent of a surname. Hence, with Gaius Julius Caesar, Gaius is his first name, Julius is his tribal name – he belongs to the Julian tribe – and Caesar is his family name. Women have only two names. They’re named for their tribe – hence Julius Caesar’s daughter would be named Julia. I was Rupilia Euphemia –
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