This week, we finally managed to install our new (not new ) item of furniture - a mid-18th Century grandfather clock. It's not bright and shiny like more modern ones, but a dark oak with a warm patina which the beeswax polish is drawing out. In order to set it up, we had to do a certain amount of research - how to hang the pendulum, where the weight went on the endless chain - and it got me thinking... where and when did certain divisions of time come from? The time periods which I have written either had household clocks or didn't, I have not written novels from the time of their invention. Clocks have been around for a long time, and the obsession with measuring time in an ordered fashion dates back to at least the ancient Sumerians. It was they who established a circular reading of time and, I imagine, the sixty seconds/minutes came about as much because it was an easy way to divide a circle as anything else. But it wasn't until much later that the precision of seconds ...
After reading Alexander the Great versus Julius Caesar, I knew I liked the way Simon Elliott writes - something which is even more important in nonfiction than fiction. Roman Britain's Pirate King focuses on a period in the Roman Empire which I have got to know rather well through my own research, but my research had all been in the east of the empire. I couldn't wait to dive into this book as it explored events in the west!
The book divides into two parts: the first half is scene-setting, taking the reader through a step-by-step explanation of the situations leading up to the usurpers' actions; the second half looks at the events surrounding Carausius and Allectus. I have to admit, this hadn't been exactly the ratio I'd expected. Out of 166 pages, our protagonist only has 46 pages between his birth and death.
But the book is a fascinating look at the legacy of the events in those ten years when Britain became a bargaining chip for control of "the imperial power". There is a thorough and broad look at both primary and secondary texts, while Elliott also puts forward theories and interpretations of his own, making this book the newest step on discovering the shrouded truths of this difficult and largely ignored chapter of the Roman Empire's history.
This is clearly a time and topic close to the author's heart, referencing his own PhD as a recurring source, while the narrative in the second half of the book is driven by a great enthusiasm. In essence, the story of Carausius is all about money. First he was accused of not handing over his booty, then of instigating his interception of the pirates. Finally, the most resounding legacy of all is set, not in stone, but in gold, silver, and copper, with the hugely significant establishing of the first British Mint (that's coins, not humbugs!). The sixteen pages of coloured plates help to visually bring to life the past detailed in the book.
On a personal - and more than a little speculative - level, I can't help but question whether Carausius was set up by Maximian, an idea Elliot explores a little in his assessment of the heavily biased contemporary commentaries. It plays out as a classic case of deputy-outshines-leader, with Carausius usurping as the lesser of two evils compared to his sentence of death issued by Maximian.
In all, this is a thoroughly readable look at the Roman Empire's turbulent years, climaxing with the decade of the double usurpation of Carausius and Allectus, and its resounding impact on the future of the empire.
Thank you to Pen & Sword Books for providing me with a review copy!
You can get a copy of Roman Britain's Pirate King via Pen & Sword, or on Amazon.
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