[sufue]

Hmmmm...

I'm not quite sure what you mean by historical inaccuracy? These are novels, and Wishart's "political" titles are based around him dreaming up plausible backstories for known historical events, and weaving in non-historical characters with the historical ones. However, he's very frank in his author's notes about what is made up and what's not, complete with references from time-to-time. For example, here are the author's notes from the first three titles, all among the "political" ones:

From Ovid:

Spoiler:

The main characters in Ovid are historical. I have, however, taken some minor liberties with them for reasons of plot.

First, the real Valerius Corvinus was much older than I have made him: he and his Uncle Cotta were joint consuls for AD 20 (the year after the story closes), which would put him in his early thirties at least.

Junius Silanus was still abroad at the time of the story. Tiberius did not authorise his recall until the following year.

Perilla in Ovid’s poetry is simply ‘Perilla’. The rare family name Rufia becomes common only at a later date, and I gave her it for reasons of my own. It has no connection with the last name of her husband.

Suillius Rufus gets a very bad press in the historians. He was banished under Tiberius, recalled by Caligula and became a notorious informer for Claudius’s wife Messalina. On the other hand, he and Perilla (so far as I know) were happily married with children. Rufus could not possibly have been, as I imply, the ‘false friend’ who attempted to deprive Ovid’s wife of his estate and whom he calls Ibis in his poems.

Nonius Asprenas I have not libelled, in character at least. The charge against him of appropriating ‘legacies’ after the Varian disaster is made by the historian Paterculus, who served in Germany shortly afterwards and would have talked to men who knew him. Paterculus also mentions, when describing the massacre, the ‘base behaviour of the camp commander Ceionius, who advised giving up and preferred a criminal’s death by execution to that of a soldier in battle’, and contrasts it with the conduct of the noble Eggius. As such, he was the natural choice for a villain.

Lastly, I feel guilty about the picture I have given of the palace bureaucracy, which is far more appropriate to the reign of Claudius (AD 41–54) than to that of Tiberius.

From Germanicus:

Spoiler:

‘So ended the avenging of Germanicus’s death. The subject has been a vexed one, not only for his contemporaries but also for succeeding generations. Some report rumours as established facts, others twist the truth into its opposite; and the passing years augment both distortions’ (Tacitus, Annals, III, 19).

Leaving aside the question of Tacitus’s own shortcomings in this area, the quote is a salutary reminder of the difference between the historian and the historical novelist. Both have an obligation to be accurate where actual events are concerned, but thereafter they part company. To the historian subjectivity, speculation and the attribution of motive are anathema; to the novelist they form the basics of his stock-in-trade. I would therefore plead guilty with reservations to committing Tacitus’s first crime, although I am (I hope!) totally innocent of his second. My explanation of Germanicus’s death is possible and plausible, yes; I hope it is convincing and it may even be true; but it is by no means established fact.

Readers of Tacitus will notice one minor piece of fudging. Rome had two consuls, and I have been careful to mention only one, Corvinus’s Uncle Cotta. Cotta was indeed consul for AD 20, but his colleague was Corvinus himself. This I had to ignore: first because for ‘my’ Corvinus to hold Rome’s top magistracy would not fit the character I have tried to create; second because being in his early twenties he would have been far too young. An even more minor point, but one I feel guilty over, is that Cotta’s family name was Aurelius, not Valerius. By common Roman practice he had been adopted into the Aurelii, probably to perpetuate a failing line. This, too, I ignored because I needed him to have strong connections with Corvinus.

My thanks to Roy Pinkerton; to my wife Rona and the staff of the St Andrews University and Carnoustie libraries for finding me books; and to Anne Buchanan, ex-RNR, for her help with ships and sailing. Any faults or errors remaining are of course completely mine.

And this one from Sejanus:

Spoiler:

Sejanus follows on directly from Ovid and Germanicus, and uses many of the same characters. The historical details are (I hope!) accurate, although the interpretation of them, as in the earlier books, is my own. In this connection I ought to mention specifically the ‘Julian scam’ linking Asia, the Rhine, Spain and Gaul. I am quite proud of this, but although taken individually the details are correct the existence of the scam itself is pure conjecture. However, if anyone happens to be interested in the theory per se I would direct their attention to an additional oddity which Corvinus didn’t unearth, the circumstances surrounding the Frisian revolt of AD28, described in Annals iv 72ff.

Like most of the characters in the book, Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus actually existed, although in his case (and in Perilla’s) I have employed only the name and family connections. Thus having Sejanus accuse him of treason is a complete fiction, albeit not a historical impossibility, since Book Five of Tacitus’s Annals, the main detailed textual source for this period, exists only in fragmentary form leaving the years AD30 and 31 (when the story is set) sparsely documented. Another slight abuse of names concerns the two Vibii Sereni. In reality both the Spanish governor and the son who brought the case against him in AD24 shared the same name: Gaius Vibius Serenus. Obviously this would have made for confusion in a novel, hence the change of the son’s last name (quite arbitrarily) to Celsus.

I also feel a little guilty about my portrayal of the Watch (Vigiles or Cohors Vigilum in Latin). The Romans had a much narrower view of the state’s responsibilities in the areas of crime prevention, detection and punishment than we have; there was, for example, no public prosecutor’s office at Rome, and even prosecutions for crimes such as treason were initiated by private individuals. Although they did exercise certain policing duties, the Watch’s primary concern was fire prevention, while the maintenance of public order was the province of the – purely military – Urban Cohort (Cohors Urbana). The Praetorian Guard was an elite body of troops recruited from the legions, whose prime function – as their name implies – was to guard the emperor.

My only other major assault on historical fact (intentional, at any rate) concerns the revelation of Drusus’s murder and its contribution to Sejanus’s downfall. The ‘real’ discovery of the murder actually postdated Sejanus’s death, and came through his former wife Apicata’s posthumous letter to Tiberius. It is strange but true that up to that time everyone, including the emperor, had believed that the death was natural, and there was no suspicion whatsoever of foul play. As to the poison itself, Tacitus says only that ‘Sejanus chose a poison which counterfeited the gradual deterioration produced by natural ill-health’ (‘Seianus… deligit venenum quo paulatim inrepente fortuitus morbus adsimularetur’), without going into further details. Consequently my suggestion of stibium – antimony, or one of its compounds – rests on no historical evidence whatsoever. I chose it after discussion with a doctor friend, Hamish Leslie, primarily because although the Romans knew of its medical uses – Pliny in his Natural History describes it as ‘an astringent and coolant’ – its long-term deleterious effects, and thus its candidature as a slow poison, seem to have slipped past them unnoticed; at least so far as I am aware. They, like the Greeks, Egyptians and Babylonians before them, used it widely in paste form as eyeshadow, and also in the manufacture of wine flasks.

The two years which followed the closing date of the story (late October AD31) were marked by a series of treason trials aimed at the destruction of Sejanus’s partisans, and these I used as the ‘quarry’ for my villains. Those who died, committed suicide or were otherwise disposed of included Publius Vitellius (suicide), Sextius Paconianus (perpetual imprisonment), Latiaris (death), Quintus Servaeus (condemned but turned state’s evidence, implicating Julius Africanus and Seius Quadratus), Appius Junius Silanus (pardoned), Vescularius Flaccus (executed or forced into suicide) and Rubrius Fabatus (perpetual imprisonment). Fulcinius Trio escaped immediate prosecution (although he had a rough ride) but succumbed in AD36, when he was forced into suicide.

Sextus Marius and Marilla require a note to themselves. Marius – who had indeed earlier been accused of involvement with Sacrovir – was thrown from the Tarpeian Rock in AD33 for incest with his daughter; Tacitus says that Tiberius had him killed for his money, but this is a typical Tacitean sideswipe at an emperor whom he disliked. The daughter is not named, but by Roman convention would be Maria. This I didn’t want to use, since it would have given rise to too many unLatin overtones. Instead I used Marilla, an alternative Latin feminine form which was not directly derived from the father’s nomen. Purists will have to forgive me.

One interesting non-victim of the Tacitean trials, from the point of view of my pseudo-history, is Corvinus’s uncle Cotta. Not only did Tiberius himself intervene to quash charges against him (among others, casting aspersions on Gaius’s manliness, a crime for committing which one of the emperor’s oldest friends was later forced into suicide) but he took the almost unprecedented step of having his principal accuser investigated and subsequently put to death. Cotta seems to have wielded considerable influence with Tiberius (because the emperor was grateful to his nephew for services rendered?): in connection with the outcome of a financial dispute with Aemilius Lepidus and the ‘real’ Lucius Arruntius the same year, Tacitus reports him as saying: ‘“The senate will support them, but my little pal Tiberius will support me”’ (‘“Illos quidem senatus, me autem tuebitur Tiberiolus meus ”’). The Wart did, too, against the justice of the case.

Finally, several thank yous: to Dr Hamish Leslie for keeping me right on the effects of antimony and head wounds; to Roy Pinkerton and Andrew Lang for fielding questions on subjects ranging from provincial governors’ dates to the layout of the Villa Iovis in Capri; to my wife Rona for giving me access to books from her library; and finally to the shade of the late Professor Sir Ronald Syme, whose excellent Augustan Aristocracy is one of the most-thumbed books in my ongoing reference box.

I haven't re-read this series in quite a while, but I would say that many, possibly all, have similar historical notes, although my memory says that the titles that are more like straight murder mysteries, such as, say, Food for the Fishes, don't have quite as much behind them as the "political" ones.

I guess tastes must differ in how much fiction is allowed in historical fiction, but in my case, so long as there is some sort of author's note telling me what is generally accepted history, and what is made up, I'm okay with a wide range of fiction/fact proportions...

Originally Posted by maddz

I was a hater, but my grounds were on historical inaccuracy. When I read the first 2 or 3, I don't recall seeing any notes.

Originally Posted by HarryT

I was tempted, but that does it for me. Historical inaccuracy is the one unforgivable sin for a historical novel for me.