Having discussed a bit about why I’m staying on Substack despite the revelation that some distasteful writers also use this platform, and writing last time about ways to handle dangerous writers, this time I’m offering an excerpt from Chapter 62 (out of 81) of a novel of mine that may or may not be published.
The basic story is about a disabled colonel from the U.S. war in Aghanistan, who convinces his former lover, a writer, to help him write about his experiences as a counterintelligence expert. Missing from the picture is his interpreter, who refused orders to participate in a dubious American program intending to tamper with local religious texts. He is thought to be on the run in Europe, after having collected and presented to the colonel ancient letters from Rome that serve as a powerful historical argument for ending the questionable new program. The novel tells both the modern and the ancient stories.
The excerpt below is part of a letter from ancient Rome written by a key figure in the emperor’s court, named Epaphraditus. Originally an Ethiopian slave, he was well educated and eventually purchased and freed by Emperor Claudius, who employed a number of “freedmen” in high administrative positions in his court. Epaphroditus helped train young Nero in reading and writing, and eventually became Nero’s secretary when he took over as Emperor. He was at the center of Roman literary circles. So far, all this is more or less accurate. In this excerpt, he speaks of organizing his own gatherings of local writers, and how he coached one young writer who became an influential historian for the empire. Epaphroditus is writing to a woman who has invented a special way of preserving documents from fire and deterioration, and is helping Epaphroditus preserve his archives from a secret project he feared losing to history due to the threatening succession of new emperors after Nero.
. . . In order to speak to various writers, and also for my own pleasure, I started gathering a group of writers for regular meetings. It was a chance for them to read short works to each other without losing the gravitas that, as Seneca used to lament, is missing in the public readings. I read a few essays of my own on one or two occasions. Of course, I could not have slaves reading for my literary circle, but I did read to them a couple of works by Epictetus, without saying who he was. There was no chance I would publicly read anything written by Yannos, since he was totally focused on the religious project, to the point where I sometimes felt he was personally wrapped up, almost as if he believed in it all himself! But I’m sure that was an exaggeration. I also made it clear that Yannos was never to read anything out loud at my gatherings. Some of our clever writers might start to connect the project with us if they came across any of the texts in public, and that was the first and most important part of my agreement with Emperor Claudius — that nobody should ever know that the hand of Rome was behind our work.
Pliny the Younger brought a very interesting writer to one of our meetings. His name is Tacitus. He read only one brief essay of his, as he hasn’t written very much, but I had a good talk with him, and invited him to visit again several times. One of my areas of expertise at the palace is the administration of our far-flung territory, Britannia, where our general Agricola has been working hard to earn plaudits for his service to Rome. Since Tacitus recently married the daughter of Agricola, I have taken the opportunity on several occasions to discuss with him Agricola’s work as our governor and general in Britannia.
I was very happy to get this personal window onto Agricola’s activities, but also enjoyed encouraging Tacitus to write more. I like to convince the younger ones of the power of writing.
That power is exactly what our project is about, to turn the hearts and minds of the Jews of rebellious Judea away from their independent yearnings and toward Roman ideas, and inculcate among them a strong respect and obedience for Roman culture and laws.
For Tacitus, I believe that the power he can gain from writing is to build honor for himself and his wife’s family in a very difficult situation.
Agricola is a very good administrator, but he has felt great pressure to provide, first Vespasian and then Titus, the title of imperator by conquering a new land in his name. Agricola succeeded in this by invading Caledonia, and Titus was very pleased to be awarded what I believe was his fifteenth title of imperator. But Tacitus told me that Agricola fears that the next governor or general sent to Britannia will discover the truth: that Caledonia actually was not conquered after all.
I explained to Tacitus that by writing the story properly, his power was nearly equivalent to that of his father-in-law. If someone is able to march soldiers into a land, build forts, repel occasional raids and endure small losses, he has conquered that land, even if there is no king to subdue, and no central city to attack and control. The heartache for Agricola was that no matter what incursions he made into Caledonia, there was never a central victory, never a city subjugated to Rome, complete with local rulers and citizens. In Caledonia, he could never draw out a massive army for our Legions to decisively defeat. Fighting was always sporadic, with the Scoti tribes attacking at night or in small groups, picking off Roman soldiers, stealing feed and cattle, making life for our soldiers miserable and unpredictable, ambushing them in the forests and hills, and then disappearing into the landscape with no perceptible change in control of the area.
I told Tacitus that if Agricola invaded, he should write about it. If a fort was built, write about it. If the troops retreat, leave that out. If the fort was abandoned for lack of ability to establish control or resupply lines, don’t mention that part. If the native enemies vanish into the hills, write that they were hiding in fear from the power of Rome. If there are no epic battles, create one. Make sure the enemy leader is a hero replete with historic wins and grand speeches, so that when he is defeated, it is a glorious victory for Rome. If there are losses by the enemy, double them — no, for Tacitus I suggested he multiply them by ten, since the Scoti seem to fight only in small bands that can never add up to impressive losses. If Romans lose men, cut the numbers in half.
In this way, I helped Tacitus see that he could create great honor and glory for his wife’s family, and therefore also for himself. I love to see young writers glow with such inspiration as I can give them. I believe he will do very well for himself.
. . .