Liver on the Eyes

“The overlord requests your presence,” Hanni told Melaia. “Right away.” She poured the golden potion into a small vial and handed it to Melaia.

“Is he ill?” Melaia swirled the vial.

“Probably his stomach again. Take him that saffroot potion. But it’s your music he’s requested. You know how it soothes him.”

Melaia nodded. Music seemed to be an antidote to the cares that racked the overlord. He was one of her favorite patients. Not so his son, Yareth. The arrogant, moon-pale young man made her skin crawl. She hoped Yareth, feigning illness, hadn’t asked his father to call for the chantress.

People who lived in ancient times didn’t know about bacteria or viruses, and though they studied the body, they had limited knowledge about how it worked. Many of the first doctors were also priests who added magical rites, incantations, and prayers to their cures. In Egypt the priests collected healing herbs from around the world to cultivate in their temple gardens. Famous for their skill, Egyptian physician-priests were sometimes sent to other nations to serve as healers for foreign kings and their families.

Around 300 BCE, the Greeks set up a medical school in Alexandria, Egypt, where would-be physicians studied in libraries and labs. Rome also imported Greek doctors, who were so highly valued that they were granted Roman citizenship under Julius Caesar. Rome established hospitals as well, at first to serve their army. But to find a doctor, you had to go to a big city, because few of them served outlying areas.

In reality anyone could claim to be a doctor. Most physicians trained simply by watching a more experienced doctor at work. Doctors could usually set broken bones, remove arrowheads, and amputate when necessary. They lanced boils, stitched wounds, and even drilled holes in skulls to relieve pressure. Doctors sometimes removed bladder stones. But in any case, surgery was a last resort.

One of the most difficult conditions to treat was blindness, which was common in the ancient world, because most people worked outdoors and had no protection from the sun’s glare. Flies swarmed everywhere and spread germs, and people didn’t know to avoid rubbing their eyes with dirty hands. What’s more, with unpaved roads, it was easy to get dust in your eyes. Doctors tried to treat damaged eyes with salves, but there was not much more they could do, although one doctor claimed to be able to cure cataracts by putting liver on the eyes. (Sounds like a Lady Gaga stunt to me.)

In the section of Breath of Angel that I quoted above, the priestesses discuss two types of healing used in the ancient world: herbs and music, both of which are still used today. Speaking of today, we might do well to take a look at the ancient Roman health care system. Doctors were not taxed on the income they received from wealthy patients if they would treat the poor for free.

So go forth, wear sunglasses, don’t rub your eyes with dirty hands . . . and if you try the liver, be sure to get a photo. You could become famous.

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Intriguing Autumn Releases

A touch of chill in the rainy air, a cup of hot tea, a good book. How comfy is that?! In this blog, I turn the spotlight on September debut novels from my Elevensies writer-friends. Congratulations to all, and best wishes for the success of your books! (Next blog, we go back in time to the ancient world, the setting for the Angelaeon novels.)

 With a Name Like Love, by Tess Hilmo. In this middle-grade novel, “Ollie’s daddy, the  Reverend Everlasting Love, pulls their trailer into town for a three-day revival. On the first  day, Ollie meets a boy whose mother is in jail for murdering his father and who asserts her  innocence. But even if Ollie were to believe the boy, could she convince her daddy to stay  long enough to help him?”

 

 

 The Girl of Fire and Thorns, by Rae Carson. “An unlovely, underachieving princess must  become a hero when she is married off to a foreign king and swept into a world of courtly  politics, dark magic, and war.”

 

 

 

 The Faerie Ring, by Kiki Hamilton. “A stolen ring, a threatened truce between the British  and Faerie courts, and a pickpocket with an intriguing birthmark.”

 

 

 

 

 The Unbecoming of Maura Dyer by Michelle Hodkin. “About a sixteen year old girl who  discovers she may be responsible for a series of murders, and the boy who falls in love with  her at his own risk.”

 

 

 

 Anna Dressed in Blood by Kendare Blake. “Just your average boy-meets- girl, girl-kills-  people story.”

 

 

 

 

Ooh . . . just the kind of novels to read us out of sultry September and into the haunting month of October. So go forth and read!

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Potions and Cures

Melaia smoothed Gerda’s menthia ointment on Trevin’s belly as he lay outstretched by the hearth in the common room. she told herself she was simply a healer at the moment.

He winced. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“After it stops burning.”

Trevin caught her hand. “And when will it stop burning, lady?”

If you lived in ancient times, you would probably live your entire life without ever being treated by a doctor. Instead you would use remedies you made yourself or purchased from an herbalist. Herbs formed the active ingredient in many medicines. To prepare them you crushed dried roots or leaves into powder or soaked leaves and berries in water to make potions.

We’re familiar with most of these ingredients. Radishes were considered medicinal. Lettuce was used in more than 40 healing potions. Cumin was often rubbed on wounds. Wine was prescribed to ease stomach problems and other ailments, and for medicinal purposes might be mixed with myrrh or gall. Beer was a base for several medicines. Figs were often used in poultices. And the old standby we still use today:  simple hot and cold compresses to relieve aches and pains.

For many illnesses people took olive oil, which was also rubbed onto wounds. People in Asia Minor harvested a dark mineral called asphalt or bitumen from deposits often found around a lake or sea. They used it on boils. (It was also used to get rid of house pests and serve as mortar between sun-baked bricks.) Salt and mud were also considered medicinal. So were animal products like blood, urine, milk, hair, and ground shell or bone.

For a toothache, you could rub garlic, salt, or yeast on your gums. If the pain was really bad, you could always find someone who knew how to pull teeth. And if you needed false teeth, they could be made from real human teeth or animal teeth. False teeth have been around since about 500 BCE.

In Breath of Angel the menthia ointment that Melaia uses on Trevin’s bruises is an invented fantasy remedy, as are dreamweed, saffroot, and plumwort. Invention is part of the fun of writing fantasy. But anything a fantasy writer creates must seem real, thus the details about how these remedies are used, how they’re made, how they work, and the true-to-life sensory responses to these potions.

So you’ll not find dreamweed or saffroot at the pharmacy. But for health the ancient way, try a salad – with lots of herbs and radishes – and plenty of lettuce.

Next blog: Ancient doctors – and surgery.

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Superstitious Cures

Trevin turned to Melaia. “When the old woman asked about you earlier, I told her you’re a priestess. She wants you to pray for the one who sits as still as a stump.”

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Melaia.

“He’s gash-drunk.”

“Gash?”

“A thick, earthy drink with a putrid smell.”

Melaia wrinkled her nose. “Why would anyone want to drink it?” 

Gil paused nearby in his pacing. “There’s a merchant, name of Baize, who’s been traveling the roads trying to peddle gash. Nasty stuff. He claims it restores life, renews youth. . . . you grow young-looking even as you waste away.”

The Angelaeon Circle novels refer to several fantasy herbs and concoctions. Maybe you can tell from the  Breath of Angel passage above that gash is not one of the better potions.

In the ancient world, some remedies were simply superstition. Like putting a coin under the sole of your foot to cure foot pain. Or for the chills and fever of malaria: Get seven splinters from seven palm trees, seven shavings from seven beams of wood, seven nails from seven bridges, seven ashes from seven ovens, and seven hairs from old dogs. Bundle these and hang them around your neck from a white thread so they lie on your chest.

For some illnesses, patients were told to go and sit at a fork in the road. Someone would creep up behind the person and yell to scare the sickness out of them. Another cure was to eat a grain of barley found in the dung of a white mule.

In ancient Rome, sick people might go to the temple of Aesculapius, the god of healing (Asklepios
in Greece) and spend the night, hoping the god would heal them, perhaps with a healing dream. The patient often brought to the temple a small figure of the part of the body that needed healing. You could leave the figure there in hopes the god would see it and heal you. Or if you believed that you had been healed, you might leave the figure as a thank offering.

Some pools were considered places of healing. The Bible tells about a pool where people thought an angel stirred the water. The first person to get into the pool after the angel stirred it would be healed. Hot springs were especially restorative and valued as they are today. Some ancient cures really were valuable. Others were simply superstition.

Wishing you health! Next blog: ancient medicines.

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Terror-Dreams

“I’ll take second watch,” said Pym. “And if you have one of your terror-dreams tonight, Trevin, just know I’ll be stifling your cries so you’ll not alert the whole world to our whereabouts.”

Trevin had no answer but a soft snore.

“So he truly has terror-dreams?” Melaia remembered the night he had told her to slap him awake if she needed to, but at the time she hadn’t known whether he was being truthful or just teasing.

“He often wakes panting and sweating,” said Pym. “Sometimes screaming.”

“What’s his dream?” asked Melaia.

“Some haunting from his past, I think,” said Livia.

From Breath of Angel, this dialogue foreshadows a mystery Trevin confronts in Eye of the Sword. His dream is a nightmare, but who is the cloaked figure with the dagger, and why does the dream cause him real physical pain?

People in the ancient world took dreams seriously. A common person’s dreams were thought to be important only to that person, but dreams of a person of high position, like a king or prophet, were considered significant for an entire tribe, a kingdom, or even the world. When people faced a big decision, they often went to a temple or other holy place and slept there, hoping to receive a dream that would guide them.

Ancient Egyptians and Assyrians wrote dream books in which they copied down different dream symbols and their meanings. Using these books, they would try to decipher people’s dreams, which they believed to be crucial information. If you ignored a dream of warning, you would face disaster.

Sea captains relied on dreams to tell them when to set sail. A dream about an anchor was a bad sign. A dream about goats meant high waves and a storm in the near future. If the goats were black, waves would be tremendously huge. Dreams about bulls or boars also meant stormy weather, and if these animals attacked someone in the dream, it foretold a shipwreck. Owls and night birds indicated an attack by pirates, and gulls and other sea birds also signaled danger. But a dream about walking on water or flying was a good omen, predicting a safe journey.

So . . . sweet dreams tonight! Maybe you’ll dream of walking on water – or flying! And may all your journeys be safe.

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Sleeping on Straw

“Gotta’ hit the hay.” When I was growing up, that was a common way for people to say they were going to bed. Hay or straw used to be a common stuffing used in mattresses – and haystacks, if you slept there. I don’t know when the expression “hitting the hay” originated, but the experience must have come with a crunchy feel, a scratchy sound, and a scent – fresh and sweet if the straw was new and clean; musty and sour if the straw was old.

The most ancient bed was a straw-filled mat or wool-filled cloth pad rolled out on the ground – or on grass if you could find it. The poorest of the poor had only their cloaks to sleep on. If you were poor but had a house, it would most likely consist of only one room. Family members roll out their mats at one end of the room (sometimes that end was a wide raised platform), while the family’s animals (sheep, cows, chickens) spent the night at the other end of the room.

Your cloak might double as your blanket at night, though some people had camel-hair or goat-hair blankets. Rich people could afford fine wool blankets. A stone might serve as a pillow. If you didn’t use a stone, you might use a piece of wood, or you could roll up another garment (if you had another) to support your head. But a stone wasn’t necessarily a bad choice. Rich people often used fancy stone headrests, though cushions were an option too. Museums in Cairo display stone headrests and bed frames used by pharaohs.

Only the rich had private bedrooms and frame beds that held their mats off the ground. Frames could be made of iron, wood, stone, or even ivory. Slats to support the mat would be made of one of those materials as well. Your bed frame often indicated your financial status (ivory and certain types of wood being much more expensive than iron or stone). If you were quite wealthy your bed frame would probably be decorated with elaborate carvings. Its feet might be shaped like the feet of a lion or other animal.

In Breath of Angel, Melaia usually sleeps on a mat. Even the caravansary, which has private rooms for rent, provides only thin mats on the floor. The palace, of course, has raised beds as does the sylvan inn, Wodehall. In Eye of the Sword, Trevin finds it difficult to fall asleep at the castle in Flauren, because he has just learned something shocking. But Pym encourages him to take advantage of the soft mattress, pointing out that they’ll probably spend the night on hard ground and thin mats for the rest of their journey.

Back to real history: In time, people figured out how to criss-cross rope from one side of a bed frame to the other to support the mat on top. Rope supports had to be adjusted – “pulled tight” – periodically to keep the mat from sagging. That’s when another old expression originated: “Good night, sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” (Nighttime creepy-crawlies are another matter altogether, but there were plenty of those in ancient times.)

So when you “hit the hay” tonight, “sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.” Next blog: dreams in the ancient world.

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Fantasy’s “Bite”

A good fantasy should bite you. Whether it makes a frontal assault or creeps up behind you, it should bite –meaning it should startle you, catch you off-guard, grab your heart, make you think. The only way a writer can achieve such a feat is to first draw you into the story by creating an imaginary world that seems real.

In Breath of Angel, Melaia smells the sweet, pungent scent of drying herbs in Hanni’s stillroom. She hears treetops swish in the wind, tastes the tang of a dried apricot. A fantasy herb, dreamweed, tastes syrupy sweet mixed with the juice of a pealmelon. It makes Melaia’s tongue feel thick, her eyelids heavy. Details from our real world mixed with imaginary objects make the fantasy seem real.

Susan Fletcher, one of my MFA advisers at the Vermont College of Fine Arts, pointed out that connection to the real world can give fantasy its bite. Details of ancient Mediterranean culture provide some of the setting for the Angelaeon Circle novels, which is why I blog about it. Even the ancient world is so distant it can feel like a fantasy. But it, too, comes alive when we connect it to our own senses. What did they hear? Smell? Taste? See?

More important, how did people respond? While the world has changed, human nature has not. Perhaps our common human experiences are the most important details a writer can bring to the fantasy world. Dilemmas, responsibilities, tragedies, opportunities – and emotion: anger, fear, vengeance, hope, courage, love.

Strange and imaginary elements draw us into the corridors of an imaginary world, sensory and emotional detail keep us believing, then we turn a corner and suddenly we’re looking into a mirror. For me, that’s the bite.

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Smoky and Dim

If you’re one of the thousands who experienced a power outage during hurricane Irene last week, you probably resorted to flashlights and candles. Or maybe you used a more ancient method: oil lamp or wood fire. These days we are so accustomed to lighting our nights, we often forget that people used to go to bed at nightfall. You may discover why after spending a few nights with only oil lamps or a hearth fire as your light sources. They’re dim, they’re smoky – especially the ancient oils – and if your budget is tight, oil can get expensive.

The basic ancient oil lamp was a pottery bowl with a spout pinched to support a wick. Some lamps were small enough to hold in the palm of your hand. Others fit onto lampstands, which might hold a single lamp or have tiers for several lamps. If you were rich you might hang oil lamps from your ceiling. Some wealthy people had lamps with lattice-like brass sides that enclosed the flame, making the lamp more like a lantern.

Olive oil was the most common lamp fuel, although in later times people also used oil from nuts and fish. A brazier, or “fire-pot,” burned charcoal in a metal bowl on a stand. A wood-burning fireplace or a brazier provided heat as well as light.

With any kind of indoor fire, even lamp flame, ventilation was important. Some buildings had holes in the roof so smoke could escape. Even then, a good amount of smoke settled into the room. (A reason to forego indoor lighting and just go to bed once it got dark – you’d breathe easier.)

In ancient times if you wanted to go somewhere at night, the path could be lit by moonlight, lamp, lantern, or torch – not the British kind, but the fire-on-a-stick kind. Cities sometimes placed torches along main streets for night travel.

The Angelaeon Circle novels refer to all these methods of lighting. In Breath of Angel, the roof-hole above the brazier in the temple provides a way of escape for a villain. In Eye of the Sword, Trevin walks the torchlit coastal street in Qanreef. Brass lanterns hang in the king’s rooms in Flauren. (One of my book trailers shows a real ancient oil lamp in use.)

So if you ever have to resort to candles or flashlights, think of the ancients. And maybe do what they did. Take advantage of the dark hours and sleep.

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Dove Domes and Roof Paths

I visited Egypt a few years ago with Laura Greene, a writer friend I met at Vermont College of Fine Arts. Laura was doing research for a fascinating novel she’s writing. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was researching too. Memories of that trip have become settings and details in the Angelaeon Circle novels.

One vivid memory comes from our train trip from Cairo to Alexandria. We passed lots of small towns, their houses like boxes arranged along a few roads beside farm fields. Roofs are flat, well-used spaces, some topped with large beehive shape domes riddled with holes. These are dove roosts, where the birds are raised as food. In Cairo on a rooftop above a dye shop, freshly dyed yarn hung from drying racks in the sun.

Houses in many parts of the ancient world had flat roofs – which is still the case in many countries. Roofs are an outdoor room. Sometimes awnings or canopies are set up to provide shade. In hot weather, the roof provides a breezy place to work and a cool place to sleep.

Stairs to the roof are often on the outside of the house (sometimes it’s just a ladder), but in Eye of the Sword, one of the temples has interior stairs leading to a domed roof (domed because it’s a temple, not because they’re raising doves). The roof around the dome, however, is flat. Trevin ends up fighting there, which is incovenient because whoever happens to have his sword arm toward the dome is limited in his movement.

In Breath of Angel, Melaia has grown up in Navia, a city with square towers and flat roofs. When she leaves town, she remembers the pleasure of sleeping on the roof under the stars. Melaia also crosses roofs in Navia to reach the part of town where the overlord’s villa is located. When houses stood wall to wall, rooftops made a convenient upper path across town.

To make a flat roof in ancient times, a builder first laid several beams across the building from one wall to another. He covered the beams with a mixture of mud and straw, which hardened when it dried. This type of roof worked best in dry climates, because after a hard rain, you had to roll a heavy stone cylinder across the roof to repack it so it wouldn’t leak.

Greek and Roman houses often had roofs that angled slightly to a central peak. Overlapping tiles on the roof helped shed the rain. A central courtyard open to the sky often sat at the center of the house. This atrium might be tiled or grassy, but it usually contained a pool or well or some other way to catch rain. In the Angelaeon Circle novels, villas of overlords are built around an atrium. I just finished writing a scene for book 3 in which Trevin stands in the center of the overlord’s atrium, yelling up at the walkways surrounding it. Umm . . . I guess you’ll have to wait awhile to find out why.

Meanwhile, may your roof keep out the rain and shelter love, joy, and peace in your house.

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