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Well, bread
As the winter approached I spent a lot of time loafing around the house. This is because the workmen doing the embankment outside were in a hurry to finish (temperatures of -20c and howling blizzards have that effect). In their rush they left no access to our house but a climb up the rockery to the road higher up the mountainside. This was accomplished by my considerably more able-bodied wife in expeditions to get milk and fresh vegetables.

Since bread is bulky and hard to stuff into a rucksack, I started baking it at home. Now, even with a new embankment out front, this has become a minor hobby. The joy of bread-making is that the yeast does nearly all the work. The job takes around three hours, but most of this is letting the yeast do its thing - preparing ingredients and kneading them together is all the human element has to do, and that takes a few minutes.

Of course, once I had mastered the basic loaf the next challenge was to make sourdough for the type of bread which survived 2000 years in an oven in Pompeii, baked more comprehensively than intended by Vesuvius. I even contrived a marking of my own, since Roman loaves had a manufacturer's stamp so that sub-standard products could easily be traced to source.

Another interesting fact I discovered along the way is that the Romans never made yeast separately. Instead this magic ingredient was preserved from loaf to loaf by setting aside a part of each batch of dough and then adding this to the next. This bit of dough is called in English 'leaven' (a past participle of 'leave' - 'drive/driven', 'leave/leaven'). So now I know why bread baked without yeast is called 'unleavened bread'.
The last blog of 2016 - already!
As we roll toward the end of the year the pace is picking up. All the previous year's projects are heading for their deadlines at a breakneck pace and there's 2017 to be planned out before it is upon us. And that's even before the Xmas frenzy. So at the moment it's all about getting ahead of the game. I've two books that will be coming out in the spring - 'Sparta - Rise of a Warrior Nation', and 'Greece' for the 'Lost Empires' series with Reaktion Books. (Yup, there was a Greek empire. Alexander made it, and it lasted until the Romans and Parthians flattened it between them. One can argue - and I do so argue - that it resurfaced again as the Byzantine empire, and ... but anyway, you can read all about it in the spring!)

So on the one hand there's pictures, and indices and bibliographies needed to finish some projects, and onthe other wrangling over contracts for next year's work. Both of the projects I'm committed to I'm really looking forward to doing - hopefully though, there will also be time to squeeze out the next Panderius novel before the end of 2017. I'm already fiddling with plot ideas and sketching out timelines.

Then, Xmas is not far away - as the snow piling up outside the window reminds me (1.5 meters has fallen so far this year, and it's just getting started.) So it's time to prepare and freeze blocks of shortbread pastry for mince pies and biscuits, order prezzies, and send off a flock of cards to various editors, fellow authors, collaborators and others I've had the pleasure of working with over the year. A card I can't send, but would love to, is one each to the many readers who have purchased my books over the past year. My most sincere thanks and the happiest of Saturnalias to you all!
Room for the imagination
About a week ago, I found myself sharing personal space with a somewhat agitated black bear. A few seconds beforehand that bear had been in the neighbours' yard, with a substantial wooden fence between us. When the neighbours' dog disturbed the bear, I discovered that the secure-looking fence actually slows down a bear in a hurry by around a quarter of a second. Something to remember for the future, not least to ensure that I actually have a future.

The bear kept right on going, fortunately, but this brush with the wild reminded me that for most peoples before the modern era such close encounters were pretty much routine. Even within a few miles of ancient Rome there was enough wildlife for hunters to regularly bring their catch to markets within the city, and travellers pretty much expected to encounter wildlife on the road.

Places like classical Greece were almost 80% uninhabited, meaning that the peoples of the land saw themselves as islands of humanity surrounded by wilderness. In those forest fastnesses were centaurs, satyrs and other beasts which we inhabitants of crowded modern landscapes know as fantastical.

Yet where I live, the Canadian boreal forest stretches around and over the mountains, untouched for hundreds of miles in every direction. There are far more bears living locally than humans. Sasquatch (that hairy semi-human also known as 'Bigfoot') is regularly reported by hunters, just as those roaming the deep forests of antiquity probably glimpsed the occasional centaur.

This isolation was brought home to me one night when flying into a rural town hereabouts. The lights below were a thumbnail-sized patch of gold in an otherwise totally unlit sea of inky black. Whole communities of Sasquatchi could have been out there in those miles and miles of dark forest, and possibly fauns, satyrs and centaurs too.

That's the joy of a wilderness. You just don't know.
Infinite fun
The last time I knew all about ancient history was probably at the start of year one as a postgraduate at Oxford. At that point I was pretty clear in my mind. Greek history, Roman history, Early Medieval period - check. Yup, it was all there. There were a few corners that needed updating and polishing, but essentially my knowledge of ancient history was complete.

In a way, that was correct. Admittedly, the Hellenistic era was a complete blank, but I did know the history of the rest. However, there is a huge gap between ancient history and the ancient world. While it is possible to get a good grasp of ancient history, the ancient world is a vastly different proposition. And I do mean vast.

Understanding the ancient world involves knowing not only but history, but geography. (This month has involved studying Hellenistic Sogdiana - a place half the size of Germany that even a decade ago I had no idea existed.) There are also the ideas of philosophers such as the Presocratic Atomists. Oh, and demographic and anthropological studies to learn more about the lives of ancient peoples. Then there's architecture - just understanding Roman aqueducts properly takes months - and also art, the road system, economics and ancient medicine. Understanding these means learning to use tools such as app. crits., epigraphy, prosopography, and all of archaeology.

Did I mention religion and mythology? Recently I've been getting into that along with ancient magic and superstition. So far I've written two books on myth, with at least another three to come. There's also military history, which is itself enough to keep some scholars happily occupied for an entire lifetime, and if I ever get through all that, there is the world of late antiquity where everything is all different again.

There are writers - Damasippus, Justin and Bacchylides on the 'to read' list, where once I thought ancient history stopped with Tacitus, Livy and Thucydides, and felt myself erudite for knowing there were two writers called Pliny. As Aristotle remarked, 'the mind ages just as does the body'. But hopefully by the time I can no longer grasp new ideas from the world of antiquity, all I have learned will remain, preserved in a solid set of books on the shelf.
Building for the future
One of the problems with living on a mountainside is that while there's a great view, a certain degree of effort has to go into preventing one's home and its contents from sliding down into the undoubtedly scenic valley below.

At present that effort is being done by the roadworks people, who are rebuilding the embankment in front of the house. This is admirable, and a great use of my tax dollars even if it is hard to work when an orange-painted steel monster is chewing through concrete and tarmac a few feet from the window.

I observed to an engineer that the current embankment seems to be a much bigger project than its predecessor. He told me that previously such embankments were designed to last fifty years. The current thinking is that the job gets done once and permanently. Certainly with the amount of concrete they are pouring, this one looks set to outlast the pyramids.

That got me thinking about the Romans,who certainly shared the engineer's point of view. Indeed, many Roman bridges, water pipes and buildings are still in use in modern Italy and functioning as well as they did sixteen hundred years ago.

However, the academic in me warns that there's a certain fallacy here. We think the Romans were great builders, because we judge them by the buildings that survive. On the other hand, the Romans had their share of lousy builders too, but their works did not survive to condemn them. However, ancient writers were well aware of the many collapsible fire-traps in which they lived and worked.

Likewise, future generations may well examine the monumental embankment being erected in front of the house and form an entirely misguided opinion about our Ministry of Roads.

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