I often say, when asked, that writing a good book is easy. All you need are great characters, compelling settings, and engaging plots. Those, well, those are the hard parts. With the story I am working on here, of course, I have a significant advantage in that the name ‘Spartacus’ is already a part of the collective memory; even if you’ve never watched the movie, you know the phrase ‘I am Spartacus’, and there is that element of name recognition. This also represents something of a problem, though, in that everyone already knows the ending. This is a potential concern with any historical fiction, save the alt-hist genre, but you can often assume that your reader might not know the ins and outs of a minor skirmish on the Germanic frontier, that they might yet be surprised. Not so with Spartacus. Anyone – at least, anyone likely to read the book – knows that a gladiator called Spartacus rose up, led a revolt, and was defeated, he and the bulk of his followers crucified. (Though to be fair – Spartacus was never actually found, and I suppose it might be possible that he escaped. Or that he never existed at all, and was simply a name ascribed by the Romans to a collection of leaders…but now we’re beginning to cheat a little!)
The reader needs, deserves a satisfactory ending to the story, and one which can be interpreted logically from the preceding events with the benefits of the knowledge already possessed. What this means is that my first decision was the easiest one at all; my series will subscribe to the generally-held narrative of the Third Servile War. Which means that – Spoiler Alert – Spartacus is going to die. Now, there is little enough detail that I can put a wide variety of interpretations upon that narrative, and I intend to do just that, but I’ve got to commit to following the historical reality as best I can. That has some repercussions that directly lead into the nature of the story that I intend to tell, the main one being that Spartacus cannot be a point-of-view character. We already know how his personal story ends – there’s no surprise, no shock there, and while I could cheat my way out of that, I do not choose to do so.
One of the major arguments I have heard in relation to the writing of historical fiction is just how closely the author must stick to reality. My concept of this is that the author has a responsibility to make the most accurate account possible, based on the information available, and that any additions that are made should not violate the known facts. Adding a blacksmith named Gaius, for example, changes nothing. Putting in a villa somewhere outside Capua changes nothing – so much has been lost to history, and such additions, while perhaps vital for the story I am working on, have no impact on history. Were I to suggest that the Emperor Nero ordered Spartacus’ death, however, I would be on somewhat shakier ground!
There is also the responsibility of the author to look for inconsistencies. These are legion in the sources available on the Third Servile War, and in many cases mean that I have to make decisions about which source to follow, based on all the data and my own judgment. In addition – you have to work out what the writers of the sources might not have wanted posterity to remember, in this case my belief that part of the Third Servile War is in a sense dealing with the aftermath of the Social War. While the vast majority of ‘enemy’ combatants became Roman citizens, I find it impossible to believe that resentments would not run high, and that there would be many groups – such as the Samnites, for example – interested in getting some sort of revenge for past wrongs.
All of this is part of the fun, and one of the key reasons I am interested in writing historical fiction. Digging into the motivations and reasons behind the decisions taken by all of the major players is a fascinating study, rather like putting together an intensely complicated puzzle, trying to make each piece fit. And hoping there aren’t too many left over at the end, of course!
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