UnRoman Britain E-Book

Dr Miles Russell

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 439

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2011

Beschreibung

Roman Britain is usually thought of as a land full of togas, towns and baths with Britons happily going about their Roman lives under the benign gaze of Rome. This is, to a great extent, a myth that developed after Roman control of Britain came to an end, in particular when the British Empire was at its height in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In fact, Britain was one of the least enthusiastic elements of the Roman Empire. The northern part of Britain was never conquered at all despite repeated attempts. Some Britons adopted Roman ways in order to advance themselves and become part of the new order, or just because they liked the new range of products available. However, many failed to acknowledge the Roman lifestyle at all, while many others were only outwardly Romanised, clinging to their own identities under the occupation. Britain never fully embraced the Empire and was itself never fully accepted by the rest of the Roman world. Even the Roman army inBritain became chronically rebellious and a source of instability that ultimately affected the whole Empire. As Roman power weakened, the Britons abandoned both Rome and almost all Roman culture, and the island became a land of warring kingdoms, as it had been before.

Leseprobe

Cover Image: Fourth-century mosaic from Hinton St Mary, Dorset(© Trustees of the British Museum).

First published 2010, this edition 2019

The History Press

97 St George’s Place, Cheltenham,

Gloucestershire, GL50 3QB

www.thehistorypress.co.uk

© Miles Russell & Stuart Laycock, 2010, 2011, 2019

The right of Miles Russell & Stuart Laycock to beidentified as the Authors of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the Publishers.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978 0 7524 6929 4

Typesetting and origination by The History Press

Printed and bound in Great Britain by TJ International Ltd

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CONTENTS

Introduction

1 Power Games

2 Making the Choice – Resistance or Alliance?

3 A Roman Face for Britain

4 The Limits of Empire

5 Rejecting Romanitas

6Britannia – Rebel Empire

7 Britain Conquering Rome

8 Leaving the Empire

9 From UnRoman Britain to Anglo-Saxon England

10 UnRoman Britain Through History

Notes

Bibliography

INTRODUCTION

In most considerations of Roman Britain, opinion is divided as to whether Rome was or was not ‘a good thing’. The situation facing the indigenous population of first-century AD Britain (Image 1) is often depicted as if it were clear-cut: you were either with Rome or against her. If you sided with the Romans you were either forward thinking, a visionary hoping to participate in a great social experiment and benefit from all the things that a Mediterranean-based civilisation could offer, or a quisling, a collaborator, a turncoat betraying your own people. If you took a stand against Rome, you were either a courageous freedom fighter trying to liberate your friends and family, or a squalid terrorist, living life on the run and in constant fear of arrest.

Things were never, of course, that simple.

In June 2005 a BBC reporter noted, with no little irony, that electricity, rather than self-determination, was at the top of most Iraqi demands in the aftermath of war. In the city of Basra in southern Iraq, residents were lucky if they got more than three or four hours of intermittent electricity a day, far less than they had before the beginning of the American- and British-backed invasion, which had been intended to force regime change on the country and bring about political reform. In the increasingly stifling heat of summer, most Iraqis found that supplies of drinking water were diminishing, whilst their homes and key civic buildings were falling into disrepair. Rubbish was no longer collected; pools of raw sewage were gathering in the streets. Living standards and health were in serious decline.1 ‘A better electricity supply seems to be a higher priority than even security’ the piece concluded, leaving the audience, we suspect, expressing some incredulity. Surely security and good government are the most important prerequisites for a healthy, happy existence?

1. Bleasdale, Lancashire around AD 100 – with Rome or against? A population largely unaffected by the Roman Empire and uninspired by, or perhaps unwilling to acquire, its cultural attributes. (Courtesy of John Hodgson)

People, by and large, crave social stability and feel uncomfortable when presented with change, especially that over which they possess very little control. There is always some degree of disruption following a revolution, coup or invasion, sometimes involving loss of life on a tragically epic scale. It is interesting, however, not to say perhaps rather comforting, how quickly those that survive adapt and attempt to continue as before. For the bulk of the population living in Britain through the Roman invasion of AD 43, the Saxon invasions of the fifth century, the Viking attacks of the ninth, the Norman invasion of 1066 or the civil war of 1642–51, the basic rhythms of life, assuming they didn’t live right next to a battlefield site, would have continued as normal. Fields were ploughed, crops grown, children and livestock reared. Only the ruling elite of any given time period would understand that the arrival of an enemy or a foreign warband spelt trouble. For those aristocrats on the losing side, the choice would have been relatively simple: continue to resist and possibly die on the battlefield, surrender and possibly die in captivity, stay put and modify outlook and allegiance so as to find a place in the new order, or migrate out of harm’s way.

The ‘bigger political picture’ does not often impinge upon more ordinary lives, unless of course it involves the total collapse of governmental infrastructure. When this happens, at a local or national level, it can trigger a social catastrophe; military commanders, disenfranchised politicians, small-time criminals and businessmen, all previously constrained by a fully functioning justice system, are set free to do as they want. In the early years of the twenty-first century, political deficit in Chechnya, Somalia and Afghanistan gave power to a series of warlords, each claiming their own territory, and a fanatical brand of self-serving acolytes. Warlords form alliances or fight neighbours as and when the situation demands. Sometimes battle-lines are drawn on the basis of religious, cultural or ethnic grounds; more frequently the divide between various factions is blurred. To an outsider the situation can seem unfathomable, it being difficult to take sides or to determine ‘good’ from ‘evil’. In situations such as this there can be no ‘just cause’ to support; only continually unfolding acts of violence in a bloody cycle of revenge. Power vacuums unsettle the rhythms of life, sweeping away the familiarity of daily existence. New forces can cause a deep sense of psychological shock from which it can be difficult to emerge undamaged.

Many people, it would seem, do not ultimately mind too much who is in control as long as they and their friends and families are fed, housed and generally well looked after.

ON BEING ROMAN

Roman civilisation had spread across Western Europe, North Africa and eastern Asia throughout the sixth to first centuries BC. As Rome took control of these areas, making parts of Europe, Africa and Asia ‘Roman’, so Rome the city itself became more European, African and Asian. Foreign influences, fashions, religions, inventions and ideas were adopted wholesale by Rome and remade in her own distinctive image. Rome, then, represented the epitome of cultural plagiarism.

Hence, whilst we can speak with some authority about what constitutes Roman art, mosaics, wall plaster, statues, coins etc. the arrival, application and creation of mosaics, wall plaster, statues, coins etc. in areas of the Empire as diverse as Britain and Egypt, was very different. A mosaic, set down inside a Roman town house in Syria, retains many of the cultural tastes, artistic temperament, likes and loves of the Syrian population, whilst a similar mosaic appearing in Britain can (and often did) look distinctively ‘British’ (or at least ‘northern-provincial’). Artistic variation in any given province depended, in the main, upon both the nature of indigenous culture and the art forms that proceeded Roman influence.

Whether ‘imperialism’ was something which was oppressive and to be feared or a welcome change in lifestyle offering a new life filled with luxury products and opportunity, depended on who you were, what you wanted in life, how much cash you had and what, ultimately, you had to lose. The adoption of Roman culture, customs and fashions was a necessary prerequisite for success within the Empire’s provinces and those infected early by Rome were more likely to benefit in the new order. Being Roman gave one the opportunity to directly access a new world of consumerism, personal adornment, prestige and huge opportunities for self-advancement. Those members of a native aristocracy who threw themselves into Romanitas (or the Roman way) could hope for a chance to live long and prosper. Those that publicly clung onto the old ways would, at best, have found themselves marginalised, at worst treated with suspicion and contempt.

Fashion is a curious thing. Many in ancient British society may have been largely unaffected by Roman ideas or fashions, or at least been able to stave off the worst symptoms of the Roman disease, for generations. Few may have seen any benefit in changing their ways of life nor in altering the ways in which they spoke, dressed or behaved. For those living away from the new towns of Roman Britain on rural farms or in villages, any difference in lifestyle before and after the Roman invasion of AD 43 may have been negligible. Taxation, in the form of the presentation of an agricultural surplus, may increasingly have been paid to a more Mediterranean-looking official, wearing Mediterranean-style clothes in an increasingly Mediterranean-style town of brick and stone (rather than a more traditional-looking chieftain in a traditional hillfort), but little else was different.

It is safe to say that ‘Being Roman’ was not a concept that everyone adhered to or even desired. The farmer returning from a new ‘Romanised’ market may have brought back the odd bronze coin in change, a new style brooch, a wheel-thrown cooking pot or a new form of knife for the kitchen: all things that better facilitated an existing way of life but did not, on the whole, threaten to change anything on a dramatic scale. This is passive or permissive acculturation; a form of cultural change that ultimately benefits the consumer but does not overly unnerve them nor unsettle the status quo. There may well have been other people, for there always are, who saw the array of Roman artefacts, lifestyles and fashions on offer in the new towns and marketplaces as a way of bettering themselves and advancing their own social position. In such instances, Rome presented them (and sometimes their families too) with new opportunities and new ways of getting rich.

So what did ‘Being Roman’ actually mean within the context of first-century AD Britain? Someone who came from Rome? Well yes, to a very limited degree, there were almost certainly some people from the eternal city in the province, exploiting natural resources, overseeing the development of business and looking for a way to make a quick denarius. But the term ‘Roman’ itself was something that stretched far beyond the mere confines of an Italian city. By the first century AD there were probably many millions of people who thought of themselves as being ‘Roman’ in outlook, lifestyle and thinking, even if few had ever seen the city close up, let alone had relatives or ancestors who lived (or had lived) there.

Can the term ‘Roman’ then be usefully applied to someone who had been conquered by Rome? Strictly speaking yes: someone captured or enslaved by Rome is owned by the Roman State, having lost all sense of identity and belonging. Such loss of personal freedom, however, is hardly likely to have engendered a desire to actually be Roman, let alone to provide opportunities to pursue all that the culture has to offer. ‘Roman’ as a label makes far more sense when it is applied to a person or persons influenced by Rome; someone who wanted to be part of Rome and its institutions; someone who desired either full or partial immersion in all of its fashions, concepts and customs. Of course, in the sense of Rome as an influence, there are multiple degrees of Roman-ness, each of which were ultimately dependent upon circumstances. Who you were, where you lived, and what you did were all just as important factors in determining your degree of Roman-ness as what it was you wanted in life, how far you wanted to go to achieve this, and how important (or not) you were to the State.

For those who made it to the top of the social pile and became fully fledged Roman citizens, rather than mere provincials pretending to be Roman, there were very big advantages, not least of all legal protection and the right to vote (in Rome) as well as various property- and business-related perks. Of course there were disadvantages too, including taxation and military service (which was expected but not always required), but for those with wealth who wished for status and influence, citizenship was ultimately where it was at. Peregrinae, or foreign provincials, although they fulfilled the crucial responsibilities within their own cantons and communities, possessed no equivalent civil or legal rights.

TRANSITIONS

Citizenship was not an automatic right. In the first century AD, to be a Roman citizen you would have to have been born into it (not always easy to engineer), or, if you were a provincial, served for a minimum of twenty-five years in the auxiliary army (if you were a man), married a citizen (if you were a woman – although crossing social and class divides in this way was not always an easy option), or have had it conferred upon you by the emperor. In Britain, archaeology has provided evidence for at least three of these four forms of successful social climbing.

From South Shields in Northumberland, at the eastern edge of what became, in the second century AD, the northern frontier of Britannia, is the tombstone of Regina (Image 2), freedwoman and wife of Barates. Barates was a Palmyrene, from what is now Syria, and may have been a serving officer in the frontier army, a veteran or a businessman. Regina, a name which perhaps translates as ‘Queenie’, is, on the tombstone, recorded as a Catuvellaunian, a native Briton from Hertfordshire. How she ended up a slave, how Barates found or purchased her, when exactly he freed her and whether or not the two were actually in love are, unfortunately, things that cannot be answered from the archaeological evidence itself (although the Palmyrene script, added beneath the formal Latin funerary text, probably by Barates himself, says simply and rather tellingly: ‘Barates alas!’). Although damaged, Regina appears serene and elegant, seated, well-dressed and wearing a Celtic torc, or neck ring, itself a dramatic symbol of power and status. Further evidence of wealth is provided by a large box or casket at her feet, which Regina is leaning forward to open. The casket, decorated with a crescent moon, is protected with a hefty looking lock and was, no doubt, filled with jewellery.

2. Tombstone of Regina, a Catuvellaunian Briton, freedwoman and wife of Barates – a Palmyrene from what is now Syria. (Courtesy of Arbeia Museum)

A good example demonstrating the initial phases of the native to Roman transition is provided by another tombstone, this time from Colchester in Essex (Image 3). Here the individual concerned is called Longinus (a fairly generic though perfectly acceptable Roman name) Sdapeze (a very UnRoman name), the son of Matycus. Longinus, it would seem, was an auxiliary cavalryman, recruited, so his funerary monument tells us, from ‘the district of Sardica’, now Sofia in Bulgaria. The tombstone shows him in full armour, riding heroically over a naked and rather grotesquely carved barbarian. Longinus died aged 40, some ten years short of the retirement that would have brought him full Roman citizenship.

3. Tombstone of Longinus Sdapeze, son of Matycus, an auxiliary cavalryman recruited from Bulgaria and who died ten years short of attaining Roman citizenship. (Courtesy of Colchester Castle Museum)

The third, and perhaps rather more enigmatic, archaeological find came from excavations at Fishbourne in West Sussex in the late 1990s. The piece is a small but rather splendid gold signet ring (Image 4), the bezel of which is inscribed, in reverse (presumably so that, if used on a wax seal, it would read the correct way), with a single name: TI CLAUDI CATUARI or ‘Tiberius Claudius Catuarus’. In the first century AD, only Roman citizens of the highest rank were permitted to wear gold rings, and only with the explicit permission of the emperor. We do not know who Catuarus was, but his is a fine Romano-British name, Catuarus being an ethnic form derived, quite possibly, from the Celtic term for ‘warrior or fighter’. Addition of the names Tiberius (TI) and Claudius (CLAVDI) to Catuarus’ own, furthermore, tells us, rather significantly, that his sponsor for citizenship was one of the members of the Julio Claudian House, in all likelihood the Emperor Claudius (AD 41–54) or Nero (AD 54–68).

4. A gold ring belonging to Tiberius Claudius Catuarus, a native Briton sponsored for Roman citizenship by the emperor. (Courtesy of the Sussex Archaeological Society)

A significant aspect of citizenship, helping to foster ‘a sense of belonging’, was derived partly through a defined reward scheme and partly through a public affirmation of loyalty through the swearing of oaths, sponsoring of important projects and the carrying out of public duties. Many nations today advance similar concepts of loyalty affirmation. In Britain, at the time of writing, the ‘Citizenship Ceremony’ considers an affirmation of fidelity to the sovereign as a key condition to the process of naturalisation. Whether or not existing citizens consider that ‘Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second, her Heirs and Successors’ have any right to supreme power is ultimately irrelevant, for the key factor in the citizenship ceremony is to present a figure to whom all allegiance can be directed. To the first-century AD Briton, a prominent display of fidelity to the emperor could perhaps help fast-track the citizenship process and, for those that really wanted it, secure a place in the new order.

ROMANISATION

Romanisation is a term which, since it was first coined by the American linguist and lexicographer William Dwight Whitney in 1867,2 has regularly been applied to the influence and adoption of Roman objects, ideas, language, religion, customs and fashion. Like all processes of cultural change, however, Romanisation was neither uniform nor inevitable. The citizens of Rome had their own term for the spread of their distinctive way of life and ideals across the ancient world: Romanitas.

Romanitas can perhaps be better defined as the ‘homogenisation’ of goods and materials within and beyond the Roman Empire, something which affected different people in different ways at different times and with varying degrees of success. As we have already noted, not everyone in Britain or across the Empire was affected by the process and many of those who were, even partially, seemed to retain much of their own distinctive culture pattern. Purely from an archaeological perspective, we can see the process of ‘Romanisation’ at work in Britain from the beginning of the first century BC with the introduction of coinage.

5. Silver unit of Verica, King of the Atrebates tribe, proclaiming his descent from King Commios, former ally of Julius Caesar. (Courtesy of Chris Rudd, Cat. No. 597)

Coins represent one of the most startling of new artefacts to appear within the context of Late Iron Age society. The appearance of coins in the archaeological record however does not mean that Britain had become a full-blown monetary economy. Rather coins appear to have been used as a way of using precious metals, given as payment or as a gift, to pass on a political message or a statement of allegiance. Coins represent, in very basic terms, a small fragment of metal (gold, silver or bronze) stamped with the name of a particular member of the local British ruling elite (Image 5). Sometimes they also contained an official title, line of descent, name of the royal seat of power and occasionally carried obvious symbols of wealth and power such as ears of corn, horses, bulls, boars and occasionally ships. In this respect, the coin was a potent symbol of authority, ambition and dynastic intent.

Quite why coins were first adopted by the political elite of Late Iron Age Britain remains a mystery but, by the end of the first century BC, they had rapidly become the propaganda weapon of choice. If the symbols used on the reverse of the coins in question were obviously Roman (perhaps copied direct from Mediterranean originals) or the language used was Latin (such as the use of the term Rex for king), this could in turn imply an economic, political or military link with the Roman State. Coins, furthermore, appear in Britain from the early to mid first century BC and seem to have continued in production well after the Roman invasion of AD 43, something that may point towards a degree of continuity in tribal authority within specific parts of the new Roman province.

Another good indicator of early Roman influences at work in certain areas of Britain is the amphora. Amphorae, basically elongated ceramic storage vessels (Image 6), were designed to transport commodities, such as wine, olive oil and fish sauce, to and from distant parts of the Empire by sea. Like the champagne bottle of today, the amphora was the visible container of status produce and seems to have been greatly prized by elements in the native elite during the final decades of the first century BC and the early years of the first century AD. Associated with the gradual change in eating and drinking habits in certain elite households across southern and south-eastern Britain, as evidenced by amphorae, we also see, from around AD 20, a small but significant increase in the quantity of pottery imported from places as far afield as Gaul (France), the Rhineland and North Africa. After the invasion of southern England by the emperor Claudius in AD 43, the process of culture change begins to accelerate with the introduction of new gods, urban units, language (at least for official inscriptions), fashion and rural settlement.

6. Amphorae: storage vessels designed to transport wine, olive oil and fish sauce to distant parts of the empire by sea. (Courtesy of Rockbourne Roman Villa, Hampshire County Council)

‘Roman’ therefore, at least in an archaeological sense, is a cultural label, used to define things that were more commonly in circulation within the Roman Empire than outside or beyond it. In this sense the terms ‘British’/‘German’/‘Gallic’, as used in this book, are ethnic labels, defining origin, background and (perhaps) upbringing. Hence we can use the terms ‘Romano-British’, ‘Romano-Gallic’ or ‘Romano-German’ to describe a person who may have been ethnically British, German or Gallic, but who went into the grave (and therefore the afterlife) culturally Roman. Longinus, the auxiliary cavalryman whose tombstone has been recovered from Colchester (see above) is one such person who proudly notes his ethnic Balkan background, but who, from his career, name, tombstone and burial status, is culturally very Roman indeed.

Had Longinus not specifically cited his ethnicity within his funerary monument, we would have been none the wiser as to where he ultimately derived. Certainly his name is of no use, being as it is a rather generic and commonplace Roman form. Whether Longinus’ father, Matycus, provided his son with the first step on the ladder to self-improvement by erasing his ethnic heritage and providing him with a solid Latin identity, or whether it was the army, keen to make sure that new recruits dropped all sense of their background (thus increasing loyalty to the State), we will probably never know. What is certain is that had Longinus survived to have children of his own, he would undoubtedly have provided each with a nice new Latin name, eradicating any previous cultural distinctiveness. Archaeologically, people such as Longinus were no longer Iron Age or ‘barbarian’ provincials, they were well on the way to becoming completely Roman.

An example of the fluid nature of cultural change and, indeed, of the difficulties surrounding its positive identification is the modern term ‘Americanisation’. Americanisation is something that, as with Romanisation, means different things to different people. In the United States itself, there is, it is fair to say, no such thing as a uniform type of American culture. As with ‘Roman’, ‘American’ makes sense only perhaps as a cultural label; something which covers a familiar range of ‘type’ - objects, phrases, clothing, music and shared belief systems. Hence all ethnic groups coming to the USA can ultimately ‘dip into’ the shared cultural pie, taking from it those aspects that they feel most comfortable with and which best facilitate their own outlook and existence. Of course acculturation is a two-way process and groups can bring aspects of their own ethnic, religious or folk identity to the mix in order to create something wholly new. Today it is not unusual to hear people speak of themselves, not as ‘American’ per se, but ‘African-American’, ‘Native-American’, ‘Irish-American’, ‘Italian-American’ and so on.

At certain times, Romanitas appears to have received more than a gentle prod by officials in central government, perhaps desirous of an acceleration in the degree of cultural change, perhaps as a way of increasing stability and hastening economic returns. The end of the first century AD in Britain specifically appears to have been a period in which the State went to substantial efforts to more significantly Romanise key players in the province. New civilian building projects were initiated and increased financial incentives designed.

This process seems to have begun in earnest under the Roman governor of Britain Gnaeus Julius Agricola in the late first century AD, at least according to his son-in-law, the historian Tacitus. ‘Agricola gave private encouragement and public aid to the building of temples, courts of justice and dwelling-houses’, Tacitus tells us, ‘praising the energetic, and reproving the indolent … He likewise provided a liberal education for the sons of the chiefs, and showed such a preference for the natural powers of the Britons over the industry of the Gauls that they who lately disdained the tongue of Rome now coveted its eloquence. Hence, too, a liking sprang up for our style of dress, and the toga became fashionable. Step by step they were led to things which dispose to vice, the lounge, the bath, the elegant banquet’ (Tacitus Agricola 21). The paragraph ends, however, with a typical piece of Tacitean cynicism when he observes that: ‘all this in their ignorance they called civilisation, when it was but a part of their servitude’.3

The movers and shakers of the developing Roman province seem to have ploughed their money into funding the construction of new urban temples and bathing complexes and, ultimately, developing a whole new series of homes for themselves. Whether this class of nouveaux riche sprang from the surviving Iron Age aristocracy, as Catuarus, the gold ring-wearing individual of first-century Sussex may have done, or were simply those who, whatever their ethnic origins, were keen to exploit the province and settle down, we will probably never know for sure. The chances are, however, that a small but significant number were indeed Britons on the make.

INTENT

The intention of this book is to establish a point of view; namely that Britain, although it may have been a formal part of the Roman Empire for nearly 400 years, was never fully Roman.

Roman culture never fully embedded itself within Britain and had no significant impact upon the people and periods that followed. Gaul (France) and Spain were more successfully integrated into the Empire and its systems, but then both had been on the fringes of the Roman, Greek, Etruscan and Carthaginian world for centuries longer than Britain ever had. It is also worth making the point that both Gaul and Spain were devastated after their conquest by Rome, making any resistance to the Roman model of control, administration and development far less effective. Gallic society, in 50 BC, was very different to that which had been in existence less than a decade before. Hundreds of thousands of men, women and children had been killed, many more severely maimed, injured or carried off into slavery.4 What is more, the tribal system was in tatters, all large-scale defended settlements and distribution centres destroyed, religious sites overthrown and trade networks eradicated. There was no such widespread disruption and loss of life in Britain, whose tribal networks seem to have remained largely in place and in some areas positively encouraged and nurtured.

It is perhaps the high visibility and obvious distinctiveness of Rome’s archaeological footprint that has caused disproportionate focus upon things that are obviously more ‘Roman’ than the more ‘normal’ aspects that are, to coin a phrase, ‘UnRoman’. It is evident that Roman ideas, fashions and customs infected the minds of only a small minority of the British population: the wealthy and the aristocratic elite. It is they, together with the military units, recruited in large numbers from overseas, merchants and officials drawn largely from the Mediterranean world, that were the major users of Roman culture in Britain. As with the whitewashed colonial houses built by British émigrés in India, or the brick-built Georgian houses of America, many of the palatial villas of Roman Britain may not have been created by (or indeed for) the indigenous population, but for incoming officials, entrepreneurs and pioneers. As with the Roman military installations of northern Britain, the nineteenth-century forts of the American West or the US airbases in Europe or Iraq, may simply have established small pockets of distinctive and (to the garrisons at least) familiar culture in uncertain or hostile territory. Ultimately such cultural ‘bubbles’ had little or no impact on the wider native lands beyond.

If Roman culture in Britain was only ever superficially applied, is it any surprise that, even after 400 years of occupation, it had very little lasting impact? If Roman culture only affected the merchants, military and administration, none of whom had any real stake in the province, and the native elite, who may have been suddenly overthrown, gradually died out or simply switched their outlook and allegiance, then is it any surprise that Romanitas did not survive into the ‘post-Roman’ period? Are the majority of books, articles and works discussing ‘Roman Britain’ ultimately based on a huge misconception: that Britain was a successful and fully integrated member of a Mediterranean-based empire? Was Britain largely an UnRoman element of the Roman Empire throughout the first to fifth centuries after all?

1

POWER GAMES

During the Late Iron Age, a mere 2,000 years ago, food production, social organisation and human settlement patterns were not ‘primitive’ but were rather modern in outlook. Land was being intensively farmed, surplus coming under the control of an increasingly affluent and largely non-productive aristocracy. A sustainable surplus meant that it was possible for the elite and their followers to purchase foreign luxuries, fund works of art, garner political support and build military muscle, an important consideration when competing for natural resources. Human settlement was, in the British Iron Age, becoming more centralised; tribal territories were expanding; social spaces becoming more strongly defined.

All this was happening at a time when Western Europe was undergoing a period of significant change: Italy, Austria, Switzerland, Spain, Portugal and now France and Germany having fallen under the dominion of a militaristic monarchy. Millions had died or been enslaved in the process of conquest and assimilation. The battle for Britain was shortly to begin.

FIRST CONTACT

Britain was viewed as a natural target by the power-hungry Roman general Julius Caesar. By 55 BC, Caesar had subjugated much of Gaul and led troops on a punitive campaign across the Rhine into Germania Magna. In 55 and 54 BC he led invasions into Britain, not, it would appear in order to form the basis of permanent conquest, but in order to capture the Roman public imagination; he wanted to demonstrate his ability to go anywhere and do anything.

Truth be told, the expedition of 55 BC was not a great success, at least in military terms. Trapped on the beach, hemmed in on all sides by the enemy, Caesar could only watch helplessly as his cavalry reinforcements were scattered in a storm at sea, whilst his own transport vessels were dashed to pieces on the shore. A stalemate ensued, the Britons being unable either to eliminate the Romans or dislodge them from their coastal base. The Romans, on the other hand, found themselves unable to break out of the beach positions and attack British targets. Eventually both sides called for peace and the Roman army left in a fleet of hastily repaired ships. Characteristically, Caesar, in his own work the Gallic Wars, makes even this sound like a victory.

Within a year of departing, the Romans were back. This time Caesar hoped to obtain a more impressive result: ideally defeating the Britons in battle, capturing a British town (or two) and the acquisition of slaves and booty. Unfortunately for him, the British tribes presented a combined face, electing one of their own, a man called Cassivellaunos, as supreme leader. Although we know nothing about Cassivellaunos, his significance cannot be overstated: he is the first character to emerge from over half a million years of British prehistory; our first identifiable Briton. Caesar portrays him as the villain of the piece, previously intimidating his neighbours by fighting expansionist wars of territorial acquisition across southern England. In the Roman mind, Cassivellaunos was a destabilising influence: his very existence legitimising Roman military activity. Caesar, ever aware of an opportunity for political gain, could claim that armed intervention in Britain was necessary in order to force regime-change, weeding out dangerous warlike elements and bringing peace to the northern frontier of the Empire.

The other British aristocrat that Caesar acknowledges during his campaign of 54 BC was Mandubracius of the Trinobantes (or Trinovantes). The importance of this particular character is that he represents the first Briton to embrace ‘the protection of Caesar’, a wonderful euphemism. Mandubracius’ people seem to have previously fought against (and been defeated by) Cassivellaunos and therefore viewed Caesar as the lesser of two evils. That any deeply held blood feud or clan enmity would at some point destabilise Cassivellaunos’ resistance to Caesar must have always been a risk. Given his history, it was likely that certain groups would view the arrival of Caesar as the perfect opportunity to level old scores and destroy a more ancient foe. Whilst Caesar was weak, his troops unable to find food or safe haven, then Cassivellaunos might just succeed. If Caesar looked strong, however, then former inter-tribal enmities could reopen and the Briton’s position as warleader of a unified resistance would effectively be undermined. Cassivellaunos’ ultimate failure says more about the politics, squabbles and inter-ethnic tensions of tribal groups in southern Britain than anything else.

At the end of the brief campaign of 54 BC, Caesar left taking a number of British hostages with him. Hostages were traditionally taken by Rome as a way of ensuring the loyalty of conquered peoples. If the children of a defeated monarch were retained in Roman custody, then their parents would be less likely to revolt. Hostage taking also had a more significant aspect to it, however, for, having been taken from their homes, the children of native aristocrats would be brought up within the Roman world and gradually indoctrinated into the Roman mindset. If such Midwich Cuckoos were ever required to return to their people, they would take back a range of new gods, ideas, customs and language: Latin. Having been exposed to a Mediterranean lifestyle from a very early age, they could help fast-track Roman culture within and among the aristocratic classes of their own people.

As well as hostages, Caesar took with him promises of protection money (which he termed ‘tribute’) and assurances that Cassivellaunos’ tribe would ‘not wage war against Mandubracius nor the Trinobantes’. Mandubracius was left as a British ally of the Roman State and his tribe as a ‘Protectorate’. This Briton was someone who, from now on, would enjoy special trade status and enhanced power. He could, in theory, also rely on Caesar or his nominated officers to provide military assistance in times of trouble. The concept of allied or client kings and queens was one which Rome found particularly favourable, for they provided the State with a degree of security along potentially unstable frontiers. From an economic perspective, client kingdoms also provided Rome with the opportunity to make significant amounts of money through increased trade.

IN CONTROL

A sense of what life was like in Iron Age Britain, at least in political terms, is difficult to achieve. Plans and maps depicting ‘Life in the Iron Age’ can today create a wholly artificial sense of reality. Sites and artefacts appear in clusters, neatly grouped into discrete tribal zones (Image 7). Each tribe has a name and possesses, at least on paper, clearly defined borders. Each tribe evidently had its own leaders but we do not know whether such leadership was in any way stable nor whether it brought a sense of unity and identity to the population at large.

7. The traditional view of the major Iron Age tribal groupings within the area that was to become the province of Britannia. (Courtesy of Jane Russell)

Contemporary Roman and Greek authors are of little help, as most simply reinforce the perspectives and prejudices of their own times, depicting the Britons as barbaric and rather backward. ‘They are simple in their habits,’ Diodorus Siculus tells us from the late first century BC, ‘and far removed from the cunning and vice of modern man. Their way of life is frugal and far different from the luxury engendered by wealth.’ ‘The Britons,’ Tacitus, writing in the early second century AD, tells us, ‘were formerly governed by kings, but at present they are divided in factions and parties among their chiefs; and this want of union for concerting some general plan is the most favourable circumstance to us, in our designs against so powerful a people. It is seldom that two or three communities concur in repelling the common danger; and thus, while they engage singly, they are all subdued.’ (Tacitus Agricola 12)

Julius Caesar mentions a series of tribes and rattles off a few aristocratic names in the Gallic Wars. Ultimately, however, he leaves his audience in the dark as to the specifics of British society and politics beyond noting that ‘the interior of Britain is inhabited by people who claim on the strength of their own tradition to be indigenous; the maritime portion by immigrants from Belgic territory who came after plunder and to make war, nearly all of them being named after the tribes from which they originated’ (Gallic Wars 5, 12).

Our understanding of society in the British Iron Age is therefore both incomplete and severely limited. We do not know how people were organised or what they thought of themselves or their leaders. The names that we have for the different tribal groups, such as the Iceni, the Atrebates and the Catuvellauni, are those preserved by the Roman State in the late first and early second century AD. It is highly probable that, in establishing this organisational framework, Rome recognised only the larger political groupings, disregarding all others. The real political map of Iron Age Britain was no doubt simplified by Rome who preferred the idea of single tribes occupying single areas under the rule of individual leaders. More likely the names that we have today for the ‘tribes’ of Britain were no more than the identifiers of particular ruling dynasty or aristocratic lineage. A ‘tribe’ could simply have been those who owed allegiance to a particular leader and not necessarily always a discrete ethnic or cultural group.

It was the aristocracy, the non-productive elite, holding power through military supremacy, trade, divine right or blood heritage, who decided whether external influences, such as those presented by the Roman Empire, would succeed within particular areas. If the leaders wanted wine and olive oil then it was up to them to negotiate directly with Rome. Any subsequent widening of access to Roman goods, fashions or customs to the population would depend on how tightly leaders controlled their followers and how many gifts and favours they ultimately bestowed.

Parallels for the successful development of power through the brutal control of business and the exploitation of family networks can be found throughout human history, particularly in early twentieth-century America. Here, groups operating small-scale urban criminal activities in New York, eventually grew to control significant areas of the city. By the time of prohibition in the 1920s, when the sale and consumption of alcohol was banned across the United States, the manufacture and distribution of bootleg liquor proved the perfect way for aspiring gangsters to further develop and expand their criminal empires. The exploitation of natural resources in return for Mediterranean consumables such as wine may have provided a similar route to the top for prehistoric entrepreneurs in Britain. As with the ‘royal’ houses of the British Iron Age, the control of business and the organisation of protection rackets in early twentieth-century America increasingly came under the control of a few powerful dynasties.

There was never a chance, in Late Iron Age Britain, that everyone would enjoy the proceeds of trade, exchange and big business. Tempting though it may be to see new Mediterranean imports into Britain as the beginnings of a better, more civilised society of benefit to all, there does not seem to have been much of a ‘trickle-down’ effect, with those beyond the elite suddenly shaving, bathing, drinking wine and wearing Roman gold. Only those with direct access to the Roman State would benefit from its patronage. Mediterranean contacts and the goods they provided were no doubt jealously guarded by the native elite, keen that the prestige associated with links to the Empire was not diluted by broadening access.

SETTLING DOWN

Across southern Britain, the most representative archaeological-type site of the Iron Age is the hillfort (Image 8). These imposing, contour-hugging enclosures seem to provide confirmation of the warlike nature of Iron Age society which, we are told by Roman writers such as Julius Caesar, was always feuding, brawling, fighting and stealing. Strong hilltop defences must, we assume, imply a very real fear of neighbouring communities combined with the desire to protect house and home from attack (Image 9). The majority of Iron Age settlements at this time, however, were relatively small-scale; representing close-knit farming communities, trading, interacting and existing in a relatively open landscape apparently without ever feeling the need to massively defend or protect.

8. Cleeve Hill Camp Iron Age hillfort, Gloucestershire. (Courtesy of Hamish Fenton)

9. Maiden Castle, Dorset. The southern ramparts of the multivallate Iron Age hillfort.

10. Cranborne Ancient Technology Centre, Dorset. A recreated Iron Age roundhouse.

The roundhouse was the standard domestic unit within most Iron Age settlements (Image 10). The size of floor varied, but most houses lay within the range of between 10 and 15m in diameter, defined by low external walls and, it is presumed, conical thatched roofs. ‘Open settlement’ roundhouses tended to cluster in groups of three or more, one structure serving as the main residential unit, others as ancillary buildings, storerooms and, occasionally, shrines (Image 11). Enclosed farmsteads, comprising a single, enlarged roundhouse set within a bank and ditch defining an area of around a hectare, are also found throughout the British Isles.

Warfare between the various Early Iron Age communities of southern England may well have been endemic, a semi-permanent state of rivalry between clans or farming units; but rarely, if at all, would it seem that any particular group desired the total defeat and/or extermination of the other; this being a more modern concept of war. Conflict between prehistoric societies often took the form of competition, something which helped foster alliances and enforce allegiances. Competition increased the desire amongst the leaders of particular communities for prestige goods and extreme dress items, and ultimately more visually impressive forms of enclosure.

Hillforts, then, could have less to do with a permanent state of open war, and more to do with the desire to elaborately define and protect the political heart of a particular clan group. Hillforts were probably where organised gatherings took place at particular times of the year for the purposes of trade, exchange, taxation, marriage, food distribution or religion. Hillforts were where the elite resided and where leadership of the tribe was reinforced and bonds of allegiance strengthened. Yes, they represented state-of-the-art prehistoric defensive capabilities; the final word in elite protection, power and prestige (much as the motte and bailey castle was to the Norman lord); no, they did not reflect a fragmented society, barricaded in fear upon the highest and most remote areas of the country. They were not the ultimate symbol of a divided or broken Britain.

11. Cefn Du, Anglesey. Large thatched roundhouses, comprising a main residential unit and an ancillary building, of the Iron Age and Roman period. (Courtesy of John Hodgson)

In southern Britain, few of the large developed hillforts continued much beyond 100 BC although small enclosed farms and open farmsteads did continue to flourish. As the hillforts faded, a new form of elite enclosure developed. These are called oppida, an unfortunate title, derived from a rather vague term applied by Julius Caesar to pretty much every large Iron Age settlement he encountered in Europe, regardless of location, size or extent. Annoyingly, Caesar never defines what precisely he thinks an oppidum is, but, given current archaeological considerations, the term probably has more valid application in France, Germany and Switzerland where some Late Iron Age sites possess urban planning in the form of street grids, administrative and religious buildings, elite settlement and enclosing walls of stone.

In Britain there is really nothing comparable to the continental oppida, though the term ‘territorial oppidum’ is sometimes applied to a discontinuous form of Late Iron Age linear earthwork found in areas where the hillfort seems to have died out. Territorial oppida have been identified at a variety of places in Britain (Image 12) including Colchester in Essex, St Albans in Hertfordshire, Silchester in Hampshire and Chichester in West Sussex (Image 13). These sites possess complex systems of banks and ditches which demarcate, but rarely enclose, vast swathes of land. At Colchester, an area of just over 32 sq. km was partially defined by a multiple series of ramparts. These earthworks would not have proved overly effective in halting a truly determined invasion, but they would have seriously impeded movement from the west, especially if that involved chariots or large numbers of cavalry.

12. The ‘territorial oppida’ of southern Britain in the Late Iron Age, indicating the possible form of their original pre-Roman names, and the more ‘hillfort dominated zone’ to the west (shaded). (Courtesy of Jane Russell)

The quantity of Mediterranean imports recovered from excavations in and around the Colchester oppidum is suggestive of a focus of trade and, ultimately, political control. There have been few extensive surveys of the interior, but it seems clear that only limited areas to the east of the ditch systems were in any way intensively occupied. At Sheepen, to the west of the later Roman and medieval town, an area of Iron Age settlement associated with industrial activity, coin manufacture and exotic Roman imports, most notably wine and Mediterranean olive oil, has been located, while at Gosbecks and Lexden, to the south-west, a religious complex and major cemetery have been recorded. At Lexden a burial mound, excavated in 1924, produced a wooden chamber containing a wealth of domestic objects, furniture, a chain mail shirt, 17 amphorae and a silver medallion of the emperor Augustus. Pottery finds suggest a date of around 15–10 BC.5 At Gosbecks a trapezoidal-shaped rampart enclosed a series of impressive roundhouses. The coinage produced under the regional king Cunobelinus in the early years of the first century AD gives us the oppidum’s name: Camulodunum, ‘the fortress of Camulos’ (Image 14).

13. The Chichester entrenchments, West Sussex. A small section of the 10km-long Late Iron Age oppidum rampart which remains an impressive obstacle to this day.

The sheer cost of constructing oppida, at least in terms of labour, must have been immense; the equivalent of hundreds of men, women and children working ten- to twelve-hour shifts every day for well over a year. Even if the entrenchments were created in a series of stages over time, their creation must have tied up a considerable body of the population. This was communal effort on an immense scale, which itself implies a well-organised central authority, or at least someone with a grand design and little in the way of local opposition. Clearly oppida were required; their presence in the landscape was felt necessary. Whether such sites provided the focus of elite settlement, where a king or queen ruled their people, the centralisation of key resources (such as horses or cows), the spiritual heart of a religious community or the defended limit of a particular tribe, is, however, unclear.

14. Latin inscription on pre-Roman Iron Age coin. The obverse side reads ‘Camuloduno’ (i.e. minted at Camulodunum/Colchester), whilst the reverse carries an abbreviation of the king’s name Cuno (short for Cunobelinus). (Courtesy of Chris Rudd, Cat. No. 2764)

Perhaps oppida represented the political formalisation of a particular authority, the defended boundaries of the tribe. Perhaps certain communities simply feared the expansionist tendencies of their immediate neighbours and so were keen to protect their territories in ever more dramatic ways. Historically we know that a number of British kings, including individuals called Tincomarus and Verica, sought shelter in Rome at the beginning of the first century AD, so such a theory may not be too wide of the mark. The fact that many of the hillforts of the Early Iron Age were not being refortified at this time, however, could alternatively suggest that fear of attack and the escalation of hostilities was not a major concern for the bulk of the population. Only those with a vested interest in maintaining good relations with Rome may have felt the need to define the limits of their power in dramatic new ways. The control of trade with the Mediterranean, and of the profits that ensued, may have led some British leaders to protect their investments better with networks of defensive ramparts backed by displays of intimidation and force.

RISE OF ROME

Following the assassination of Julius Caesar in 44 BC, the Roman world was convulsed by civil war. The conflict finally ended in 31 BC when the combined forces of Caesar’s friend, Mark Antony, and his lover, the Egyptian queen Cleopatra VII, were decisively beaten at the battle of Actium by Caesar’s adopted son, Augustus. In the aftermath, as first emperor of Rome, Augustus felt that he needed to show the Senate and People that he, like his adopted father Caesar, was successful in the dual theatres of politics and war, especially against the barbarian nations. Wars brought prestige to Rome. They also delivered swift economic returns in the form of slaves, tribute, booty and the opportunity of taking direct control of a wide range of natural resources. The question was, Augustus may have mused, exactly who could he legitimately pick a fight with?

Early in his reign, it seems that contact between Augustus and a number of prominent British families was relatively strong, trade and tribute binding the ‘barbarians’ closely to the State. ‘At present,’ the Roman author Strabo tells us, ‘some of the chieftains there, after procuring the friendship of Caesar Augustus by sending embassies and by paying court to him, have not only dedicated offerings in the Capitol, but have also managed to make the whole of the island virtually Roman property. Further, they submit so easily to heavy duties, both on the exports to and on the imports from Celtica (these latter are ivory chains and necklaces, and amber-gems and glass vessels and other petty wares of that sort), that there is no need of garrisoning the island; for one legion, at the least, and some cavalry would be required in order to carry off tribute from them, and the expense of the army would offset the tribute-money; in fact, the duties must necessarily be lessened if tribute is imposed, and, at the same time, dangers be encountered, if force is applied.’6

Strabo’s calculation of the military resources required in order to keep Britain securely under Roman control seems ludicrously small: one legion (around 5000 men) ‘at the least’ with accompanying cavalry. Presumably Strabo was referring to the area of Britain that Rome knew; the south and east, rather than ‘the whole of the island’, but then the point is that he is providing his audience with the justification not to attack Britain. The embassies of these unnamed British chieftains were in Rome ‘paying court’ to Augustus and dedicating offerings in the most holy of Roman sanctuaries. Those who wanted to ensure that their neighbours in Britain did not gain the upper hand were actively pursuing the emperor and he was only too happy to advertise the fact. Conquering the Gauls and Germans was one thing; having the Britons emerge from the very edge of the known world in order to pay homage to the Roman people was quite another.