This parallels the Welsh tradition that Arthur, who ‘carried the cross of Christ on his shield’ was mortally wounded at the legendary battle of Camlann. That conflict has been placed in Gwynedd, whose ruling dynasty was pre-eminent among British kings. In the 19th century an antiquarian described the discovery of a Roman grave in that exact region near the sacred mountain of Snowdon, Yr Wyddfa, which legend says is the tumulus under which Arthur buried a giant he slew. The headstone, a very rare artefact, is inscribed ‘’Carausius lies here, in this cairn of stones.’ (‘Carausius hic iacit in hoc congeries lapidum.’) The site is of considerable significance. It is situated high on a Roman road southwest of Cwm Penmachno at the summit of a pass, and is the perfect place for a king’s long sleep, a resting place chosen to overlook a sweeping expanse of his territory.
The Carausius headstone is also distinguished as the earliest found in Wales known to carry the Chi-Ro cross of a Christian, a marking that is one of only a dozen found anywhere in Britain. The man it memorialized was important enough that his gravestone and probably his bones were moved to the nearby church of St Tudclud in Penmachno. This was an important early Christian site and is the reputed burial place of the heir to the Welsh throne, Iorweth ab Owain Gwynedd, who was father of Wales’ most famous monarch, Llywelyn the Great. The heir was also known as Iorweth Broken Nose and it is said he was refused the throne because of his misshapen face. Whether the long-ago royal was ugly or not, locals believe that two powerful rulers are interred in their ancient graveyard: the Roman admiral and emperor who united Britain and the Celtic prince whose son united Wales. The Carausian gravestone can be viewed in the church at Penmachno, which reopened in 2010 after a 15-year hiatus; the milestone bearing the lost emperor’s titles is in the Tullie House Museum, Carlisle.
There are other, tantalizing geographic links. One of them, mentioned in a 1622 history, is in Oxfordshire. It recalled memories of the long-dead emperor and spoke of the ‘entrenched sconce of Caraus’ camp,’ a fortification near the church of St Laurence at Caversfield, which may once have been called Carausiusfeld. This church was built around 800 CE, likely on an earlier edifice, and is close to where the casualties of an ancient battle were buried. In 1620, a hoard of Carausian coins was found nearby, at Steeple Clayton. Folklore holds that the usurper emperor was treacherously defeated in battle at nearby Bicester, a theme which reflects the long-held belief that Carausius was betrayed by his closest aide. This, history says, was a man known as ‘Allectus,’ a term which means simply ‘chosen’ or ‘elected,’ and which may not even be a proper name. (Another version of Carausius’ end is that he was assassinated by Allectus after the fall of Bononia.)
Equally, the site of Arthur’s greatest battle, the siege at Mount Badon, (Mons Badonicus) is not known. Some scholars, associating the Germanic word ‘bath/baden’ with ‘Badon’ theorize that Buxton, Derbyshire, site of a spring whose sacred waters were adopted by the Romans as a spa, was the site of the Badon conflict and this fits neatly with the northern focus of the ‘Britannicus’ narrative. Others, arguing for Badbury or Bardon, place the siege in places as diverse as Bath, Coalville, Linlithgow, the Cotswolds, Dorset and Swindon. However, over the centuries the battles and the victorious king’s story have been recorded only in oral tradition, not in written chronicles, so the fog of myth obscures our view of the landscape of history.
The real story of Arthur, Guinevere and Merlin, reflected here in the characters of Carausius, Guinevia and Myrddin, will possibly never be known. As it is sometimes advisable to ignore the opinions of academics whose conjectures may be no more valid than those of other people, I respectfully suggest that the Carausius of history is the king whose deeds prompted the legend of Arthur.
What is certain is that in 2010, the discovery of a hoard of Carausian coins buried in a Somerset meadow brought attention again to Britain’s Forgotten Emperor and inspired this book. I hope it revives interest in the sailor who created a nation and a navy that has kept it unconquered for nearly a thousand years.
Carausius, Coinage, Modern Britain
Although these books follow the general outline of the life of Carausius, the narrative does take a few small liberties with history. Briefly, the admiral emperor may have been a humbly-born Menapian, from what is now Belgium, if his enemies’ version of history is to be believed. Or, he may have been nobly born. His later actions in referencing poetry on his coinage indicates a higher level of education than would be expected from a peasant upbringing. Some sources attribute Roman ancestry to him, which may be supported by his name, a classic Latin one (and not related to the much-later French ‘carousser’ – ‘to quaff.’) Other sources say he was a British or Irish prince.
Even by Roman historians’ disparaging accounts, he was a skilled river pilot who joined the Roman army and became a successful soldier, then admiral of Rome’s British Channel fleet, based in Boulogne/Bononia. Additionally, the evidence points to him being a charismatic leader. Around 284 CE, he was accused of diverting pirate loot to himself and was summoned for court martial and likely execution, which may have been a political move to rid the emperor of a rival. Carausius’ response was to seize power in northern Gaul and Britain, places where he commanded legions as well as a fleet. His ambition was to extend his military sway beyond the pale of Boulogne, even to Rome itself, but he was frustrated by the emperor Maximian, who was tasked with bringing the renegade to heel. The Roman’s first endeavor, in 289 CE, was a failure. The new fleet he had built was either destroyed by storms or more probably was defeated by the seasoned flotilla Carausius took with him when he defected.
Carausius reinforced his military position with the popular support he gained by tapping into the Britons’ discontent with their avaricious Roman overlords, and he skillfully used propaganda on his coinage to suggest he was a messiah returned to save the nation. The self-proclaimed emperor became the first ruler of a unified Britain, and entrenched himself behind the chain of forts he built along the southeastern coast. These Saxon Shore fortifications were intended to guard against an expected Roman attempt to retake Britain as well as to repel Saxon or Alemanni invaders.
Maximian had to wait four years after that failed invasion before he could drive Carausius out of Gaul. He retook Boulogne, besieging it and sealing the harbour against relief or escape by sea, an event this book placed in the narrative earlier than its actual chronology. In history, Boulogne fell in 293 CE, the year of Carausius’ demise. The loss of the port and the weakening of Carausius’ position probably caused a power struggle with his chief functionary Allectus, and led to the usurper emperor’s death that same year.
He had ruled a united Britain for seven years when he was either assassinated by Allectus or, more probably, betrayed by him at a battle near Bicester. Allectus, whose identity is obscure (the word itself simply means ‘chosen’ or ‘elected’) took power, announced himself as ‘consul’ and ‘Augustus arrived’ on coinage. He began work in 294 CE on a great building in London that went unfinished, as his reign lasted for only three years. A Roman expedition defeated him after a sea battle off Chichester, and a land engagement near Silchester. Constantius, now Caesar, landed in Britain after the fighting was over and signaled his triumph with a famous medal declaring himself ‘Restorer of the Eternal Light’ (‘Redditor lucis aeternae’) meaning ‘of Rome.’
The Eagle found by Carausius in the Blue John mine, one of the stately holes of Derbyshire, is a fiction, although there was a Ninth Hispana legion based at York and sent south to suppress the Boadicean uprising in 71 AD. The British queen routed that force with very great losses near the Suffolk village of Great Wratting. Later, the legion was deployed to the Danube, where its history vanished into the mists. It was not mentioned in an army list compiled around 170 CE. A search for the Eagle of the Ninth was the subject of a 1954 novel whose author said she had been inspired by the discovery of a wingless bronze eagle at Silchester. That artefact is presently on display at the Museum of Re
ading, and is not a legionary standard.
Also on exhibit, in the British Museum, are some of the 800 Carausian coins that were among a hoard of 52,500 Romano-British pieces of silver and gold discovered in a Somerset field in the summer of 2010. Such coins, the Penmachno headstone and a single milestone uncovered near Carlisle are the only known memorials of Britain’s lost emperor.
I should make a small apology for the use of some modernisms, too. In the interests of clarity and to prevent the need frequently to thumb back to a reference page, I opted not to use many possibly-unfamiliar Latin place names from Britain or France, making just a few exceptions that are intended to retain the flavor of the narrative. Two of those exceptions are Eboracum, which is 21st century York, and Bononia, the French seaport of Boulogne-sur-Mer.
To establish the locales: Britannicus’ tale and the series begin in the year 270 CE near Oceli Promontorium, now known as the great Yorkshire sea cliff Flamborough Head, and follows Carausius across the North Sea to Forum Hadriani, today’s Dutch town of Voorburg. Forum Hadriani (‘Hadrian’s Market’) was then the northernmost Roman settlement on the continent of Europe and was a key military post in the defences of the eastern border of the empire. Later, when the story is set in Britain’s Peak District, locations include the Roman camp at Navio, which is in the Derbyshire hamlet of Brough. The fort exists today as just a few stones and an earthwork containing traces of the underground strong room. The nearby Blue John mine where the fictional Eagle was hidden is still in operation. The Romans smelted silver from the region’s lead mines, including a major working at Lutudarense, now called Matlock Bath. This village is near the pleasant Regency spa town of Buxton which the Romans knew as Aquae Arnemetiae, or ‘the Waters of (the Celtic goddess) Arnemetia.’
Aquae Sulis is modern Bath; the Standing Stones are of course Stonehenge, Caros’ Camp is the fort at Cadbury. Candless’ church would have stood atop what we now call Trapain Law, near Dunbar, East Lothian.
To end the tutorial, Gaul is of course modern France, and Menapia, home of the real Carausius, was a region of what is now Belgium. The palace at Fishbourne, near Chichester, was destroyed in Carausius’ time, but its ruins and fine mosaics are real enough and are a major tourist attraction today. Some battles in these books are fictional, but they could well have happened, just as Carausius, the forgotten emperor of Britain, may be the lord of war whose exploits are the true source of the legend of King Arthur.
Map of Britain - 314 AD
Acknowledgements
This book and the others in the series (‘Arthur Britannicus,’ ‘Arthur Imperator’ ‘Arthur Invictus’ and ‘The King’s Cavalry’) ) owe their existence to the skilled, professional staff of Endeavour Press, London, to editors Matt Lynn and Richard Foreman and especially to the publisher at the sword’s edge of it all, Amy Durant.
I am indebted for the maps in this and previous works to my friend the West Country and Hollywood artist Kelvin Jones, who produced the meticulous cartography in this series of books. I further owe great gratitude to my publishing professional daughter Rachel Williams for her vital input, and to my daughter Claire Bannister for legal guidance as clear as her Christian name.
Greatest of all is the debt I owe to my wife Jennie, maligned as the model for the pagan witch Guinevia. It was easy to write about her in the role, as all I had to do was reverse some of her gentle, caring characteristics. No emperor, Roman or British, could have greater treasure than such a spouse.
Paul Bannister
Oregon, 2014.
If you enjoyed A Fragile Peace by Paul Bannister you might be interested in Wolves of Rome by Christopher Lee Buckner, also published by Endeavour Press.
Extract from Wolves of Rome by Christopher Lee Buckner
Chapter One
“Blood, Mago – I want blood on my sword!” Hannibal yelled as he turned to face his younger brother, Mago Barca. “Yet my blade remains sheathed in its scabbard, unstained!” His mood had been bad for the past several weeks. The siege was not going well. It was made worse by the fact that his men’s nerves seemed to be wavering with each day the city of Saguntum held – now over eight months. With each week that went by came the increasing threat that Saguntum’s greatest ally, Rome, might send its legions from Italy to Spain in defence of its treaty.
Hannibal wanted war with Rome. However, he must take Saguntum and its storehouses if his army was going to make the crossing over the Alps. More importantly, he needed the support of the nearby Gallic tribes, who watched eagerly for Hannibal’s success or failure. If he won the siege than they – tens of thousands of fearsome barbarian tribesmen – would flock to his cause. His Spanish and Carthaginian forces would swarm like a locust horde. But, if Hannibal failed to take Saguntum, his allies, seeing weakness in his resolve, might turn against him to challenge his stronghold in Spain, and New Carthage might fall. If that happened how long would it be before Rome followed and took what remained of the new territories in Spain or even attacked the homeland?
“The town elders are weakened from starvation and thirst, brother. I doubt they could hold a week longer. By then we might be able to present terms for their surrender.” Mago knew his brother too well to know that nothing but absolute victory would satisfy his craving.
“Terms?!” Hannibal rebuked. “I want those walls! I want the city fathers’ heads on spikes for their defiance! I want the grain and our men want the women and booty that await them in Saguntum!”
Hannibal stared at his brother for a long while, not angrily, but in concentration as his mind was drawing up a plan of action. It was in these moments of crisis that Hannibal knew he was at his best – when his back was up against the wall that his desperation gave birth to his greatest and most daring plans. His father Hamilcar, who had never lost a battle against Rome during the war in Sicily a generation ago, had taught him never to run from a superior foe: It is only when faced with a rival who is larger, meaner and stronger than yourself that you truly understand your own worth, he would say around the campfire.
“Get your men ready to storm the gates when I give the signal,” Hannibal ordered, finally breaking the long silence as he leapt down from his horse and pushed his way through the gathering soldiers. Mago looked around, noticing the prying eyes of dozens of men who had overheard the whole conversation. Smiling wide, he drew his sword and held it up over the front of his horse.
“Well, do you want this city or not!” Mago cried as loud as he could. His men roared as they lifted their assorted blades to the sky, thrashing iron against their shields and bellowing in murderous expectation. Saguntum was going to fall, and everyone and everything in the city would be theirs for the taking.
*
Gisgo hadn’t time to scream before an arrow plunged into his right eye socket. He had done his duty as one of Hannibal’s bodyguards – giving his life so his master may survive. Hannibal liked and respected the big Numidian who had first served with his father decades earlier. He had three sons back in Carthage and a dozen more bastard children here in Spain. Hannibal vowed that he would tell Gisgo’s story, about how he had died bravely in battle, even if the veteran never saw the man that took his life.
“Keep moving forward you dogs!” Hannibal barked as he urged the torrent of men all around him to push against the onslaught of arrows, slingshots and rocks being hurled from the stone walls. Hundreds were wounded, bleeding on the ground, trampled by their comrades who refused to waver behind Hannibal’s urging. Hannibal was determined that even if he had to tear down Saguntum’s walls with his fingernails, stone-by-stone, he would succeed. To fail would mean certain death, either by his supporters here in Spain, or back home in Carthage where generals who failed in the field were often crucified outside the city walls.
Finally the first set of ladders rose to the rim of the stone ramparts. Archers from the ground did their best to ensure they stayed in place as men made ready to scale them.
Gripping one hand tightly around the base of
a ladder, his shield held firmly above his head with the other, Hannibal turned to his army and cried out, “Follow me to glory! Saguntum shall be ours! The wine, the gold, and the women are ours for the taking!” His men bellowed with excitement as Hannibal pulled himself up the ladder, quickly followed by dozens more men across the length of the southern wall.
The defenders held fast as they threw down a volley of arrows and stones. Men’s heads caved in and bodies crumpled, but still they climbed with madding determination, following Hannibal as he reached the top. Hannibal was unaware of those behind him. He had heard over the deafening roar some of those below him falling to their doom as their bodies were crushed by tumbling stones and well-aimed slingshots. Regardless, he pressed forward and locked his sight on the first man – a boy really – that came within range of his sword.
Hannibal was no stranger to killing. He had been trained to use a sword the moment he dropped his rattle and had taken his first life when he was eleven years old. He was a Barca – the famed and feared family of Carthaginian warriors who knew nothing of defeat or dishonour. As the oldest son of Hamilcar – a man who struck terror in the hearts of the Romans during the last war with the Republic for the control of Sicily – a great deal was expected of Hannibal. He was groomed from boyhood, like the kings of Sparta or Macedonia, to take up his father’s mantle and carry out his dream of a Mediterranean world dominated by Carthage, and not the upstart city-state of Rome. So far, there had been one setback already with Carthage’s capitulation during the last war: after the Mercenary Wars Carthage realized it could not pay the armies it had used to fight Rome, leading the men to turn in rebellion against their motherland. Hannibal was determined to restore his beloved city’s status in the world – he would elevate it to its rightful position, no matter what the cost.
A Fragile Peace Page 13
