by Bryan Sykes
By the fourth century BC, the archaeological evidence points to an increase in inter-tribal warfare. Hill forts became more numerous and their defences more elaborate. Swords replaced daggers in a sign of more organized fighting. By the third century BC, the style of metal-working for both weapons and jewellery had changed to the second Celtic phase of La Tène, but always with a distinctive British dialect. The export of Cornish tin, an essential ingredient in the manufacture of bronze, continued apace, with the export trade to the Mediterranean dominated by Phoenicians.
One of the very first accounts of the Isles of the time, by Pytheas from the Greek colony of Massilia (now Marseilles) in southern France, was written around 320 BC. His original work, On the Ocean, has not survived and we only know of his remarkable journey through references to it from other classical writers like Eratosthenes and Pliny. Pytheas probably travelled overland from Massilia to the mouth of the Gironde, near present-day Bordeaux, and boarded a ship bound for the north. It took him three days to sail up the coast of France and around the edge of Brittany. From there, his journey took him across to Cornwall and the Prettanic Isles, as he calls Britain. He noted the lengthening day as his voyages took him right up the eastern side of Britain to the Orkneys. From there he travelled even further north to a land of frozen seas and volcanoes. This must have been Iceland, though whether he actually went that far north himself or only sailed as far as the Shetlands and recorded the tales of sailors he met there is still keenly contested among historians. On the Ocean is important in two ways. It brought the Isles to the attention of the classical world, and it also showed how active were the sea lanes up and down the Atlantic coast of France and all round the British coastline as well. Pytheas seemed able to pick up a sea passage whenever he wanted one.
The need to impress and confirm status with material objects was at least as prevalent then as it is now. The desire for displays of wealth led to the creation of astonishingly beautiful objects and ceremonial weapons. The finds from the royal burial at Sutton Hoo near Woodbridge in Suffolk, from the seventh century AD, in the middle of what we now refer to as the Dark Ages, are delicate and beautiful beyond belief. This was almost certainly the tomb of King Raedwald, a Saxon king from the 620s. Buckles and strap-mounts of gold inlaid with garnets and millefiori glass, so fresh and so delicate that, when I saw them on display in the British Museum, it was very difficult for me to believe that they were the originals and not modern copies. The ceremonial shield, the inlaid helmet–these were not objects to be used in battle; they were strictly for display only. Even the sword, its blade forged from eighteen laminated iron rods twisted together and beaten flat, was purely for show. There the display is a modern replica. The original lies with its iron blade rusted, peeled and pitted. But the handle ends with a gold and garnet cloisonné pommel as bright and fresh as new.
In the centuries preceding the Roman conquest, life in the Isles followed the progression widely found across continental Europe. Iron replaced bronze as the principal metal. Fortified encampments developed on the hills. Although there were still extensive forests, much of the land had been cleared for grain or pasture. In the centuries before Caesar’s expeditions in 55 and 54 BC, the Isles, and England in particular, had adopted many of the artistic styles of the continental Iron Age. The perennial question as to whether these cultural changes were the consequence of large-scale immigration or of the indigenous people copying and adapting new styles has never yet been confidently answered–and is one that genetics should be in a better position to explore than most disciplines.
Caesar’s expeditions set the pattern for the Roman invasion proper a century later. What prevented Caesar himself from embarking on a full-scale invasion, or even if this was his intention, is not known. Certainly he had his hands full in controlling rebellions in Gaul and his ambitions may have been curtailed by such practical considerations. Nevertheless, his expeditions set the pattern for the later invasion. Caesar had forced the surrender and submission of tribal leaders in Britain and had exacted annual tribute payments from them. He also installed puppet kings. So, although there was no permanent occupation, the political influence of Rome was already substantial well before the invasion proper. The British aristocracy began to adopt the trappings of Roman civilization, particularly in the south-east where there was vigorous trade with the nearest parts of Gaul. Britain was exporting corn, iron and cattle to the Roman Empire across the busy sea routes to the ports of Gaul, while Roman luxury goods flowed in the opposite direction. Even if Britain was not part of the Empire, it certainly benefited from the proximity and the requirements of its armies.
The full integration of Britannia into the Empire was only a matter of time. Under Caesar’s successor Augustus, and even under Tiberius who came after him, there was no appetite for invasion, even though it would have been comparatively easy. But the taxes were flowing in and Britain posed no military threat. A few troublesome Gauls might have crossed the Channel to escape the wrath of Rome, but that was all. One British tribe, the Catuvellauni, centred on Hertfordshire, began to expand their territories into the lands of neighbours who had thought they enjoyed Rome’s protection. But the Romans, now under Augustus, turned a blind eye to these infringements, enabling Cunobelinus, King of the Catuvellauni, to move his headquarters to Colchester, the former base of the Trinovantes, from where he could control the trade routes across the North Sea to the Rhine.
In a re-run of the age-old story, a disgruntled prince–in this case it was Amminius, one of the sons of Cunobelinus–fled to the emperor for assistance. By now the emperor was the notoriously unstable Caligula, who claimed that by accepting the formal submission of Amminius he had actually negotiated the surrender of the whole of Britain, and he issued orders for an invasion to consolidate the surrender. That was abandoned at the last minute, but only after Caligula had reached the Channel coast with his armies. He collected some sea shells and ordered a withdrawal back to Rome.
Although this was a farce, all the ground work had been done. The military build-up, the logistics of invasion, the public relations with the citizens of Rome: everything was in place, so it was an easy matter for Caligula’s successor–after his welcome murder–to give the signal to invade. The new emperor was Claudius, Caligula’s uncle. Widely thought of at the time as mentally retarded, he was nothing of the sort. Claudius needed a military triumph to cement his authority and Britain was the obvious target. The excuse was an invitation from Verica, King of the Atrebates, who had been expelled following an internal palace coup. The invasion force that assembled on the Channel shore comprised four legions: the II Augusta and XIV Gemina from the upper Rhine, the XX Valeria from the lower Rhine and the IX Hispania from Pannonia in modern Hungary, each with about 5,000 men and an equal number of auxiliaries. The legionnaires were all Roman citizens, mainly drawn from Italy at this period, while the auxiliaries were recruited from native fighters from previously conquered regions of the Empire and organized into regular regiments with Roman commanders. Forty thousand men in 600 ships, under the command of Aulus Plautius, who had seen service in the Balkans, crossed the Channel from Boulogne in Gaul to land on the shingle at Richborough, near Sandwich on the east coast of Kent.
The landings were unopposed and, after digging defensive ditches at Richborough, the troops advanced rapidly to the River Medway, 20 miles to the west, where the British defence under Caratacus and Togodumnus, joint leaders of the Catuvellauni after their father Cunobelinus’s death, lay in wait. The British assumed that a major river crossing would deter the advancing army. But Paulinus sent across a contingent of Batavian auxiliaries who were trained in swimming across rivers in full armour. The Britons wore little or no body protection and their long, slashing swords were no match for the short, stabbing gladius of the Romans in close combat. Unable to halt the Roman advance at the Medway, the Britons withdrew to the Thames and prepared to defend the crossing at London. Instead of launching his attack at once, Plautius sent wor
d to Rome so that the Emperor could witness the decisive battle. Claudius hurried to join his legions, accompanied by a retinue of Roman aristocrats and a troop of elephants. Once he had arrived, the fighting could begin. It did not last long. Togodumnus was killed and his brother Caratacus fled to Wales. Within days, Claudius entered Colchester, capital of the Catuvellauni, surrounded by his elephants, to receive the submission of eleven British kings, including the Pictish King from Gurness in Orkney.
Claudius stayed in Britain for just over a fortnight, then returned to Rome, where he insisted the senate proclaim an official ‘victory’ and commission the building of a triumphal arch. From then on he insisted on being called ‘Britannicus’. It did the trick. Claudius had gone from despised idiot to military hero in only six years. Even though the Emperor had returned to Rome, the invasion continued on and off for another forty years. As far as possible, actual fighting was restricted to tribes who did not submit voluntarily. In fact, this was easier than it seemed. The defeat by the Romans of the expansionist Catuvellauni was a cause for celebration among rival tribes and many of them viewed the Romans as liberators rather than conquerors. The Atrebates of Hampshire, the Iceni of Norfolk and the Brigantes of Yorkshire were happy to submit and pay their taxes rather than fight. After four years, Plautius had enlarged the frontier to the Fosse Way. The only real resistance came in the Isle of Wight and Dorset, where the II Augusta, under the command of the future Emperor Vespasian, was forced to storm and capture some twenty hill forts from the Dumnonii before Vespasian could build his own legionary fortress at Exeter.
The first phase of the invasion was finished and, were it not for the perennial difficulty of establishing a stable frontier, it may have settled at that. To celebrate the orderly incorporation of Britannia into the Empire, an enormous monumental arch, 26 metres high, was built at Richborough where the Romans had landed. It was dressed in white Carrara marble and decorated with statues and inscriptions. Richborough stood on a promontory, so the arch must have been visible for miles out to sea. Its purpose was to emphasize that the Romans had tamed Britannia and every official visitor to the province entered through this arch before making his way inland along Watling Street.
However, further west things did not go so smoothly. The repeated attacks by the Silures, inspired by the fugitive Caratacus, persuaded the Romans that they must invade Wales. The first attempt was stalled when Suetonius Paulinus, who had routed the Druids on Anglesey, was forced to divert his troops to put down the far more serious revolt of the Iceni under Queen Boudicca. The Iceni had been a relatively quiet client kingdom under Boudicca’s husband, Prasutagus. As a willing ally of Rome, it was his expectation that his kingdom would remain intact after his death. This did not happen. His property was seized, the aristocracy expelled from their estates and crippling taxes enforced. When she protested, Boudicca was flogged and her daughters raped. Her vengeance was swift and terrible. Rallying her own tribe, the Iceni, and the neighbouring Trinovantes in revolt, she swept through southern Britain, sacking and burning Colchester, London and St Albans. She tortured and killed every Roman and every Roman sympathizer that she could capture. The IXth legion, which tried to halt her advance, was cut to ribbons.
At the time of Boudicca’s uprising, the south-east was considered to be well on the way to submission, so the bulk of the Roman army had been moved to the western front, from where Suetonius Paulinus was forced to abandon his invasion of Wales and return to deal with the revolt with the three remaining legions. If the uprising had been bloody, the retribution of Suetonius was even more so. Tacitus reckons 70,000 were killed on both sides during the revolt itself, and 80,000 during its suppression. Nero, who had succeeded Claudius as Emperor, seriously considered abandoning Britannia as a colony altogether.
After Boudicca’s revolt had been put down, Roman control recovered. The crippling taxation was relaxed a little and those parts of Britain that had been conquered began the long process of assimilation into the Empire. But the stability of the northern frontier was beginning to crumble. Cartimandua, Queen of the Brigantes and the woman who had handed over the fugitive Caratacus, lost control of the loose federation of northern tribes. Agricola responded to this instability by pushing the frontier back to the very edge of the Scottish Highlands. He took his army even further north in his campaign against the Picts, inflicting a crushing defeat at the battle of Mons Graupius in AD 83. The location of Mons Graupius has eluded historians and archaeologists alike. The best guess is at Bennachie, near Inverurie on the banks of the River Don, 15 miles north-west of Aberdeen.
For the Romans it was a long way from home–‘the place where the world and nature end’, according to Tacitus. But even with this defeat, the Highland Picts avoided being forced to submit to Rome in the way the Welsh did not, although the intention to complete the invasion of Scotland was there. At Inchtuthil, near Blairgowrie, a huge legionary fortress began to take shape, the equal of Chester or of Caerleon on the Welsh frontier. But reverses on the continent forced the Emperor Domitian to withdraw his troops from Scotland. The fortress was carefully dismantled and the materials taken south. It had been a lucky escape for the Picts.
By AD 120 the frontier had moved south to the line between the Solway Firth in the west and the mouth of the Tyne in the east. At first only a turf rampart, the frontier was turned into the impenetrable stone barrier of Hadrian’s Wall, on the orders of the Emperor. Under Hadrian’s successor, Antoninus Pius, the frontier moved north again. This time it was defined by the eponymous Antonine Wall, a barrier of rock and turf 20 feet high running between the Firths of Clyde and Forth. This was a much shorter boundary and many military historians think Hadrian should have built his wall here in the first place. But more trouble with the Picts convinced the next Emperor, Marcus Aurelius, to bring the frontier back down to Hadrian’s Wall in 163. Even that great barrier was not impermeable and there were repeated raids across the wall as far as York.
Further south the fighting was less intense and the native population became drawn into the seductive and deliberate process of civilization. Towns were planned and built. Urban life, unknown in the whole history of the Isles, was born. People began to learn Latin and Roman dress became popular. As Tacitus shrewdly observed, ‘Little by little there was a slide towards the allurements of degeneracy; assembly rooms, bathing establishments and smart dinner parties. In their inexperience the Britons called it civilisation when it was really all part of their servitude’.
In the south, cities like Lincoln, Colchester and Gloucester grew up explicitly to accommodate army veterans on their retirement. Britons joined the army as auxiliaries and retired as citizens. In the towns, administrators mixed with craftsmen and artisans. Slaves were freed and were set up in business by their former masters. In the countryside, undefended villas of sumptuous magnificence sprang up, complete with wood- or coal-fired central heating, windows and glazed tile flooring. But even as these outward signs of affluence amused their owners, the seeds of destruction had been sown. The traumas of the Empire, its division into eastern and western sectors, the movement of the centre of the western Empire from Rome, first to Milan, then to Trier in eastern France, the deadly rivalries and murderous conspiracies all spelled the eventual end of the Roman occupation of Britain.
The surprise is that the Empire in the west lasted as long as it did. Even after extremely serious reverses–such as in AD 367 when a concerted assault by Picts, Saxons and Franks attacked the Roman provinces of Britain and Gaul, ranging at will, burning, killing and looting as they went–still the Romans managed to stage a comeback, this time under the Emperor Valentinian. By then the Roman army had changed its composition, no longer relying on Italian legionnaires or auxiliaries from the east. A quarter of the regular army was Germanic. By the beginning of the fifth century, the signs of weakening central direction were growing. There were no more bulk imports of coins, a sure sign that the army was not being paid as it once had been. The thriving pottery in
dustry suddenly ceased. By AD 430 coins were no longer in regular use–another indicator of an ossifying economy. Even though there is evidence of one last attempt to reclaim Britain around 425, it came to nothing. By 450 Britain was well and truly on its own.
What lasting genetic legacy of the Roman occupation should we look out for? Whatever it is, we must expect it to be more pronounced in England, which was far more integrated into the Empire than Wales or Scotland ever were. And in Ireland we should not expect any significant traces at all. If Tacitus and other historians are to be believed, tens of thousands of Britons were slaughtered in the early years of the occupation–at least 80,000 as a result of Boudicca’s revolt, 30,000 at Mons Graupius. These are large numbers for a relatively small population. The genetic legacy of wholesale military slaughter will be found, one imagines, mainly among men. The effect will be to reduce the diversity among Y-chromosomes. Population numbers can recover quickly if the women are spared, with men taking advantage of the surplus of women to bear their multiple children. But, with a smaller number of fathers, the Y-chromosomes that are passed down to future generations will not be as varied as if there were equal numbers of men and women.
