_____________________________
Some months ago, through association with the practice of internet surfing, I managed to perform a cursory study into the sphere of influence which the ‘Roman’ empire was thought to have entertained in ‘England’ during the early years of the first millennium.
I had, with respect to such a matter, written a number of books which proposed to chart the history of ‘London’ back to it’s point of conception and arrived at something of an impasse, an instance in which, in observing the city to rest upon an undressed stone fabric of ‘Danish’ naval concerns that had effectively been consolidated in the eleventh century by the ‘Norman’ monarchy, I could go no further and was thenceforth compelled to conduct a degree of research into the wider sphere of ‘England’s’ history as a whole in efforts to contextualise the issues which had been placed before inquiry.
My first port of call, with respect to such a matter, was the mighty bastion of ‘Canterbury’ Cathedral near ‘Ramsgate’ in ‘Kent’, a location which, through affiliation with the nascent interests of ‘Denmark’ in ‘England’ during the eighth and ninth centuries, was observed to have been the first of a number of ecclesiastical settlements that eventually extended forth from ‘Sussex’ to ‘Edinburgh’ along ‘Britain’s’ East coast.
It seemed, with regards to the issue, that ‘London’ had, at least initially, been a by product of ‘European’ incursion into the ‘Thames’ estuary, the cities of both ‘Canterbury’ and ‘Rochester’ having preceded what was later to become it’s omnipresent sprawl by some years as part of a ‘Cinqueport’ system which, through association with seafaring, had effectively sought to bring ‘Augustinian’ Christianity to mainland ‘Britain’.
Having satisfied myself with the time scheme that ascribed to the church’s efforts in this respect, I effectively arrived at a second impasse, there appeared, in essence, to be no evidence of human occupation within the vicinity of ‘London’ before the initial date of the Cathedral’s construction, the east coast of ‘England’ having presumably played subject to ‘Vortigern’s’ ‘fire that never ceased’ during the fifth century, making ‘Wales’ a more suitable location in which to establish premium, a pretence beneath which I was ultimately compelled to extend my field of study to encompass ‘England’s’ West country.
In having spent some time hunting for a lead, I eventually happened upon what would amount to a fairly large body of evidence describing the prevalence of ‘Mercian’ interests near ‘Birmingham’, a concern which, in being alleged to have betokened an affiliation with the plenary courts of the legendary ‘British’ King, ‘Arthur’, during the sixth century, in turn represented a missing link which could, in theory at least, prove capable of connecting the events of the medieval era with those of ancient ‘Rome’.
The matter had, in effect, been fairly confusing, the history of ‘England’s’ West coast appeared to have derived from an entirely different source to that of it’s Eastern counterpart, although ‘Canterbury’ was, to all intents and purposes, a subsidiary of the ‘Byzantine’ empire in Europe, entering ‘Britain’ wherever possible by way of it’s Eastern flank, ‘Litchfield’, seemed to have been a throwback to an earlier and far more ambiguous time, a pretext beneath which it’s history seemed to have persisted only in a dilute form as an appendix to other event, a satellite that, upon avowing evidence of ‘Celtic’, ‘Hebrew’ and ‘Greek’ ancestry, was noted to have been feudally discorporate throughout much of it’s duration.
Such a notion had, with regards to the assertion that a link could be drawn between Western ‘Britain’ and ancient ‘Rome’ in fact, called me to draw upon the ‘French’ philosopher ‘Voltaire’s’ observation that the fabled ‘Holy Roman Empire’ of yore was neither truly Holy, Roman or an Empire but an invention of the ‘Norman’ era dimly perceived through a retrospective lens.
‘Voltaire’s’ attitude towards such matters was, in playing subject to the expectations of those honour bound to rate the might of ‘Rome’s’ war machine, in fact not entirely true, it was simply a question of knowing where to look and how to interpret the validity of what one may find, a ‘Roman’ empire of sorts certainly did exist during the early first millennium, but in many different forms that did not necessarily correlate satisfactorily with each other.
Although the town of ‘Tamworth’ in the West country undeniably bore physical testimony to the ‘Tetrarchy’ of ‘Diocletian’ within it’s fabric, by far the stronger of the two claims to a continuous Roman heritage was that of ‘Canterbury’ three hundred years later, the city having both remained on good terms with it’s Eastern European progenitors and having preserved the usage of ‘Latin’ script as conceived by ‘Saint Jerome of Stridon’ through until the Medieval era.
There seemed. with respect to the issue, to have been a difference between the noble House of ‘Constantine’ that had been established in ‘Turkey’ during the fourth century Anno Domini and the earlier empire from which the ‘Mercians’ had once presumably originated, a difference between ‘Etruria’ and ‘Constantinople’, a pretext beneath which there was, in keeping with the conventions that may be imagined to have once ascribed to such things, effectively observed to have been both ‘an old’ and ‘a new’ Rome.
Although debate may rage over exactly what old Rome may or may not once have sought to embody, new Rome was a religious affair assigned to perform missionary work, a long haired patriarchy that spoke Latin and employed currency rather than enslavement as an incentive to conscript men into it’s ranks, an interest that, in fighting against the extinctive appetites of ‘Scythian’ archers and such figures as ‘Atilla the Hun’, was circumstantially observed to witness real action, inuring itself against the prospect of hardship by stationing garrisons of troops in foreign lands.
Owing to the feudal nature of such wide ranging concerns much of the land occupied by ‘European’ encroachment into Eastern ‘England’ was, in this instance, effectively witnessed to have been divided up into agricultural catchments and used to browse livestock, the ‘Kingdom of Bernicia’ in Northumbria having been constituted from a patchwork of small holdings and larger parcels of arable land that were often observed to be populated by people who spoke ‘Latin’ to communicate with each other.
The archaeological residue left by ‘Old Rome’ was, in this instance clearly observed to have been present in ‘Britain’ at a fairly early date, with hill forts being left along the length of ‘Hadrian’s’ wall between ‘Wallsend’ and ‘Bowness On Solway’ and that of ‘New Rome’ in the many monastic settlements that were established in ‘York’.
The events which ascribed to such things were effectively perceived to have happened many years ago and the portent of war that they harboured appeared, in essence, to have remained in evidence throughout much of their duration, a pretence beneath which the church was, in many instances, effectively noted to have provided men who had seen military service with the prospect of sanctuary where there would otherwise be none, much as the incident of conflict, itself, may have been presumed to represent a viable excuse to forgo episcopal amnesty in pursuit of adventure.
________________________________
Having become acquainted with many of the events which served to distinguish the rise and fall of the ‘Roman’ empire in a textual sense, I was naturally delighted to learn that ‘Bloomsbury’s’ British Museum was in the process of staging a major exhibition devoted to the representation of life within a ‘Roman’ garrison during the hiatus of the Empire’s activity, a show which in proposing to cover a period ranging from between approximately ‘13 B.C.’ to ‘228 A.D.’ through the eyes of those that were conscripted to fight as soldiers, would provide a relatively comprehensive insight into the logistical equations which underlay the first of ‘Old Rome’s’ many campaigns to invade mainland ‘Britain’.
Promptly catching a Piccadilly line train from ‘Hounslow’ into central ‘London’, I duly made forth towards my destination, arriving, after some minutes of travel through the city’s suburbs at ‘Russel Square’ underground station and hastily disembarking .
Cursorily ascending to ground level in the station’s lift and negotiating it’s gate, I neatly cut across the sprung verdure of ‘Russel Square’ and patrolled the Museum’s eastern flank until I arrived at the turning to ‘Great Russel Street’ where the traditional gauntlet of caramelised peanut vendors and French accordionists that are infrequently perceived to sentry the establishment’s South facing aspect were predictably observed to be out in force.
Arriving after some minutes at the Museum’s entrance portico, I duly ascended it’s steps and bought a ticket for the show, an appointment that, in being sold out upon an incidental basis, was effectively perceived to play subject to an hour’s postponement before access was permitted to it’s audience, a delay which, in providing me with an opportunity to refresh my knowledge of the many varieties of ‘Roman’ sculpture that were incidentally displayed within the building’s halls, was effectively perceived to represent a suitable prelude to the afternoon’s proceedings.
After having spent approximately an hour meandering around the Museum’s horde, I duly mustered the resolve to enter the show, crossing over into the buildings ‘Sainsbury’ wing and presenting my details forth for inspection.
___________________________
Dwelling upon the first hand descriptions of life in the ‘Roman’ army presented by the letters of two legionnaires respectively named ‘Apion’ and ‘Claudius Terentianus’ who, upon having been conscripted by the emperor ‘Trajan’ to perform a tour of duty in ‘Syria’, were later assigned to ‘Scotland’ by his successor ‘Hadrian’, the exhibition, was witnessed to provide an intimate portrait of what frequently appeared to be the markedly preppy relationship that imperial infantrymen were thought to have shared with their families both before and after having been sent to war.
Upon being distinguished by such things as demands for fresh socks, regrets over being assigned to certain posts and the ambition to achieve citizenship after having performed worthy service, the legionnaire’s emotional repertoire was, in many respects, observed to have resembled that which would be expected of a modern academic post graduate, an instance in which the ‘Romans’ were essentially perceived to have avowed a markedly immature attitude towards life, their aspirations fleeced almost entirely with the optimisms of youth, the gip had yet to set in and things had, with regards to their sphere of expectation, still presumably appeared to follow a pre-ordained scheme.
The ‘British Museum’ was, upon past experience, in fact, observed to be, adept at presenting the affairs of ancient ‘Rome’ in such a light, an instance in which it’s sympathies with regards to such matters were, in distinction to those that it reserved for the affairs of the ancient ‘Egyptians’ or ‘Greeks’, perceived to border upon the philanthropic.
In confirmation of such a pretext, many of the articles displayed throughout the course of the exhibition were blessed with an auxiliary commentary given by ‘Rattus Rattus’, a cartoon rodent who, upon having featured in ‘Terry Deary’s’ popular children’s books ‘Horrible Histories’ was, for the purposes of the show, noted to himself have applied for a position in the ‘Roman’ Army with the ambition of achieving pensioned citizenship in mind.
Glancing cursorily across the exhibition’s opening series of displays, I found myself confronted by a bronze face of the emperor ‘Augustus’, a ruler who, in being observed to have required a military consisting of 300,000 people to defend ‘Roman’ borders and police rebellions, was incidentally noted to have inaugurated the concept of career soldiering into the imperial canon in ‘13 B.C.’
Career soldiers were, with regards to such a matter, effectively observed to be mercenaries rather than enforcers of civil decorum, men trained in the art of ending life, not insuring social equilibrium, it being supposed that something had happened during ‘Augustus’ reign which had merited a difference in attitude towards how the empire should proceed upon it’s course, his edict potentially having predetermined the massacre of many thousands of ‘Jews’ during the reign of ‘Titus’ alongside sanctioning a multitude of other atrocities.
The emperor’s bust was, in having been blessed with a pair of intensely vigilant painted blue eyes by an unknown artist, observed to be flanked by a number of grave stones describing a contingent of mouse eared soldiers who were effectively perceived to have died within the first five years of conscription.
It seemed that, although incentive, the prospect of pensioned citizenship which had fuelled many ensign’s ambitions was frequently appended by what was noted to have been no more than a fifty percent chance of survival once enrolled, a pretence beneath which the army’s insistence that those who joined it’s ranks could not leave unless formally discharged, was noted to have fomented a climate of oppression which, in being inclined to inspire protest, was correspondingly witnessed to merit both the incident of capital punishment and the staging of organised rebellions against the climate of fear that it cultivated, a rising tide of mutual antipathy within which many ‘Romans’ were effectively perceived to employ murder as a last resort.
These career soldiers were ‘Roman’, the ‘Dacians’, the ‘Sarmatian Lazyges’, the ‘Cherusce’, the ‘Ostrogoths’, the ‘Trinovantes’, the ‘Iceni’ and the ‘Huns’ differed. Some tribes were, through association with any moral or executive distinction which may incidentally be perceived to arise within their fold, more successful than others, it seemed that nothing was ever entirely secure.
Having said this ‘Augustus’ was also the emperor to which the peaceful pursuits of ‘Canterbury Cathedral’ were noted to have appertained somewhat later in the Sixth century, an instance in which his religious writings were perceived to be of fundamental significance in what was later to become orthodox ‘Roman Catholic’ doctrine.
Continuing through into the exhibition’s next bank of displays, a hallway decorated with a phalanx of poles surmounted by an array of traditional ‘Roman’ battle standards including the ‘Draco’ and the ‘Imperial Eagle’, my attention was drawn to a human skeleton lying prostrated in a glass cabinet, an article which, in having been observed to have been left beyond recourse to an appropriate burial procedure when found was thought to have died in the wake of the volcanic eruption which swept through ‘Pompeii’ and ‘Herculaneum’ in ‘79 Anno Domini’.
There were, with regards to such a matter, observed to have been many examples of such token neglect left in the wake of ‘Rome’s’ military stridency, not only were both the Empire and it’s splinter groups often obliged to kill each other to resolve their differences, but they were, in distinction to the cultures of ‘Egypt’ and ‘Greece’, similarly perceived to spare the residue of their efforts little by way of cemeterial formality once it was dead, the ‘Roman’s’ were a culturally inventive people, but their attitude towards death appeared to leave a lot to be desired, the ‘British Museum’ loved them.
Although debauchery appeared to be the rule of thumb with regards to such matters, there were a pair of second century portraits displayed alongside the skeleton which, in having been extracted from formally arranged tombs, implied that the process of mummification was, although far from universally applied, still being practiced in a nominal form.
Depicting both a bearded soldier and a bejewelled woman of plainly Semitic descent, the artwork invested in the portraits was, in distinction to that of ancient ‘Egypt’, observed to be of almost contemporary contrivance, the pictures seeming to hail from a different era to that in which they had been drafted, their colour still vibrant after having weathered an age sheltered from the elements.
Moving swiftly through to the exhibition’s next bank of displays, my attention was drawn to a suit of body armour which, upon having been fashioned from crocodile skin, was observed to have employed the contours of it’s study’s hide to formidable effect, the ‘Roman’s’ had surely been adept at crafting natural forms into a semblance of art, an aptitude which they were also noted to have applied to the decoration of animals such as horses and camels with regimental regalia.
Beside the crocodile skin armour was another item of livery which, upon having been found in fragmentary form upon the floor of the ‘Teutoborg’ forest situated in ‘Germany’, was described to be a ‘Cuirass’, a suit of mail constituted from two sets of laminar metal strips covering both the chest and back of it’s wearer,
Believed to have been associated with the ‘Varian’ disaster of ‘9 Anno Domini’, a military defeat of such magnitude that it was thought to have discouraged ‘Rome’s’ entry into ‘Germanica’ through until the event of the ‘Marcomannic’ wars in ‘166 Anno Domini’, the ‘Cuirass’ was, in being representative of a turning point in imperial fortunes, itself perceived to be fairly unexceptional, a shattered collage of iron plates thrown forth into the wind.
Although having proven to be somewhat more successful than their predecessors, the ‘Marcomannic’ wars themselves were inadvertently thought to have been responsible for bringing the ‘Antonine’ plague into ‘Rome’ and therefore to have been indirectly implicated in the deaths of between six and eight million people. With regards to ‘Stanley Gibbons’ interpretation of such things, the lion of imperial military might, appeared to move from strength to strength.
There was, through association with such a reliquary, also the only known surviving example of a variety of wood framed leather shield known as a ‘Scutum’ on display, an article which, in being noted to have been curved into a crescent over the course of time, resembled the variety of item that one may associate with the ‘Turtle’ formations described in ‘Rene Goscinny’ and ‘Albert Underzo’s’ ‘Asterix’ books.
I was, in this instance, granted an opportunity to try a number of ‘Roman’ legionary’s helmets on for size, an instance in which I found it difficult to believe that Imperial troops did not feel at least a little compelled to forgo the mullet format to which such things appertained and customise the articles into makeshift baseball caps.
Having gained an impression of the variety of armour that the ‘Romans’ wore, I proceeded to enter a section of the exhibition which, in being demarcated by the sound of footfall and an excerpt of film describing a crowd of Imperial infantrymen wielding pike staffs before a raging fire, was observed to be devoted to the incident of conflict.
Although renowned for espousing a degree of ingenuity in the martial arts, constructing an array of exotic siege machines such as the ‘Tormenta’ which was capable of shattering bone by firing iron bolts from a fixed cross bow, the realities to which ‘Roman’ battle campaigns ascribed were, in this instance, frequently perceived to be both nightmarish and arduous, the effort which had been invested in their preparatory phases, rapidly disintegrating in the instance of incidental misfortune to the effect of representing a lesson to their contrary.
Albeit comparatively sophisticated for it’s day, the ‘Roman’ war machine was, in being ungainly and inclined to take risks, effectively a team effort that was as likely to maim those who fought beneath it’s aegis as were the best efforts of it’s opponents, this surely being when the unconditionally inclusive character of the conscription program that served to define it’s loyalties was perceived to matter most, a pretext beneath which perseverance was, upon being witnessed to demand an almost suicidal degree of conviction, easily believed impossible and desertion to be a viable alternative to continued adherence.
Taking such an observation into account the museum was ironically inclined to note that, despite the disciplinary apparel beneath which the Empire conducted it’s affairs, the custom of court marshalling disobedience to serve as an example was often neglected in efforts to maintain what would, in many cases, presumably have been a matter of consensual opinion, an instance in which commanding officers were, upon bearing witness to antipathy, frequently inclined to throw their rank rather than exacerbate discontent.
In keeping with such an assertion, the next instalment of the exhibition was devoted to the popular forms of recreation that the ‘Romans’, were observed to pursue in their free time, a catalogue of familiar table top sports which, in including a derivative of ‘noughts and crosses’ called ‘Terni Lapilli’ which was crafted from plates decorated on either side with appropriate iconography, a primitive draughts game named ‘Ludus Latruncolorum’ that was played with glass beads upon a cross-hatched stone block and a variety of chance game called ‘knucklebones’ within it’s catalogue of novelties, was noted to feature a curiously stepped cast iron dice tower crafted to insure fair play by restricting the manner in which wagers may happen to fall.
For some reason which I then found difficult to explain, such sport inadvertently caused me to recall the penchant for gambling avowed by those that had chosen to desert ‘Gettysburg’ during the ‘American Civil War‘ in the late nineteenth century, an instance in which, it occurred to me that some things simply never changed, people at liberty to please themselves in the absence of finer obligation were effectively as willing to pursue harmless fun as they were more illicit entertainment.
Cursorily turning to face the rear of the exhibition hall, I was confronted by the projected image of a landscape pollinated by a thin patina of snow fall, a panorama which, in serving to indicate that ‘Claudius Terentianus’ had, after his tour of duty in ‘Syria’ finally been posted to ‘Scotland’, was correspondingly perceived to be sentried by the statue of a ‘Mollosus’, a large breed of canine which the ‘Romans’ were, during their time in Northern Europe, noted to have domesticated as guard dogs.
Glancing cursorily across at the statue I was, for reasons that then eluded me, compelled to dwell upon the many accounts presented in the ‘Ulster Cycle’ of a mythological guard dog named ‘Cu Chulainne’ which, upon having earned renown for exhibiting courage when confronted, was reputed to have been assigned by ‘Irish’ landowners to protect property during the first millennium.
Although recorded to have run extinct as a recognised breed since the classical era, ‘Mollosi’ were, upon being noted to have avowed a reputation for both ferocity and loyalty in much ‘Latin’ literature devoted to the matter, witnessed to be of both a similar size and physical constitution to a ‘Saint Bernard’, a pretext beneath which one would suppose that, if nothing else, they represented a formidable companion both within boot camps and in the field.
Whether or not, taking the comparatively lightweight character of Legionnaires’ clothing into account, snow actually did fall in ‘Scotland’ during the construction of ‘Hadrian’s Wall’, the artistic interpretation of such a thing, as perceived by the museum, was observed to permit grounds for a degree of abstract speculation as to how things may once have been for Imperial forces at the Northernmost extent of their concerns.
Entering the exhibition’s final series of displays, my attention was drawn towards a collection of letters which, in being perceived to have been drafted upon pieces of wood by the wives of a number of legionnaires who, like ‘Claudius Terentianus’, had circumstantially been posted to ‘Vindolanda’ in North East ‘England’, was endearingly observed to include such things as an invitation to a birthday party, a shopping list, and an appointment to meet a local official within it’s detail.
It seemed, upon the strength of such evidence, that despite the warlike premium which Imperial activity in ‘England’ may initially appear to have assumed for itself, there were a multitude of homages to domestic conventions bound into it’s fabric that would not appear out of place in the modern era, like the ‘Roman’ passion for table-top sport, it was, in effect, the simpler things in life that were observed to take centre stage when situations were granted grace to idle.
The last exhibit placed upon display was a cache of one hundred and twenty six 24 carat gold coins which were recorded to have been found with the aid of a metal detector near the town of ‘Didcot’ in ‘Oxfordshire’ by a man named ‘Bill Darley’ in 1995.
Named ‘Aurei’, in distinction to the lower value currency for which ‘Roman’ commercial exchange was more commonly renowned, the coins were, in having been minted at different times over a two hundred year period spanning the reign of the emperor ‘Vespasian’ to that of ‘Antoninus Pius’, noted to have been buried at once in a ceramic pot for safe keeping at some unremembered time in the past and thenceforth to have succumbed to neglect until circumstantially exhumed from repose by ‘Bill Darley’.
Observed to have equated approximately ten and a half years worth of a legionnaire’s salary during the ‘Roman’ era, the hoard was, owing to it’s high denomination, believed to have been pressed as pension money for veterans who had been discharged from active service by the imperial army. It seemed that ‘Aurei’ were, in being worth about 25 silver ‘Denarii’ and 100 brass ‘Sesterce’, reserved solitarily for usage by the upper crust.
After having viewed the show I slowly turned to leave the auditorium, my mind swimming with notions of infinite suffering and unbridled avarice as I made my way forth across the museum’s covered courtyard and out onto the street. There were, with regards to the matter of ancient ‘Rome’ and it’s imperial ambitions, surely dreams to cling to for those prepared to weather hardship much as there was a standing reserve of ghosts to slip through their net.
Curated by ‘Richard Abdy’, the British Museum’s ‘Legion, Life In The Roman Army’ exhibition is scheduled to run until the 23rd of June 2024 and for those interested in both the ‘Roman Empire’ and it’s attempt to conquer ‘Europe’ comes highly recommended.
For More Information Please Contact…
Britishmuseum.org.uk
