The Many Faces of Arthur – 3 Historical Candidates

by Chris Thorndycroft

It is widely believed that the King Arthur of legend has some kernel of truth in a real, albeit shadowy, 5th century warrior called simply Arthur. No King of Camelot. No Merlin. No Round Table. Just Arthur. The History of the Britons credited to the 9th century monk Nennius calls this Arthur a ‘Dux Bellorum’ (leader of battles) who rallied a British resistance against the invading Anglo Saxons after Rome severed its ties with Britain in the 5th century. Aside from a couple of mentions in the Welsh Annals that claim Arthur won a great victory at the Battle of Badon and fell at the ‘strife of Camlann’ along with somebody called Medraut, everything else we know about him comes from poetry, folklore and fiction.

But there are several figures in the late to post-Roman period whose exploits have some parallels with what little we know of him and his more fanciful exploits in later legend. Much theorising has been done in trying to establish various figures as the ‘real King Arthur’. Let’s take a look at three popular candidates.  

Funerary memorial from late 2nd/early 3rd century dedicated to 'Lucius Atorius Castus'. Found in Podstrana (Croatia) in 1850 and published in Francesco Carrara “De’ Scavi di Salona nel 1850: Con cinque tavole” (1852)

Lucius Artorius Castus

This Roman military commander probably lived between 175 and 250 A.D. which is a good two centuries before the end of Roman rule in Britain. All we know of him comes from a couple of stone inscriptions found in Croatia which give an outline of his military career, listing the legions he served in. One of these legions - the VI Victrix - (of which Artorius was a prefect) was stationed in Britain from around 122 A.D. It seems that Artorius was later promoted to Dux Legionum (General of the Legions) and commanded ‘Brittannician’ units (possibly referring to auxiliary units that had served in Britain) against either the Amoricans or Armenians. 

His name alone makes him an interesting candidate. 'Arthur' comes to us via the Latin family name ‘Artorius’ which was borrowed into Welsh and there seem to have been no Artoriuses/Arthurs in Britain before the time of Lucius Artorius Castus. It was the historian Kemp Malone who first put forward the idea of Artorius as the original King Arthur. C. Scott Littleton and Linda A. Malcor expanded on this theory, linking him to 5,500 Sarmatian auxiliary troops sent to Britain in 175 A.D. after their defeat by Emperor Marcus Aurelius. 

Parallels have been drawn between Sarmatian customs and elements of Arthurian legend such as carrying a dragon standard and worshiping a sword thrust into the ground reminiscent of the sword in the stone. However, most of these Sarmatian customs cannot be reliably traced back to Roman times and their counterparts in Arthurian legend are relatively late additions. Also, there is no evidence that Lucius Artorius Castus had anything to do with the Sarmatian auxiliaries other than that they were both in Britain at the same time.  

The stone fragments in Croatia are in poor shape and there has been much debate as to their interpretation, specifically of Artorius’s rank. Malcor suggests that ‘prefect of the legion’ meant that he was a fort commander who became an unofficial ‘commander of the region’ leading Sarmatian cavalry units. Others interpret the rank as ‘camp prefect’; a different rank and mainly an administrative role given to soldiers at the end of their career meaning he wouldn’t have seen much action while in Britain. That does however, make his subsequent promotion to Dux Legionum a little unusual. Incidentally, while this title may echo the ‘Dux Bellorum’ bestowed on Arthur by Nennius, the former was an official Roman title while the latter seems to have been an informal way of saying ‘military leader’ in the Latin tongue.

The 2004 movie King Arthur starring Clive Owen and Keira Knightley is based on the Sarmatian theory (Linda A. Malcor was a consultant on the film). Set in 467 AD, Artorius is a descendant of the original Lucius Artorius Castus and his Sarmatian ‘knights’ include the unlikely names of Lancelot, Galahad and Gawain. 

The Arthurian prototype? 'Emrys Wledig' (Ambrosius the Ruler) from a 15th century Welsh language version of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History of the Kings of Britain. 

Ambrosius Aurelianus

The most damning argument against the existence of a real Arthur is that the 6th century monk Gildas – the closest thing we have to a contemporary commentator – makes no mention of him. In his religious rant On the Ruin and Conquest of Britain, Gildas makes it clear that it was Ambrosius Aurelianus who was the champion of the Britons and then goes on to mention the siege of Badon Hill as the last great defeat over the Saxons (a battle later credited to Arthur in the History of the Britons).  

An explanation for Arthur’s absence is suggested in the 12th century Life of Gildas by the cleric Caradoc of Llancarfan. Arthur, Caradoc explains, slew Gildas’s older brother Hueil and one might assume that Gildas would be less than enthusiastic to sing his praises and may even strike his name from the record entirely. 

Gildas presents Ambrosius Aurelianus as a man of noble Roman stock whose parents were killed in the wars with the Saxons. The History of the Britons later expands on this making him ‘king among the kings of Britain’. It also includes a strange tale about a boy called ‘Ambrose’ who is something of a child prophet. The tyrant Vortigern struggles to build a tower and is told by his councilors to sacrifice a fatherless boy and sprinkle the earth with his blood. When young Ambrose appears to fit the bill, the lad tells Vortigern that he is unable to build his tower because within the hill are two dragons; a red one signifying the Britons and a white one the Saxons. Upon learning that Ambrose is the son of a Roman consul, Vortigern gives him all the western provinces of Britain. It is unclear if Ambrose and the ‘king of kings’ Ambrosius Aurelianus are one and the same in the History of the Britons although it does seem likely. 

The 12th century cleric Geoffrey of Monmouth clearly thought they were two different characters as he reproduces the two dragons story in his fantastical History of the Kings of Britain. He conflates the boy with the legendary Myrddin the Wild (a bard who was driven mad with grief and retreated into the Caledonian Forest to become a prophet) and calls him ‘Ambrosius Merlinus’ (Merlin). This is an entirely separate character to the military commander ‘Aurelius Ambrosius’ whom Monmouth makes the high king of Britain, brother of Uther Pendragon and King Arthur’s uncle. 

Whoever Ambrosius Aurelianus was, he seems to have made enough of an impact on British history and folklore that he became entwined with the Arthurian legend or was perhaps even something of a template for the fictional Arthur. 

Kingdom of the Visigoths (in orange, light and dark) circa 500 AD. The Visigothic king Euric consolidated the nation resulting in the Roman Emperor Anthemius's request to Riothamus and his 12,000 warriors to lend their aid. 

Riothamus

One of the more fanciful bits of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History of the Kings of Britain (and that’s saying something) is when Arthur leaves Britain to conquer most of northern Europe before taking on the might of the Roman Empire. He is forced to return to Britain to deal with Mordred, his nephew, who has seduced Guinevere and seized his throne in his absence. 

There is a historical figure who may have done something vaguely similar that inspired Monmouth. Most of what we know about the military commander Riothamus comes from The Origin and Deeds of the Goths by the 6th century historian Jordanes. In it, Riothamus, king of the Britons, comes to the aid of the Roman Emperor by bringing 12,000 troops to fight the Visigoths around 470 A.D. 

It is unclear if Riothamus was king of the Britons in Britain or of the various British kingdoms in Armorica which was well on the way to being settled at that time (hence its modern-day name of Brittany). The name Riothamus seems to be a Latinisation of the British name Rigotamos meaning ‘great king’. This could mean that it was a title held by somebody (Arthur? Ambrosius Aurelianus?) but a letter from the Gaulish bishop Sidonius Apollinaris asking him to intervene in a dispute is addressed to ‘his friend Riothamus’. Surely a friend would use a personal name rather than a title?     

The historian Geoffrey Ashe is the strongest proponent of the Riothamus theory. He even went so far as to say that Riothamus might have been betrayed by Arvandus, the Praetorian prefect of Gaul, mirroring Arthur’s betrayal by Mordred in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s work. Ashe’s further claim that Riothamus died near the French town of Avallon (thus inspiring the tale of Arthur’s death on the island of Avalon) is unsupported by any evidence.

While it is fun to look for parallels between known historical figures and King Arthur, none of the candidates are without problems. Lucius Artorius Castus may have been in the right place but he was a couple of centuries early and doesn’t seem to have been a great military leader, at least during his time in Britain. Had his middle name been different, he would not even be a candidate at all. The parallels drawn with Riothamus are largely parallels with Geoffrey of Monmouth’s work of fiction rather than the early records of Arthur and although Ambrosius Aurelianus led a very similar career to Arthur, why isn’t he called Arthur? 

In all eventuality, Arthur was just Arthur; the 5th century war leader described in the History of the Britons who held the Saxons at bay for a time and about whom we know frustratingly little. But whoever he was, his deeds had an impact that is still felt today in the legends told of him. 

Sources

1. Lucius Artorius Castus: A Sourcebook by Christopher Gwinn

2. Linda Malcor, Heroic Age, Vol 1 (Spring/Summer 1999); Vol 2 (Autumn/Winter 1999); Lucius Artorius Castus: Part I: An Officer and an Equestian

3. Linda Malcor, Heroic Age, Vol 2 (Autumn/Winter 1999); Lucius Artorius Castus: Part II: The Battles in Britain

4. Ashe, Geoffrey (1985). The Discovery of King Arthur. London: Guild Publishing 

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Chris Thorndycroft is the author of the Hengest and Horsa trilogy. His follow-up, Sign of the White Foal, is the first part in a trilogy that re-tells the legend of King Arthur in an historical setting. Set in 5th century North Wales, it combines Celtic myth with real history and is based on the earliest elements of the Arthurian legend. 

You can follow Chris on Twitter, Goodreads and Facebook or join his mailing list and get a free Arthurian novella!

A generation after Hengest and Horsa carved out a kingdom in the east, a hero of the Britons rises in the west...

North Wales, 480 A.D. The sons of Cunedag have ruled Venedotia for fifty years but the chief of them – the Pendraig – is now dying. His sons Cadwallon and Owain must fight to retain their birthright from their envious cousins. As civil war consumes Venedotia, Arthur – a young warrior and bastard son of the Pendraig – is sent on a perilous quest that will determine the fate of the kingdom. 

The Morgens; nine priestesses of the Mother Goddess have found the cauldron of rebirth – a symbol of otherworldly power – and have allied themselves with the enemy. Arthur and six companions are dispatched to the mysterious island of Ynys Mon to steal the cauldron and break the power of the Morgens. Along the way they run into the formidable Guenhuifar whose family have been stewards of Ynys Mon for generations. They need her help. The trouble is, Guenhuifar despises Arthur’s family and all they stand for…

Based on the earliest Arthurian legends, Sign of the White Foal is a rip-roaring adventure of Celtic myth and real history set in the ruins of post-Roman Britain.

Bourton-on-the-Water: Venice of the North

by Lauren Gilbert

A view of Bourton-on-the-Water taken by the author 2018

My husband and I recently returned from a wonderful trip, where we saw many places we had never previously visited. One of these places was a beautiful town in England named Bourton-on-the-Water, located in the Cotswolds. Some dear friends took us out for the day, and took us through several villages in the Malvern hills and the Cotswolds. Situated among rolling hills with cottages of buildings constructed of golden stone, some with thatched roofs, the villages of the Cotswolds are lovely and match every description I had ever read. Thanks to its beautiful setting, Bourton-on-the-Water has a special magic, and it has a fascinating history to go with it.

There are signs that people took advantage of the location well over 4000 years ago. Indications of a camp used by nomadic tribes consist of archaeological finds including arrow heads, flints, pottery going back to the Neolithic area, and even a pre-800 BC hand axe. The area along the river appears to have been permanently settled at least for defensive purposes sometime during the Iron Age, as indicated by a site called Salmonsbury Camp which remained a landmark in the area at least into medieval times. The Romans arrived in the area c AD 45. Roman remains including coins, buildings, roadwork, a well and two lead water storage tanks and indicate that a small Roman town was on this site. Roman troops left Britain in the 5th century, and the area was plundered by various tribes, including the Picts from Scotland, with the result that the Angles and the Saxons were invited in to help drive them back. This in turn led to issues with the Germanic people; data indicates that Bishop Germanus led a Christian army in 429 that defeated a military made up of both Picts and Saxons in 429 somewhere in the vicinity. Ultimately, the Saxons settled in the Cotswolds more or less peacefully, leaving the local inhabitants to mange themselves under their own systems. Bourton was mentioned in Saxon documents in the 8th century.

There has been a parish church in Bourton since the mid-7th century. The original Saxon church was said to have been built of wood on the site of a Roman temple, possibly in 708 when a gift of land was made by the Saxon king Oswin. This church was torn down and a new church , dedicated to Our Lady, was built on the Saxon foundations by the Normans about 1110. This church and others in the area were affiliated with Evesham Abbey. It appears that the first Norman church was replaced in the 14th century. It has been dedicated to St. Lawrence the martyr since 1328. A chantry dedicated to Our Blessed Lady was also added in the 14th century. The last Norman church was partially torn down in 1784, with the chancel being retained. The current Georgian structure was designed by local resident William Marshall and built on the same site. More rebuilding was completed during the Victorian era between 1875-1890 under the supervision of architect Sir Thomas Jackson.

St Lawrence's Church,
Bourton-on-the-Water
(by Nilfanion [CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons)

During the Middle Ages, thanks to the river and the fertile land, farming expanded, as did trade. A successful wool trade resulted in the employment of two weavers, and the village also boasted a cobbler and a smith, as well as various other craftsmen. In 1381, there were 118 residents who paid poll tax. Although the Black Death troubled England from approximately 1348 to 1378, there is no record of its effect on the village. “On the Water” was not added to the name until the reign of Henry VIII. As with other parts of England, the effects on local religion with Henry VIII’s break with the Roman Catholic church and the dissolution of the monasteries, the restoration of Catholicism under Queen Mary Tudor, and the return to Protestantism under Elizabeth I were felt. As dissenting religious groups (particularly the Puritans) became established and more vocal and the Stuart kings appeared more tolerant of Catholicism, things came to a head under Charles I, largely due to taxes imposed by the king without Parliament, resulting in civil war. Armies from both sides passed through the area, although there is no indication that fighting occurred Bourton itself. King Charles and his remaining troops did stay in Bourton for one night in June 1644 after fleeing from Oxford. Charles surrendered May 6, 1646 and was executed January 30, 1649.

After the Civil War, Bourton was known to have a population of Catholics living in the area. There were also a number of nonconformists, including Puritans and Baptists (the Baptist community appears to have been established locally around 1650). Charles Stuart, Prince of Wales, was invited back to England in 1660 and was proclaimed King Charles II May 8, 1660. As a result of the restoration, tension rose between the Anglican Church and the dissenting communities. In 1660, a minister named Anthony Palmer was removed from the parish church and ejected from the Anglican Communion. He subsequently became minister to the local Congregationalists. Records indicate that, by 1676, Bourton had greater numbers of dissenters than any other community in the Stow deanery (of which Bourton was a part). Anabaptists and Presbyterians also established communities.

In August of 1876, the Baptist community in Bourton-on-the-Water opened a large new church and significantly increased its membership. While these developments occurred, the village grew and prospered. The village developed an established and prosperous middle class of business and trades people, the larger portion of whom were not Anglican. Shoemaking became a major industry of the town as the wool trade waned. The railway came through the town, with the last link completed in 1881.

Victoria Hall was built in Bourton-on-the-Water in 1897 by subscription, to celebrate Queen Victoria’s Jubilee (60 years on the throne 1837-1897). It was and still is the centre of village activities today. It boasts two plaques, one commemorating Victoria’s Jubilee, and a second honouring Queen Elizabeth II’s Jubilee (60 years on the throne 1952-2012) that were erected in 2012. The railroad and subsequent development of automobile traffic brought a thriving tourist trade to the Cotswolds, and thus to Bourton-on-the-Water. Rather than its history (of which I have touched only on parts), Bourton-on-the-Water’s lovely setting on the Windrush River, beautiful stone buildings and five stone bridges that made it a favoured destination for tourists, which it is to this day. It’s no wonder that Bourton-on-the-Water is listed as one of England’s “Venice of the North” cities.

Victoria Hall (on the right) taken by the author 2018

Sources include:

Wray, Tony and Stratford, David. Bourton on the Water. (Towns and Villages of England) Sutton Publishing Limited: Gloucestershire, 1994, reprinted 2004.

Britain Express. “Bourton on the Water, Gloucestershire” by David Ross.  HERE

British History Online. “Parishes: Bourton-on-the-Water.” From A History of the County of Gloucester: Volume 6. Originally published by Victoria County History, London, 1965, Pages 33-49.

Cotswolds.Info “History of Bourton-on-the-Water” by Ralph Green. HERE

Historic England. “Iron Age fortified enclosure known as Salmonsbury Camp.”  HERE

Know Britain. “The Church of St. Lawrence Bourton-on-the-Water.” HERE

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About the Author:
Lauren Gilbert, author of HEYERWOOD: A Novel, holds a bachelor of arts degree in English, and is a long-time member of the Jane Austen Society of North America.  Her second novel, A RATIONAL ATTACHMENT is in process and she is engaged in research for a biography.  She lives in Florida with her husband.  You can find out more on her Amazon page.

Britons, Fellow-Countrymen, Foreigners – “For Wales, see Britannia”

By Gareth Griffith

At the start of his book, Rebirth of a Nation: Wales 1880-1980, Kenneth O Morgan commented that, “for Wales, see England,” was the notorious entry in the 1888 edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. For Morgan, the entry “encapsulated all the humiliation and the patronizing indifference which helped to launch the modern nationalist movement in the principality…” (OUP, 1982, p 3) The irony is palpable: an encyclopaedia of “Britannica” had expropriated the name the Welsh had for centuries used to define themselves  and their country, only for the same encyclopaedia to obliterate the identity of Wales by subsuming it under the heading of “England.”

Public Domain Image

The story had a long trajectory. We can take a few steps back to the 15th century. In the epilogue to The Age of Conquest: Wales 1063-1415, RR Davies reflected on the condition of Wales following the collapse of the revolt of Owain Glyn Dŵr, by which time the prospect of establishing a native, unitary Welsh polity was lost. According to Davies, “Wales had been reduced to a ‘land’ (terra Wallie), an annex of the kingdom of England.” (OUP, p 464) Davies noted, too, that the status of Wales as a “separate nation” was raised at the Council of Constance in 1417. There the English spokesmen asserted that, ecclesiastically and politically, Wales had been effectively incorporated into England. The assertion was accompanied by the claim “that England was to be equated with Britain (‘inclyta nation Anglicana alias Brytannica’).” Why not? After all, if history tells us anything it is that the winners get to call the shots; they’re the ones that do the name-calling. In 1417, it was a thousand years since the Roman legions had left Britain and here was the final chapter in the resistance of the Britons, one that ended with the transfer of that name to their ancient enemies. As RR Davies wrote, with a heavy heart no doubt:

“So had the English appropriated the mythology of an unitary empire of Britain, which had for so long been a source of memories, inspiration, and hope for the Welsh.” (p 464) 

In the opening chapter of the book, Davies had discussed the importance of their British heritage to the people of Wales in the Middle Ages, writing that:

“An even more powerful ingredient in the chemistry of national unity was pride in a common descent from the Britons of old. It was as Britons, Brytaniaid, that the Welsh normally described themselves until the later twelfth century; ‘Britain’ was the title they gave to their country.” (p 16) 

It was a case of – ‘for Wales, see Britannia.”

The works by KO Morgan and RR Davies are two volumes in the Oxford University Press’ series on the history Wales, published in reverse chronological order. The third volume – Wales and the Britons, 350-1064 by TM Charles-Edwards - was published in 2013. It opens with a short essay on name-calling and related matters. The question he confronts is how the Wales and the Welsh of the medieval period, from the fall of the Roman Empire to the twelfth century, identified themselves and how were they identified by others? What names were used and what did they mean in geographical terms?

In the fifth century and for many centuries after there was no Wales to speak of, only a patchwork of small kingdoms; but there were Britons and Cymry (or Kymry) and Wielisc, the name in Old English for the Welsh. Likewise, in the early period there were no Bretons in Brittany or Cumbrians in Cumbria. According to Charles-Edwards, “Breton in English is a late import from the French where it can mean either Britons or Bretons…”; and, although the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle in the tenth century used Cumbras for the Cumbrians, it had “no relevance to how the Welsh or the Cumbrians saw themselves.”

As Charles-Edwards rightly states, “it would be fatal to import later senses into earlier periods as if they were as valid for, say, the seventh century as they were for the tenth or as they are for the twenty-first.” His argument is that, for the whole of the period up to 1064, “the modern historian must maintain the distinction between modern terminology and the terms used at the time.”
(OUP, 2013, pp 1-2)

The same can be said to apply to the modern writer of historical fiction. Getting it right can be tricky. If a character in a novel set in the seventh century looked out from today’s Bristol over at what is now South Wales, what would they have called the land they were looking at? How should today’s Brittany be referred to in a novel of the same period? Little Britain would be an anachronism, not to mention a source of mild amusement for fans of the BBC comedy of the same name.

The broader point is that, for the early medieval period, Wales was part of a larger whole, the land of the Britons. In this light, Charles-Edwards comments that the idea of Britannia varied, depending on context and circumstance. For Asser, writing at the end of the ninth century it had a “double sense”, either the entire island which the Britons had long conceived of as their own, or as the land we now refer to as Wales. Britannia is also ambiguous in early Breton sources: “it may be the island from which they had migrated; but it may also be Brittany.” (p 1)

Attribution Link

As time passed, the geographical extent of that land changed, expanding occasionally, shrinking more often before the incursions of the Anglo-Saxons to the East, the Gaels in the North and West and later the Vikings and the Normans from every conceivable direction. For Gildas, writing in the mid-sixth century, at its most extensive the whole of the island of Britain belonged to the Britons. But that vision was to contract. Charles-Edwards directs out attention to the Welsh poem of the tenth century, Armes Prydein, which contains the phrase “from Manaw to Llydaw” – in modern terms “from Clackmannanshire to Brittany.” He says the poem “was thinking of the lands which ought to be British, because it recalled a time when they had been British.” (p 3) That is to say that in AD 600, or thereabouts, the land of the Britons – Britannia – had extended from around Sterling in Scotland down almost as far as the Loire in France. By the tenth century, that same geographical region was the Britannia of the imagination. Taking all its improbable and impractical elements into account, of Armes Prydein, Charles-Edwards commented:

“Yet, the visionary element is very strong: the argument is ultimately about the right to all of Britain south of the Forth; the objection was not just to an English empire but to England as such. The Cymry were the Palestinians of early medieval Britain.” (Wales and the Britons, 350-1064, p 535) 

No less complicated is the development of the language used to express these shifting realities. On one side of the language barrier, the Anglo-Saxon name to denote the native population of the island – “Wielisc” or “Welsh”, is often said to derive from “a variant on the standard Germanic label for foreigner…” (see for example Norman Davies, Vanished Kingdoms: The History of Half-Forgotten Europe, Allen Lane, 2011, p 79) Another interpretation is that “Welsh” meant “not so much foreigners as peoples who had been Romanized…” (John Davies, A History of Wales, Penguin Books, 2007, p 69): that is to say, “all the people who had been part of the Roman Empire.” (Wales and the Britons, 350-1064, p 1) Whether one meaning precludes another is not clear to me. At the very least, it seems unlikely that the original meaning would have been maintained in the vernacular across the years of “intimate hostility” between the Britons and the Anglo-Saxons. (Wales and the Britons, 350-1064, p 402) Probably, “foreigner” is not too wide of the mark. At any rate, the idea that the Welsh had become foreigners in their own land is hard to shake off; popular imagination clings to it, as firmly today as in the Middle Ages.

Statue of Owain Glyndwr - Pulic Domain image

Turning to the other side of the language barrier, the historian John Davies has traced the first usage of the word Cymry to a praise poem probably written in 633, in which the poet was referring to the country rather than the people (“Ar wynep Kumry Cadwallawn was”), a country that would have
referred to the Old North as well as Wales. He contends that the word Cymry evolved from the Brythonic word Combrogi, meaning fellow-countrymen and that “its adoption suggests a deepening self-awareness among the Britons.” He goes on to say:

“Although the author of Armes Prydein (c 930) used the word Cymry or Cymro fifteen times, it only gradually came to oust the word Brython. That was the favourite word of the author of Brut y Tywysogyon; his entry for 1116 is the first to mention the Cymry and it was not until the years after 1100 that Cymry became as usual as Brythoniaid in the work of the poets.” (A History of Wales, Penguin Books, 2007, p 69) 

It seems the Welsh of the twelfth century were down-sizing at long last, re-configuring the world of their imagination to conform to prevailing political reality in the Norman age. According to KO Morgan, by Victorian times that process had resulted in a view of Wales, from the perspective of their “Teutonic” neighbours, as a mere “geographical expression”, as a land that “belonged to prehistory.” (p 3) But then, the title to Morgan’s book, Rebirth of a Nation, suggests that if Wales and the Welsh – Britons, fellow-countrymen, foreigners – were down, still they were not out. The imagination continues to work on political reality, seeking to shape what is to what might be; as RR Davies wrote: “The memories of a conquered people are long indeed.” (p 388)

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Gareth Griffith was born in Penmaenmawr, North Wales, and now lives in Sydney, Australia with his wife Sue. His career has encompassed teaching, research and writing, including many years working as the manager of research for the parliament of New South Wales. These days, when Gareth isn’t writing, he enjoys reading, music, dark Scandi film and TV, and Dark Age Britain. Although Gareth left Wales at the age of twelve, Wales never left him, and its landscape and history loom large in his imagination and his storytelling.

Find Gareth on his website: https://garethgriffithauthor.com/
and on Twitter: @garethgriffith_

Julius Caesar's "Invasions" of Britain: The Latest Evidence

by Mark Patton.

For almost thirty years, I have used the example of Julius Caesar's supposed "invasions" of Britain, in 55 and 54 BC, to impress upon my students just how much might have happened in the remote past, whilst leaving no apparent trace in the archaeological record. We know of these incursions from Caesar's own account of the Gaulish Wars, and, whilst it has long been understood that he was writing propaganda to advance his political career in Rome, it hardly seemed likely that he would have told an absolutely blatant lie, given that he would be returning to Rome with tens of thousands of troops, who would have a clear idea as to where they had or had not been.

Julius Caesar, Musee d'Arles.
Photo: Mcleclat (licensed under GNU).

For all of this, until very recently, I could not point to a single piece of unambiguous archaeological evidence (not a sword, a spearhead, a skeleton, or a ditch) to suggest a Roman military presence on these islands prior to the Emperor Claudius's invasion in 43 AD. I always had in mind that such evidence might come to light at any stage, and now, it seems, it has, thanks to an excavation by University of Leicester archaeologists, at Pegwell Bay, on the Isle of Thanet, Kent.

Caesar's first visit to Britain was very much an exploratory expedition, as he himself explains:

 " ... Caesar ... set out for Britain, aware as he was that our enemies in almost all our wars with the Gauls had received reinforcements from that quarter. He considered, moreover, that even if the season left no time for a campaign, none the less it would be a great advantage to him simply to land on the island and observe the kind of people who live there and its localities, harbours, and approaches ... " (from the Oxford World's Classics translation by Carolyn Hammond).

Caesar's two legions (around 12,000 men) encountered more resistance than they might have expected (presumably from warriors of the Cantiaci tribe of Kent), and his ships' captains were also surprised by the ferocity of the autumn gales in the English Channel. A disaster narrowly averted, he returned with his force to Gaul.

During Caesar's absence, it seems that tribal war broke out in Britain. A man named Mandubracius, a prince of the Trinovantes tribe of Essex, made his way to Gaul, and requested Caesar's support to recover lands that had been seized from his people by the more powerful Catuvellauni tribe of Hertfordshire. Caesar agreed, and returned to Britain with a much larger force. It is the landing site of this army that may have been discovered at Pegwell Bay. The Roman fort, probably a tented camp, may cover an area as large as twelve hectares in size, and has a ditch four to five metres wide, and two metres deep: it is securely dated to the First Century BC, and finds include a Roman spearhead closely comparable to examples found at the French site of Alesia, which Caesar is known to have besieged a few years later.

Map, showing the location of Pegwell Bay,
John Richard Green (image is in the Public Domain).

Pegwell Bay, Kent. Photo: Ron Strutt (licensed under CCA).

A reconstruction of a Roman fortification at Alesia (France).
Caesar's fort at Pegwell Bay may have had a similar design,
although it had a different purpose: the fort at Alesia were "investment" works -
intended to place an impenetrable cordon around an enemy stronghold;
that in Kent was a "beach-head" work, intended to protect Caesar's fleet,
and thus his lines of resupply and retreat.
Photo: Carole Raddatto (licensed under CCA). 

Reconstructed fortifications at Alesia.
Photo: Carole Raddatto (licensed under CCA).

Roman (left) and Gaulish (right) weapons found at Alesia.
Image: Jochen Jahnke (Public Domain).

This time, Caesar's legions fought their way through Kent, probably crossing the Medway and the Thames, and finally defeating the Catuvellaunian King, Cassivellaunus, possibly at his stronghold in Hertfordshire. It still was not Caesar's intention, however, to leave a Roman garrison in Britain: he secured a promise from Cassivellaunus to stop molesting the Trinovantes (but Cassivellaunus's successor was minting coins on Trinovantian territory only a few years later); took "hostages" from the Catuvellauni (not nearly as frightening a prospect as it might have appeared - these were aristocratic young men who would be fostered out to the wealthiest families in Rome, given an education worthy of a Consul's son, and, if circumstances allowed returned to Britain to rule as thoroughly pro-Roman client kings).

Bigbury Camp, Kent, the possible site of a battle between Caesar's 7th Legion
and the warriors of the Cantiaci tribe.
Photo: Google earth (image is in the Public Domain). 

The Devil's Dyke, near Saint Alban's, Hertfordshire,
the possible site of Caesar's defeat of King Cassivellaunus.
Photo: Colin Riegels (image is in the Public Domain).

For a further century, Rome traded peacefully with the British tribes; sent ambassadors and diplomatic gifts to them; and played one tribe off against on another to their own advantage; until, in 43 AD, renewed conflict between the Catevellauni and their neighbours to the east and south provided the pretext for the Emperor Claudius's invasion, which resulted in most of Britain being absorbed into the Roman Empire.

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Mark Patton blogs regularly on aspects of history and historical fiction at https://mark-patton.blogspot.co.uk. He is a published author of historical fiction and non-fiction, whose books can be purchased from Amazon.

Londinium Falling - 61AD

by Tim Walker

With some historians now casting doubt on whether Julius Caesar ever actually came to Britain in 55 BC (could it really have been Roman fake news - a PR campaign by his supporters?), greater importance is now placed on the invasion by the forces of Emperor Claudius in 34 AD. An army of eight legions (40,000 men) that included cavalry and elephants, led by General Plautius, established a foothold on the south coast before pushing northwards towards the River Thames.

Imagine Iron Age fishermen, open-mouthed to see Roman galleys, rowed by slaves, moving up the River Tamesis (as the Romans would name it), and dropping anchor at their village - a place the Romans would turn into the port and fortified town of Londinium. These Romans were the first of many men of vision who would come to shape the city we see today - but not before disaster struck one fateful day in 61 AD.

Londinium soon became a bustling garrison town, from where new roads radiated north and west towards frontier towns. A wooden bridge was built across the river and a settlement sprang up in what is modern-day Southwark. General Plautius soon made peace with the local Catuvellauni tribe, and occupied their town of Camulodenum (modern day Colchester in Essex and some people’s tip for the source of the name ‘Camelot’ – King Arthur’s fabled fortress). This became the capital of the new province of Britannia and its administrative headquarters, some 60 miles north-east from the port of Londinium.

Plautius and his successor, Paulinus, did not have an easy job of subduing their new province. The Briton tribes put up fierce resistance, their blue-painted faces terrifying even seasoned legionaries as they ran screaming from the dense forests with their primitive weapons. They were whipped-up into a frenzy by their religious leaders – The Druids – whose liking for human sacrifice helped them keep a powerful grip over the locals.

In the year 61, when General Paulinius was in the north-west with most of the ninth legion chasing druids, there was a revolt. Prasutagus, the king of the Iceni, was a friend of the Romans. When he died, he left half his kingdom to the Roman emperor, then Nero, and half to his wife, Queen Boudicca. The Romans, however, wanted it all. They also wanted extra taxes and they wanted Boudicca to give up her throne.

Boudicca was humiliated and publically flogged for voicing her objection to being disinherited, and her two daughters were raped by Roman soldiers. Well, this would be enough to raise anyone’s hackles, and soon she had an army baying for Roman blood. They first swooped on the Roman capital, Camulodenum, killing all and burning it down, before turning their attention towards Londinium.

There may only have been one or two cohorts (between 500 and 1,000 men) to defend Londinium. At that time there was no stone defensive wall – most likely just a ditch and earth bank, with perhaps a wooden stockade. It is now a known fact that Boudicca’s army swept the defenders aside and burnt the town down, killing all who stood in their way.

This day of murder and mayhem is the subject of my historical fiction story, Londinium Falling, in my book of short stories, Postcards from London. My research took me to the excellent display in the British Museum, and on a tour of the London Wall. The Romans returned to the ruins of Londinium some time after the Britons had returned to their tribal lands, and set about re-building it, this time surrounded by a wall of stone.

The city of London has suffered many fires in its history – most notably the Great Fire of 1666 and the Blitz of the 1940s – both of which cleared the way for new building to spring up around the site of St Paul’s Cathedral that miraculously survived both events. But it’s first major calamity and destruction by fire occurred in 61 AD at the hands of Boudicca’s tribal revolt.

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Tim Walker is an independent author and former journalist based near Windsor in Berkshire, UK. Born in Hong Kong, he grew up in Liverpool and studied in South Wales, before gravitating to London where he working in newspaper publishing for ten years. In the mid-90s he went to Zambia in Africa to do publishing-related voluntary work. Following this, he stayed on and set up his own publishing and marketing business, before returning to the UK in 2009.

His publications include Thames Valley Tales, a collection of fifteen contemporary stories, a near-future/dystopian thriller novel Devil Gate Dawn, a children’s book, co-written with his 12-year-old daughter Cathy, called The Adventures of Charly Holmes. In September 2017 he published a collection of short stories, Postcards from London. Currently, he is writing an historical fiction series, A Light in the Dark Ages. The first two parts, Abandoned! (a novella) and Ambrosius: Last of the Romans (a novel) are now available from Amazon in e-book and paperback formats. Part Three, Uther’s Destiny, should follow in early 2018.

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Book Links:
Postcards from London
Abandoned
Ambrosius
Devil Gate Dawn
Thames Valley Tales
The Adventures of Charly Holmes

A Tale of Two Iscas

by Alison Morton

Whenever I visit a town I’m drawn to the museum, especially (and sometimes exclusively) to see if there is any Roman stuff. This is what a ‘Roman nut’ usually does. Woe betide anybody coming in between me and tesserae, Samian ware or a nice bit of Roman concrete. Last year in Exeter was a special treat because it was the second of the twin Iscas, the other one I’d never seen.

The Romans established a large castrum (fortified camp) named Isca around AD 55 at the southwest end of the Fosse Way as the base for the 5,000-man Legio II Augusta (Second Augustan Legion) originally led by Vespasian, later Roman emperor. Twenty years later they moved to Caerleon in Wales, which was also confusingly known as Isca. To distinguish the two, the Romans referred to Exeter as Isca Dumnoniorum after the name of the local tribe and Caerleon as Isca Augusta.

I’d visited Caerleon decades ago as a student when I’d been working on the archaeological dig at Usk, and more recently when I was at a writing conference. But I’d never visited its twin, Exeter.

Exeter – Isca Dumnoniorum
The name is a Latinisation of a Brythonic name describing flowing water (Uisc), in reference to the River Exe. Like many early settlements Exeter began as a place of  dry land by a navigable river; in Exeter’s case on a ridge ending in a spur overlooking the Exe. The bonuses were a fertile hinterland, a river full of fish and access to a large protected estuary and the open sea. Although there have been no major prehistoric finds, these advantages suggest the site was occupied early. Coins have been discovered from Hellenistic kingdoms, suggesting the existence of a settlement trading with the Mediterranean as early as 250 BC.

Isca Dumnoniorum Castrum

In mid first century Exeter, a civilian community (vicus or canabae) inhabited by local tribespeople and soldiers' ‘unofficial’ families, grew round the Roman camp, mostly to the northeast.

When Legio II Augusta left around AD 75 to go north to fight tribes in Wales, the camp grounds were converted for civilian purposes; its very large legionary bathhouse was demolished to make way for a forum, basilica and a smaller-scale bathhouse.

In the late 2nd century AD, the ditch and rampart defences around the old fortress were replaced by a bank and wall enclosing a much larger area, around 92 acres. The course of the Roman wall was used for Exeter's subsequent city walls; the stones are a mixture of Roman and medieval. About 70% of this wall remains, and most of its route can be traced on foot.

The settlement served as the tribal capital (civitas) of the Dumnonii and Isca Dumnoniorum seems to have been most prosperous in the first half of the 4th century: more than a thousand Roman coins have been found around the city and there is evidence for copper and bronze working, a stock-yard, and markets for the livestock, crops, and pottery produced in the surrounding area.

Trade with the Mediterranean continued bringing luxuries like wine and fine pottery. In the 3rd century AD new stone wall and gatehouses were built. Rich people lived in townhouses with costly mosaic floors; other areas of housing fell into disuse or were converted into farmyards.

Display of pottery and glassware, Exeter Museum

In the museum, the Roman military presence is testified by hooks from legionary helmets, knives, armour hinges, armour tie hooks, armour buckles and hinged fittings, belt buckles, legionary apron fittings, strap ends, tent pegs, and horse harness fittings. These are all small things of life then, but precious to us now for the story they tell. But beside those, the cases display a rich variety of military and civilian basins, strigils, pots, jars, cooking implements, even glassware. And of course, tiles, mosaics, plaster and stone remnants alongside domestic rings, brooches, weaving weights, board games, keys and styli. And, of course, silver coins. As in any other part of the Roman Empire, the pickings show a rich diversity and sheer numbers of objects that even humble people possessed.

Display of military clips, ties and buckles, Exeter museum

In 410 AD the last Roman soldiers left Britain to defend Rome against attacks by hostile tribes. By then Isca’s suburbs were being abandoned; there are few remains from this time. Dates of coins discovered so far suggest a rapid decline: virtually none have been discovered with dates after AD 380. By around 500, the basilica had fallen down and Isca Dumnoniorum’s busy urban life was over.

Circling back to AD 75, when the Legio II Augusta soldiers strapped on their marching boots and filed out of the castrum gate, I wonder what the effect was on the Devonian Isca. The heavy military presence was lifted; the drinking, rowdiness, the casual brutality, the gambling, testosterone, the whoring and the unwanted pregnancies.  Many unofficial wives upped sticks and with their children followed the soldiers to their new home.  However, the economic effect must have been significant for the the innkeepers, brothels, tailors, weavers, leather and knife suppliers, laundries and local food suppliers and grain merchants.

Caerleon – Isca Augusta (Isca Silurum)
The Brythonic name Isca referred to the River Usk  which literally means ‘river of flowing water’ (tautology alert!). The suffix Augusta, an honorific title taken from the legion stationed there for 200 years, appears in the Ravenna Cosmography, a list of place-names covering the world from India to Ireland compiled by an anonymous cleric in Ravenna around ad 700. It’s also referred to as Isca Silurum to differentiate it from Isca Dumnoniorum and because it lay in the territory of the Silures tribe. However, there is no evidence that this form was used during the Roman period. Caerleon, the name we know today, is derived from the Welsh for "fortress of the legion".

Isca Augusta was founded by Governor Sextus Julius Frontinus during the final campaigns against the native tribes of western Britain, notably the Silures in South Wales who had resisted the Romans’ advance for over a generation.
It became the headquarters of the Legio II Augusta, a large fortress base on the typical rectangular castrum pattern and built initially with an earth bank and timber palisade. It remained their headquarters until at least 300 AD.

The camp interior was fitted out with the usual array of military buildings: a headquarters building, legate's residence, tribunes' houses, hospital, large bath house, workshops, barrack blocks, granaries and, unusually, a large amphitheatre.

The excavated amphitheatre

Britannia was one of the most heavily militarised provinces due to its frontier status and hostile neighbours. Isca Augusta is uniquely important for the study of the conquest, pacification and colonisation of the island. It was one of only three permanent legionary fortresses in later Roman Britain and, unlike the other sites at Chester and York, its archaeological remains are relatively undisturbed beneath fields and the town of Caerleon.

Excavations continue and one of the most exciting discoveries is a complex of very large monumental buildings outside the fortress between the River Usk and the amphitheatre. This new area of the canabae (settlement of traders, families and discharged soldiers) was previously completely unknown.

And in August 2011 it was announced that remains of a Roman harbour had been discovered in Caerleon.  I have a little secret about that. Walking by the fortress wall in the fine rain a month before, loving and absorbing everything, I bumped into a fellow walker. We chatted and he obviously caught on that I was a ‘Roman nut’.  He told me he was a member of the University of Cardiff faculty involved in digging the site. Poor man! I bombarded him with questions.

Mosaic and pottery finds, Roman National Legion Museum

But as he was speaking to another enthusiast, he told me they were developing excavations as there had been indications there was much more to find. There always is, of course, but his was a humdinger. He revealed that remains of a Roman harbour had been found in a meadow by the river.. All very hush-hush, so please not to speak about it. I almost jumped up and down, but did manage to keep my dignity. You can look through the gallery of pictures for more images of what Roman Caerleon might have looked like.

Most of the sites I have been to are ruins, but there is memory in those stones. Touching walls, walking on mosaics, breathing the air of the place and sometimes seeing the same view they saw.

Prysg Field Barracks

The walls of Prysg Field Barracks at Caerleon, the only Roman legionary barracks visible in Europe are gone, but the foundations are still there showing their outline.  The amphitheatre – the largest ever uncovered in Britain and once romantically (and mistakenly) said to have been the site of Arthur’s Round Table of Camelot – is grassed over. The timber grandstand which would have seated some 6,000 shouting, cursing and cheering legionaries and townspeople is no more.  These and the legionaries’ swimming pool, the make you wonder who the people were who trod the same pathways, swam in the pool, placed bets, got drunk, made assignations. The light grey sky, the misty rain, the waves and slopes of the landscapes, your hand touching the stone and concrete in a place where so many people had lived and worked two thousand years ago give you something that no book or picture or film can give you.

Sources:
Bidwell, Paul T. (1980). Roman Exeter: Fortress and Town. Exeter City Council.
Hoskins, W. G. (2004). Two Thousand Years in Exeter (Revised and updated ed.)
National Roman Legion Museum, Caerleon
University of Cardiff, Dr Peter Guest
BBCwww.bbc.com/news/uk-wales-14628286 [Accessed 20/2/2017]

For more on Caerleon discoveries see youtu.be/nwx00pe2HH8 [Accessed 20/2/2017]

[Photographs - author’s own, one time use allowed for this article]

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Alison Morton has misspent decades clambering over Roman sites throughout Europe. She holds a MA History, blogs about Romans and writing. Now she writes, cultivates a Roman herb garden and drinks wine in France with her husband of 30 years.

She writes the Roma Nova thriller series featuring modern Praetorian heroines. She blends her deep love of Roman history with six years’ military service and a life of reading crime, adventure and thriller fiction.

All five books have been awarded the BRAG Medallion. SUCCESSIO, AURELIA and INSURRECTIO were selected as Historical Novel Society’s Indie Editor’s Choices.  AURELIA was a finalist in the 2016 HNS Indie Award. The sixth, RETALIO, is due out in April 2017.

Buying links: alison-morton.com/books-2/buying-links/
Blogsite: alison-morton.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/AlisonMortonAuthor/
Twitter: twitter.com/alison_morton

Divine Companionship and Eternal Life: Mystery Cults in Roman Britain

By Mark Patton.

The official religions of ancient Greece and Rome were largely formalised affairs. Gods and goddesses such as Jupiter, Minerva, Apollo and Venus existed, and had to be propitiated, but people could expect little from them in return. They were simply too remote to take any interest in the affairs of mortals. Their temples were not arenas for communal worship, like modern churches, synagogues or mosques, but rather places that one approached to sacrifice, in a spirit of public duty. There were few emotional dimensions to such devotion and, specifically, they offered little prospect of life after death.

Greek and Roman conceptions of an afterlife, to the extent that they had such a concept at all, were fairly dismal by most modern standards. Even a great hero such as Achilles would find himself in a dull grey twilight of eternity, a pale reflection of an all-to-brief life. "...never try to console me for dying," his spirit says to Odysseus, in the eleventh book of Homer's Odyssey. "I would rather follow the plough as thrall to another man, one with no land allotted to him, and not much to live on, than be a king over all the perished dead."

By the time that Britain became part of the Roman Empire, however, a new dimension to Roman religion had begun to emerge. Mystery cults, many of them centred on the worship of gods and goddesses from the fringes of the Roman world, spread rapidly across the Empire. Unlike the official religions, these cults were accessible only to initiates, and they offered a promise of ultimate resurrection, as a companion to a specific deity. Many of these were based on metaphors of death and rebirth drawn from elements of the natural world.

The oldest of these cults, The Mysteries of Eleusis, had grown up in ancient Greece, perhaps as early as 1500 BC, and persisted through the Second and Third Centuries AD, until they were suppressed by Christian emperors. Their focus was on Persephone, the daughter of the Goddess Demeter, who was abducted by Hades, the God of the Underworld, but rescued by her mother, and thereafter permitted to spend half the year above ground. Demeter and Persephone were associated with agrarian production, so the central metaphor concerned the growth, harvesting, re-planting and re-growth of wheat. By the beginning of the Second Century AD, however, The Mysteries of Eleusis had become one of the most exclusive clubs in the Roman world: few could afford the necessary pilgrimage to Greece, and the lengthy initiation ceremonies required to become an immortal companion of Persephone.

The "Ninnion Tablet," representing The Eleusinian Mysteries, 4th Century BC, found at Eleusis, Greece, National Archaeological Museum, Athens. Photo: Marsyas (licensed under GNU).

The cult of Mithras was, perhaps, the most widespread of the mystery religions in the Western Empire, not least because of its popularity within the Roman army. Originally a Persian deity, but much altered in the Roman context, the slaughtering of a bull by Mithras was the central motif, and it was through the redemptive blood of the bull that resurrection was believed to take place. Much about the cult and its rituals remains unknown, but initiation seems to have been available only to men: an odd conception of the afterlife - an eternity without women - but perhaps there was a secret twist that initiates took to their graves?

The Temple of Mithras in London. Mithras temples were underground, and represented the cave in which Mithras slew the sacred bull. Photo: Solar (licensed under CCA).

Figure of Mithras, from the London Mithraeum. Photo: Carole Raddato (licensed under CCA).

The cult of the Egyptian Goddess, Isis, seems to have been open to both men and women. In ancient Egyptian myth, her brother-husband, Osiris, was murdered, and chopped into pieces,by a treacherous rival. Isis gathered the pieces, bound them into the first "mummy," breathed new life into the body, and was then impregnated by the resurrected god, giving birth to a son, Horus. Like Mithras, she had a temple in London, although it has not been located (a flagon, found in Southwark, bears the inscription "Londini ad Fanum Isidis" - "at London by the Temple of Isis"). Her cult was closely linked to that of another Egyptian God, Serapis, who, like Demeter and Persephone, is associated with the grain harvest.

Bronze figurine of Isis, found in the Thames at London, Museum of London (image is in the Public Domain).

Figure of Serapis, from the London Mithraeum. Serapis was a Graeco-Egyptian god, closely associated with the cult of Isis. He brings together elements of the earlier Egyptian Gods, Horus (often portrayed with a falcon's head) and Apis (depicted as a bull) - the Greeks and Romans were uncomfortable with the animal attributes of Egyptian gods. His head-dress represents a grain measure. Photo: Udimu (licensed under GNU).

Inscription from Eboracum (York), recording the establishment of a Temple of Serapis by General Claudius Hieronymianus, Commander of the 6th Legion. He served at York from 190 to 212 AD, and may have inaugurated the temple to mark the visit of the Emperor Septimius Severus, known to be a devotee of the god. Hieronymianus later served as Governor of Cappadocia, where, Tertullian tells us, he was angered by his wife's conversion to Christianity. Some bodies in the Roman cemetery at York were buried encased in gypsum, probably an unsuccessful attempt to imitate Egyptian mummification practices. Photo: Mike Peel (www.mikepeel.net), licensed under CCA. 

The cult of Bacchus seems, similarly, to have been open to men and women, and the rituals must surely have involved the consumption of much wine. The central metaphor of the cult was that of the annual cutting back of the vine in the autumn, followed by its regeneration in the spring, and the new harvest at the end of the summer. The god himself was symbolically reborn, and, with him, his male and female companions, wine taking the place of blood as the fluid by means of which resurrection is made possible.

Fourth Century figure of Bacchus, with his drinking companions, Silenus and Pan, and a female devotee, from the London Mithraeum, which was ultimately re-dedicated to Bacchus. Museum of London. The inscription reads "Hominibus Vagis Vitam" ("You give life to wandering mortals"). Photo: Zde (licensed under CCA).

Sarcophagus and lead coffin from a cemetery at Smithfield, London, Museum of London. The coffin contained the remains of a young woman of the highest social class, born in Rome, thus possibly a daughter or sister of the Governor. Some of the motifs on the coffin suggest that she may have been a devotee of Bacchus. Photo: Mike Peel (www.mikepeel.net), licensed under CCA.

Christianity was, in the Second and Third Centuries AD, just another mystery cult, with Jesus as the latest heroic, divine figure, who was born; nurtured by a mother; shed his blood; died; and was resurrected; enabling his human companions to follow him into an eternal afterlife, free from all of the pains and indignities of life on Earth. Early depictions of him often resemble portrayals of Mithras, Bacchus or Horus, and his cult was especially popular with the lower classes, including slaves, excluded from many of the other cults. It was only with the adoption of Christianity as the official religion of the Empire, by the Emperor Constantine in the Fourth Century AD that its character changed: ancient philosophical traditions were harnessed to the cause of theology, and the other cults were variously suppressed, or simply faded away.

Third Century depiction of Christ from a Roman villa at Hinton Saint Mary. Another room in the same villa included Pagan imagery, so were the family hedging their bets, or did members of the same family follow different religions? Photo: JMiall (licensed under CCA).

Isis suckling Horus, figurine in The Louvre. Such depictions, widespread throughout the Roman World, are believed to have influenced early Christian depictions of the Virgin Mary suckling the infant Christ. Photo: Guillaume Blanchard (licensed under CCA).

The mystery religions of the Second and Third Centuries AD were many and varied, but they drew on one another, and were often intertwined. Most of them offered hope in an afterlife that was absent from the official cults, and this was often in the context of a personal relationship with a deity that few (even emperors) could hope to have with Jupiter, Minerva or Venus. Many were based around similar metaphors: grain and bread; wine and blood; death and resurrection; and these metaphors, in their Christian variant, survived through the Middle Ages into our own times.

Mark Patton blogs regularly on aspects of history and historical fiction at http://mark-patton.blogspot.co.uk. His novels, Undreamed Shores, An Accidental King, and Omphalos, are published by Crooked Cat Publications, and can be purchased from Amazon. He is currently working on The Cheapside Tales, a London-based trilogy of historical novels.