3100 BCE Neolithic Britons
2600 BCE Beaker people
2000 BCE Wessex culture
1200 BCE Urnfield culture
700 BCE Hallstatt culture
By 500 BCE, Britain was a very difference place from what it had been during the earlier Megalithic era. Although the country was divided into separate tribes, each controlled by a chieftain and ruling warrior elite, the domestication of horses meant that there was regular travel and extensive trading between the separate regions, all sharing a common Celtic culture. And it was a culture that can be considered much closer to a true civilization than anything that had gone before. The tribal regions were each overseen from a fortified capital and controlled by armed warriors, trackways for riders and wagons joined communities together, and a priesthood (which we shall be examining in the next chapter) seems to have wielded a degree of overall authority that united the tribes into something of a single entity.
Although most people were either cremated or buried in simple pits, the leading members of society, chieftains of both sexes, were often interred beneath mounds, a practice that had not been seen in Britain for centuries. These mounds were built either from earth, giving them a similar appearance to earlier tumuli, or from large piles of stones, known as cairns. Many excellent examples have survived in Wales, such as the so-called Red Cairn, which is one of a group of burial mounds at the Garn Goch Iron Age hillfort in the district of Llandeilo in the Brecon Beacons, just to the south of the village of Carmel in the county of Carmarthenshire, and three huge stone cairns that stand in a row inside the early Iron Age hillfort of Foel Drygarn in Pembrokeshire. The best-preserved examples of high-status Iron Age burials have been excavated in Yorkshire in northern England. The site, on the land of Arras Farm near the town of Market Weighton, included a number of burial mounds up to 25 feet in diameter containing the bodies of men and women interred with splendid funerary goods, such as pendants, brooches, bracelets, rings, necklaces, and horse trappings, four of them containing entire chariots.22 The most elaborate Iron Age burial sites, however, are box tombs, a kind of scaled-up cist, but built above ground level rather than in a pre-dug pit and covered by a cairn (large pile of stones) rather than a simple mound of earth and rubble. These rare tombs, also known as box cairns, seem to have been reserved for the priesthood (see chapter 11).
Intriguingly such Iron Age burial mounds reveal that, although few new megalithic monuments were created, the old ones were still being used: the Celts were deliberately building these tombs inside or right next to the ancient stone circles. For example, in the far south of England the Yellowmead Stone Circle, near Sheepstor in Devon, had an Iron Age burial cairn constructed inside it, as did a stone circle known as Fingal’s Cauldron on the Isle of Arran in Scotland. At Castlerigg in Cumbria an Iron Age burial mound, which now survives as a rectangular arrangement of ten stones, was built within the stone circle, and at Callanish on the Isle of Lewis a 20-foot-diameter chambered mound was erected inside the ring as late as the first century BCE. In some places excavations have revealed that entire megalithic complexes continued to be used: the organic remains of ritual feasting have been found at such sites, dating from throughout the Iron Age. At Llanidan on the Isle of Anglesey, for instance, the 180-foot-diameter henge circle of Bryn Gwyn continuously served as a ceremonial center until the area was overrun by the Romans in 60 CE.
The archaeological evidence clearly shows that, far from being abandoned around 1200 BCE, in many parts of Britain stone circles and other megalithic monuments continued to hold some special significance for the local population throughout the Celtic era. Most remarkably Stonehenge itself seems to have been used by the Celts right up until the time of the Roman invasion in 43 CE. The oldest historical reference to Stonehenge is thought to be by the Greek writer Diodorus Siculus in his Bibliotheca Historica (Library of History), written around 50 BCE, shortly after Julius Caesar led an abortive campaign to Britain. He refers to an island to the north of what is now France (presumably Britain) having a round temple sacred to a sun god where an influential priesthood regularly performed rituals. The devotees of this god, we are told, lived in a city close by. Stonehenge could indeed be described as a circular temple, and we have seen, it was aligned to the midsummer sunrise, perhaps giving foreign visitors reason to associate it with the worship of a solar deity.23 In 2008 archaeological excavations at Stonehenge unearthed evidence of ritual feasting at the site dating to this very period.24 And just over a mile to the east of Stonehenge is one of the largest Iron Age settlements in Britain, possibly the nearby “city” referred to by Diodorus. Now called Vespasian’s Camp, it was continuously occupied from the Bronze Age until Roman times.
The people who were using Stonehenge and other megalithic sites when the Romans came to Britain were not the same people who built them. However, as the Celts continued to revere these ancient stone circles, they may well have inherited knowledge concerning their original purpose from their predecessors. Perhaps they were using them for the very same reason. Culture after culture appears to have been transfixed by these unique monuments of the British Isles and to have continued to venerate them regardless of their ethnic differences. No contemporary texts reveal how any of these people themselves regarded the megalithic monuments: none of them, even the Celts, developed their own form of writing—that is, until the Romans arrived. It is therefore to Roman writings concerning the Celtic Britons and their beliefs that we now turn in our quest to understand just why the enigmatic stone circles were built.
10
Celtic Inheritance and the Roman Invasion
SO FAR, OUR INVESTIGATION into the stone circle mystery has relied on archaeological discoveries. Now, however, we have reached the point in British history when written records were compiled by the Romans. In 55 and 54 BCE, Britain was subjected to campaigns by Julius Caesar, and a century later, under Emperor Claudius, the island was successfully invaded. As we have seen, megalithic monuments were still being used at this time. So do Roman authors tell us what function the stone circles actually served? There survive a number of primary historical sources that include events relating to this period in Britain.
The Gallic Wars by Julius Caesar, his own account of campaigns in northwestern Europe, which provides a wealth of detail concerning the culture of the Celts in general, including Britain, during the 50s BC
The Annals, The Histories, and The Life of Julius Agricola (usually referred to collectively as The Agricola) by the Roman senator Publius Cornelius Tacitus, who wrote around 100 CE
The Twelve Caesars by Gaius Suetonius Tranquillus, commonly known as Suetonius, a Roman historian who wrote during the early second century CE
The Roman History by Cassius Dio, a Roman statesman of Greek origin who wrote around 200 CE
Before considering what these sources might reveal concerning how the Britons regarded the megalithic monuments, we need to examine just why the Romans were impelled to occupy Britain at all, bearing in mind the kind of problems the invasion entailed. It all involved the very people who were still using the stone circles: an enigmatic Celtic sect called the Druids.
The Roman war machine was unlike anything seen before: a full-time, professional army of trained soldiers, separated into military units akin to a modern fighting force. It consisted of legions, comparable to brigades, made up of about five thousand men commanded by a legate, the equivalent of a modern colonel. Each legion was designated by a number (the 1st, 2nd, and so on) and divided into ten cohorts of around five hundred men, similar to a modern battalion, commanded by a praefectus cohortis, the equivalent of a lieutenant colonel. In turn, the cohort was made up of units known as centuriae (singular centuria), or centuries, which originally consisted of a hundred men (hence the name), but by the time Britain was invaded they numbered around eighty. These were commanded by a centurion, the equivalent of a modern captain, and the smallest unit was the contubernium, corresponding to a modern squad, consisting of eight m
en led by a decanus, similar to a sergeant. In the first century CE the entire Roman army stood at around thirty legions, but during campaigns each five-thousand-strong legion was enhanced by up to the same number of auxiliaries. These were recruited from foreign peoples, such as the Germanic tribes or those from already occupied lands. Their Latin name, auxilia, means “reinforcements,” but for all intents and purposes they were mercenaries, providing extra manpower and specialized fighting techniques. Auxiliaries were less armored, hence more mobile than legionaries, and were often used to attack enemy positions or pursue retreating opponents. Like the Roman soldiers themselves, these warriors were not conscripts but paid and skilled volunteers.1
Depending on the rank and function of individual soldiers, armor included metal helmets with back guards and side panels to protect the neck and face, coats of chain mail, metal or leather breastplates, shoulder armor, and shin guards. The front-line infantry carried sturdy, rectangular, vertically curved shields that were made from two sheets of wood glued together, covered with canvas or hide, and reinforced with a central metal boss. Known as scuta (singular scutum), they were about 3.5 feet high and 2 feet wide, and they were designed to be locked together to form a defensive wall in front of and above the combatants when they were arranged in what was called a testudo, or “tortoise,” formation (as the configuration resembled the animal’s protective shell). These soldiers were virtually invulnerable to enemy arrows, while the lengthwise, outward curve of the shield was designed to deflect spears. The opposition was thus forced to engage them at close quarters, which was exactly what the Romans wanted. The legionaries were armed with a short stabbing sword called a gladius, which could be thrust into opponents between narrow slits in their shield wall. Behind the front line were troops hurling javelins called pila (singular pilum). Around 6.5 feet long, their wooden shafts were joined to a 2-foot shank made from a softer iron than the head, causing it to bend upon impact, rendering it useless for the enemy to throw back. Most of Rome’s opponents had simple, flat wooden shields; once these had a long, weighty, twisted javelin sticking out of them, they became heavy, unwieldy, and almost useless until the item was removed. And while attempting to pull it out, the warrior was defenseless against further javelins and showers of arrows launched from behind the Roman front lines. The Romans also had cavalry trained to guard the flanks and to break enemy formations, as well as deadly artillery. The ballista, a kind of giant crossbow, was a highly accurate weapon able to launch large projectiles, such as darts, stones, or iron balls, at targets up to 1,500 feet away. As well as being used as siege devices, the ballistas also were employed to pick off individual opponents, such as tribal leaders; some were specially mounted on carts to create a type of light, mobile field artillery. Then there was the heavy artillery: various types of huge catapults for demolishing fortifications.2
Just like modern armed forces, the Roman military was a standing army. When they weren’t fighting the soldiers spent their time training, over and over, to prepare for all eventualities. The Britons they were to face were woefully unprepared for such foes. They were no single entity like the Roman war machine but were divided into separate tribes with only a few full-time warriors: local militia whose main purpose was to keep law and order and to defend their land against incursions by adjacent tribes. No Celtic population, in any part of Europe, is known to have employed a regular military set up as we would understand it today. Organization was according to status. Only the warrior caste would be fully armed and protected by chain mail, helmets, and decent armor; the majority of those engaged in the fighting—usually farmers and other workers conscripted at the last minute—would have no protection at all, apart from a small shield. Some would have swords and some spears, but many would be armed with little more than makeshift weapons adapted from farming implements, such as axes, sickles, and pitchforks. But even the Celtic swords—long, unwieldy, slashing weapons—were virtually useless against the testudo formations employed by the Romans. British horsemen were few and uncoordinated, far removed from effective cavalry. The Britons mainly used their horses to pull chariots. These were nothing like the huge metal carriages with knives attached to the wheels and drawn by multiple horses that were imagined by the Victorians and sometimes portrayed in the movies, but small, single-horse-drawn wicker carts with a driver and a warrior aboard, armed with a bow and spears. They were deployed in rapid hit-and-run maneuvers, usually aimed at slaying officers or harrying the less defended soldiers behind the front lines. These caused problems for Julius Caesar when he campaigned in Britain in the mid-50s BCE, but a century later, during the successful invasion, the Romans had adapted to counter this threat. The Britons had archers, of course, but the Romans’ testudo formations, their armor, and their military tactics meant that their soldiers were either well protected or out of range. Crucially, the Britons had no long-range weapons or artillery. Roman artillery, however, made short work of the wooden stockades surrounding Celtic hillforts. It was all pretty much one sided. When the Britons were on the offensive, their only option was basically to charge head-on at the enemy, which might have worked well when fighting among themselves, but against the Romans it was invariably a rush to slaughter. So successful was the Roman army in Britain that, in one battle fought in 61 CE, Tacitus relates how eighty thousand Britons fell with the loss of only four hundred Romans.3
The Romans, however, did have a weakness: they were badly prepared to fight in mountainous or forested regions. In 9 CE, for example, Emperor Augustus sent three legions to invade Germany east of the Rhine. There, they were forced to march through dark woodland, along narrow tracks and through ravines, in columns stretched out for miles. The campaign was a short-lived disaster. The army was continually ambushed by the Germans. Small bands of warriors repeatedly sprang from the thick forest to cut down the passing troops, while spears and arrows rained down from the cover of trees and rocks. Roman soldiers were trained to fight in open land, in large, tight-knit formations, and caught in file, they were in complete disarray. Over a period of three days they were cut to pieces, and the last survivors of three entire legions were hunted to extinction. Many, including their commander, Varus, chose suicide rather than fall into enemy hands.4 This same vulnerability was to cause problems for the Romans’ British operations: many parts of the country were forested, while Wales and northern England were mountainous, so both regions took years to be subdued. In fact, the Scottish Highlands were so treacherous that the Romans failed utterly to conquer Scotland.
It is concerning Roman campaigns against the Celts that we have our first written accounts regarding those who were still using the ancient stone circles in Britain (see chapter 9). Between 58 and 50 BCE, Julius Caesar conquered the Celtic territories of Gaul, an area encompassing present-day France, Luxembourg, Belgium, most of Switzerland, and northern Italy, as well as the parts of the Netherlands and Germany on the west bank of the Rhine.5 But despite this remarkable military achievement, the great general twice failed to invade Britain. In 55 and 54 BCE he fought a series of skirmishes in the southeastern corner of England, but his forces were overstretched, and he was impelled to return to the Continent. The reason he conducted these risky operations—well before he had completed his conquest of Gaul—Caesar explains in his personal account of the Celtic campaigns, The Gallic Wars. Writing in the third person, he relates that he was “resolved to proceed into Britain, because he discovered that, in almost all the wars with the Gauls, assistance had been furnished to our enemy from that country.”6 This was not military aid, however, but some kind of detrimental (from the Roman perspective) moral support afforded by a mystical sect that originated in Britain.7
The two highest echelons of British society, we are told, were the nobles and a priestly class called the Druids, from the old Celtic derwijes, meaning “truth sayers.” (Roman writers also refer to them as prophetas, meaning “those who see the future or make predictions.”) The nobles were the chieftains, their families, and
the warrior elite—the aristocracy, if you like—whose influence was pretty much confined to their own tribe (of which there were around fifty in Britain), but the jurisdiction of the Druids exceeded tribal boundaries: they were not only priests, but also acted as teachers, advisors, and judges. They appear to have traveled to Gaul, where they had the influence to unite the chieftains of otherwise quarrelsome tribes to join forces against the Romans. Significantly, these Druids seem to have been the very priesthood referenced by Caesar’s contemporary, Diodorus Siculus, as performing ceremonies at Stonehenge (see chapter 9). So problematic was their unifying authority that during the invasion of Britain, a century later, the Romans risked everything to eliminate them.
From Caesar’s time, even though Gaul was now fully occupied by the Romans, local insurrections regularly occurred, instigated by British Druids, and it was to eliminate this threat that Emperor Claudius initiated the conquest of Britain. There is a common misconception that the entire country was overrun in 43 CE. In reality, this was merely the year that the invasion began. It occurred in stages, taking the Romans four decades to fully conquer what is now England and Wales, while an attempt to invade Scotland was ultimately abandoned altogether.
The campaign began under the leadership of the general Aulus Plautius, who commanded four legions (the 2nd, 11th, 14th, and 22nd). Together with the auxiliaries, this was around forty thousand men. (Auxiliary units from far and wide were deployed in Britain, including from what are now France, Germany, Spain, and Greece.) By 47 CE the Romans had occupied most of southern and southeastern England and had established the Roman capital at Camulodunum, modern Colchester in the county of Essex. Claudius was in no hurry to complete his conquest of the country, and the next few years were spent consolidating captured territory. Roman towns were established, and a series of fortifications was created, linked by paved roads, making it easy to deploy soldiers where necessary. Large fortresses, known as castra (singular castrum), were built as permanent barracks for entire legions, while smaller forts housed around five hundred men, usually auxiliaries, whose job it was to patrol an already occupied zone. The border between the Roman-held and native-held areas initially consisted of a road called the Fosse Way, joining a chain of forts that stretched for 170 miles between the fortresses of Isca (modern Exeter in Devon) and Ratae (modern Leicester in east-central Britain). However, there was fierce fighting to the west of this front, in what is now central England. From there, frequent attacks were mounted across the border, led by a British chieftain named Caratacus, who was not defeated until 51 CE.8
Wisdomkeepers of Stonehenge Page 17