The Faded Map: The Lost Kingdoms of Scotland (13 page)

Tacitus described how Agricola took care to make the benefits of Romanisation attractive in the south where ‘the toga was everywhere to be seen’ amongst native elites, and there is no reason to think that policy had changed under the governorship of Lollius Urbicus and his successors. For twenty years – a generation – the kindreds of the south of Scotland were part of the empire and many of those who ruled over them probably found the notion attractive, even exotic. Like Syrians, Egyptians and Numidians, they were now with Rome and, like Lollius Urbicus’ family, they may have seen the empire as an opportunity, a career. And even in 163, when the frontier was pulled back to Hadrian’s Wall, those
glamorous aspirations may only have dimmed a little – the Empire might return, the infrastructure was waiting.

Successful ambush obviously depended on surprise but what could convert surprise into disabling shock was speed and earth-shattering sudden noise. At Deskford in Banffshire, the source of the latter was accidentally discovered in 1816. According to a later report:

There was found, about twenty years ago, on the confines of a farm called Leichestown, the resemblance of a swine’s head in brass, of the ordinary size, with a wooden tongue moveable by springs. It also had eyes, and the resemblance in every respect was wonderfully exact. It was found at a depth of about six feet, in a mossy and knolly piece of ground on a bed of clay. The ground abounded with hazel-nuts, which looked entire, but upon being opened, were found empty.

It was a carnyx, a famous type of Celtic trumpet. Diodorus Siculus wrote that ‘their trumpets again are of a peculiar barbarian kind; they blow into them and produce a harsh sound which suits the tumult of war’. The beautiful boar’s head with the wooden clapper was mounted on a long vertical tube which terminated in a mouthpiece turned towards the player in an elongated s-shape or j-shape. On a well-known cauldron found at Gundestrup in Denmark, three carnyx players are shown holding up their tall instruments to their mouths.

Like the Highland clans with their bagpipes, the northern kindreds charged into battle at the sound of the carnyx. And just as pipers could act as buglers, sounding different orders over the din of war cries and screams, so the carnyx was used by native commanders to control their warriors.

When presented with a replica of the Deskford carnyx, the musician, John Kerry, discovered a surprising range. Most interesting was the ability of the instrument to imitate animal noises and, in particular, those made by a charging wild boar.
Like the Australian didgeridoo, it was also possible to reproduce sounds like proto-speech very loudly. Several carnyxes blasting into life at the same time must have been terrifying.

Animals were long seen by the northern kindreds as tremendously powerful symbols. And, since carnyx heads could be cast to represent a great range of creatures, it may be that the men who raised their weapons and charged when the Deskford trumpet sounded felt themselves both protected and empowered by the aggressive virtues of the wild boar. When Ptolemy plotted the names of the kindreds of the furthest north, he marked down the Orkoi, the Boar People of the Orkneys, the Caereni, the Sheep Folk of the north west, the Lugi, the Ravens of Sutherland as well as the Epidii, the Horse Masters of Kintyre and the Venicones, the Kindred Hounds of Fife.

The second requirement for a successful ambush was such speed as to allow little or no time for the enemy to react, organise themselves and form into anything other than a ragged defensive alignment. Chariots and cavalry racing from cover out across the open ground on either side of a Roman road could achieve devastating speed. Tacitus mentioned chariots at Mons Graupius and thought them ineffective. Caesar disagreed and here is what he saw in southern Britain in 55
BC
:

In chariot fighting the Britons begin by driving all over the field hurling javelins. Generally, the terror inspired by the horses and the noise of the wheels are sufficient to throw their opponent’s ranks into disorder. Then, after making their way between the squadrons of their own cavalry, they jump down from the chariots and engage on foot. In the meantime, the charioteers retire a short distance from the battle and place their vehicles in such a position that their masters, if hard pressed by numbers, have an easy means of retreat to their own lines. Thus, they combine the mobility of cavalry with the staying power of infantry.

Celtic metalwork was much prized and the long slashing sword described by Tacitus, the
spatha
, could be fearsomely
sharp. It was more effective as a cavalry sabre and usually only members of a
teulu
could hope to own a battle sword. Spears were much more common and warriors generally carried two – a heavier for thrusting in close-quarter combat and a lighter for throwing. In Europe, Celtic armies were known as
Gaesatae
, ‘the Spearmen’. Shields carried by cavalry troopers were necessarily small and used for parrying rather than protection. Infantry carried longer and larger shields and both sorts had a metal boss in the centre, in front of the handgrip, so that it could be used as an offensive weapon.

Roman commentators often remarked on the Celtic habit of fighting naked. Wearing only a helmet, a torc around the neck and a sword belt, warriors were seen charging into battle wearing no protection whatever – at least none that a Roman would recognise. But it was there in the minds of the naked warriors. Most men wore tattoos that they probably saw as powerful talismans. Animals appear to have been especially revered – the horse, the wild boar, the hound, the raven and the bull all had characteristics, either real or imagined, which warriors believed would help them. There are obvious links between kindred names, the sounds of the carnyx which sent them into battle and what had been impregnated on their bodies. No doubt the Romans thought nudity made Celtic warriors easier to kill.

No written records exist to support these likely suppositions – or indeed the heroics or ignominies of native soldiers and their
teulus
. Roman reaction is almost always the only guide and the appearance of particular sorts of coins suggests that, in the 150s, there was war in the north once again. It seems that the kings of the Anavionenses attacked and destroyed Blatobulgium, the fort at Birrens in Annandale. A coin issued in 155 celebrates an important Roman victory in Britain, almost certainly successful retaliation for the attack. The usual way of illustrating the defeat of native forces was to show the figure of Britannia (very much like the image on old pennies) with her head bowed. Remarkable archaeology has uncovered evidence of Roman campaigning against the Anavionenses – although its dates are by no means certain.

On the summit of Burnswark Hill stood the principal hill fort of the kindred and, at some point after the war with Rome in the 150s or possibly later, it may have become a military refuge as well as a sacred place. At its foot lie two temporary Roman camps, one on the north side and another on the south, probably the remains of a siege. Outside the walls of the latter stand the clearly defined outlines of three mounds. They were ballista emplacements, where the Romans set up artillery to fire missiles at the ramparts on Burnswark Hill. When archaeologists dug around the three gateways of the hill fort, they found large numbers of stone ballista balls. The Roman bombardiers were apparently skilled – able to gauge the range of their powerful trebuchets very precisely. There is also evidence for the use of large mechanical crossbows which could fire deadly iron-tipped bolts over long distances. In the campaigns in southern Britain after the Claudian invasion of 43, it was said that the garrisons of native hill forts were persuaded to surrender by the mere sight of ballistas being emplaced. The Burnswark fort was used later as a training ground for the much feared artillery of the Roman army.

During the second half of the second century, conflict broke out regularly in the north. Because it was the only notable military success of his reign, the conquest of southern Scotland had to be maintained while Antoninus Pius was emperor. When the frontier was pulled back to Hadrian’s Wall after his death, aggression from the north did not abate. During the reign of the deranged Commodus, serious trouble threatened the whole of Britannia. The northern kindreds burst through the wall defences and into the province where ‘they killed a general at the head of his forces’. This may have been the governor, probably the victim of ambush or surprise attack. Archaeology at the forts of Rudchester, Halton Chesters and Corbridge suggests that the northern army invaded down Dere Street and broke through in the east.

Commodus sent Ulpius Marcellus to restore order and it may be that the siege-works at Burnswark were undertaken on his orders and date to the 180s, in an attempt to crush the Anavionenses. Even if it succeeded, the native kings could claim overall
victory. The forts north of Hadrian’s Wall were never again occupied and despite the issue of coins in 184 with Britannia bowed and the assumption of the title of Britannicus by Commodus, Rome had been forced to retreat – and not by events elsewhere in the empire but as a result of native military pressure. It was a century after Mons Graupius and the kings of the north were once again resurgent.

Commodus’ chaotic reign marked the abrupt close of a long period of stability, the era of the so-called adoptive emperors. These were men appointed by their predecessors (often by a process of elimination – Hadrian had preferred several alternatives to Antoninus Pius) and not the result of the lottery of primogeniture, as it was with the succession of the crazy Commodus, the son of Marcus Aurelius. After his inevitable assassination on the last day of 192, Septimius Severus emerged as the new emperor, having disposed of most of his rivals. The only survivor, Clodius Albinus, governor of Britannia, was more tenacious and his claim to the throne lasted until his defeat and suicide at Lyons in 197.

The British-based legions had marched behind Albinus and the weakened provincial garrison quickly came under pressure from the northern kings. War bands raided in the south, according to the historian, Herodian, ‘laying waste the countryside . . . carrying off plunder and wrecking almost everything’. In 197 Septimius Severus sent Virius Lupus to Britain to calm the situation and secure the Hadrianic frontier. The two kindreds in the van of all that trouble were named as the Maeatae and the Caledonians. The former were new and place-names hint at their territories. Dumyat, the Dun of the Maeatae, is an impressive hill standing out from the southern range of the Ochils, and not far away is Myot Hill. These obvious geographical features with the name of a kindred attached are likely to have stood on a southern frontier. The lands of the Maeatae therefore lay to the north of the kingdom of Manau. They may have held the beautiful valley of Strathearn, the upper reaches of the Teith and the high ground to the north-east. And north of the Maeatae are two more place-names which might signify the southern marches of the Caledonians
in a similar way. Dunkeld was known in the ninth century as Dun Chaillden, ‘the Dun of the Caledonians’, and the second element of the striking, singular peak of Schiehallion also contains a version of the kindred name. Both may have been so called because they lie on the edge of their lands.

Virius Lupus brought cash to Britain rather than soldiers. Dio Cassius reported: ‘Because the Caledonians did not keep their promises but had prepared to assist the Maeatae . . . Lupus was compelled to buy peace from the Maeatae for a large sum, and he received a few prisoners of war in exchange.’

These last may have been Romans or prominent native allies of Rome. And Dio’s report says something about diplomacy. It was the Maeatae who were raiding in the province and taking prisoners while the Caledonians had either supported them or were about to. In any event the deal stuck. For ten years there appears to have been peace in the north. Perhaps regular subsidies were handed over. No doubt the kings of the Maeatae were content with their gold, but Septimius Severus was a tough soldier with a long memory and an utterly ruthless nature.

Aerial photography has revealed evidence of his ruthlessness, a series of four extraordinary structures in southern Scotland – a string of temporary marching camps on the line of Dere Street, from Trimontium to Pathhead and the high ground south of the Firth of Forth. What is extraordinary is their size. Each extends to more than 165 acres and they are located only eight miles apart. They show the trail of a vast Roman army on the march in 208. Forty thousand men were being led by the Emperor himself on a spectacular mission to invade and pacify the north. Septimius Severus’ patience with the Maeatae and the Caledonians was at an end. Dio Cassius again:

The Britons having broken their agreements and taken up arms, Severus ordered his soldiers to invade their territory and to put to the sword all that they met, adding the Homeric quotation that ‘they should let nobody escape, not even the children hidden in their mothers’ wombs’.

Genocide was what the Emperor planned – a ruthless campaign of extermination. As the Grand Army marched down from Soutra Hill and saw the Firth of Forth in the distance, another measure of the might and reach of Rome came into view. Bobbing at anchor in the firth were no fewer than four imperial fleets brigaded together to join the invasion. Under the flagship of the Classis Britannica, the British Fleet, was the Rhine Fleet and two fleets from the Danube. Such was the scale and the sweep of Roman military planning that these last had sailed out of the Black Sea many weeks previously, travelled the length of the Mediterranean, up the Atlantic coast of France, through the Channel and up the North Sea coast. Perhaps 200 ships, triremes, biremes and liburnae waited in the Forth Roads. Signallers from the Grand Army may have made contact while they were on the high ground at Soutra.

Marching six men abreast, their eagle standards glinting in the sunshine and the low thud of their hobnailed boots thundering on the road, the British legions and their auxiliaries made up the bulk of Severus’ force. Because he led them in person, the Praetorian Guard had come from Rome, 9,000 strong, and there were also detachments from European legions. With their baggage train, the infantry column stretched for six miles. Out wide on the flanks, squadrons of cavalry, perhaps 10,000 troopers in all, swept the countryside for any hostile activity. As the rearguard left the camp they had dug the night before, the surveyors were pegging out the site for the next one. It was probably the largest army ever to invade Scotland and, as the foraging legions moved slowly across the landscape, they devoured all in their path, like a plague of locusts.