The emperor Severus attempted genocide in Scotland, writes
Colin Martin
The Roman historians Dio and Herodian were dismissive of
the campaigns waged by the emperor Septimius Severus and his son
Caracalla in northern Britain between AD208 and 211. No battles
were fought, and following the death of Severus at York all the
territories that had been campaigned over were abandoned.
Yet Dio and Herodian seem to have missed the point. Recent
archaeological research in Scotland suggests that Severus had no
intention of bringing the Caledonians to battle, but instead
attempted to wipe them out by systematic devastation of the
landscape. His policy, moreover, seems to have been successful,
as peace beyond the northern frontier lasted for most of the
following century.
The principal evidence consists of military bases associated with
Severan activity. At South Shields, overlooking the Tyne estuary,
a Hadrianic fort was reconstructed as a gigantic provisions
depot. Up-river the great base at Corbridge, always a nexus for
projected campaigns in the north, underwent major refurbishment
which included the building of granaries. Far to the north, on
the south banks of the Forth and Tay estuaries, forts were
established at Cramond and Carpow. The purpose of these appears
to have been to sustain by sea large armies campaigning north of
the Forth, so avoiding the long and manpower-consuming lines of
communication through southern Scotland which had characterised
earlier Roman incursions.
In addition, a number of temporary camps have been convincingly
identified as Severan. At Ardoch in Perthshire, for instance, two
large camps (covering 25ha and 55ha) - which post-date the annexe
of a fort in commission until the mid-2nd century - seem to
represent successive seasons of activity, and the most likely
recorded historical context is Severan campaigning in 209 and
210.
Fourteen other camps, similar in size, proportion and general
layout to the 25ha camp at Ardoch, are known in eastern Scotland
beyond the Forth. They trace lines north-eastwards through
Strathmore towards Aberdeen, along the Angus coastlands, and into
Fife. A similar pattern is followed by a series of 55ha camps,
which thrusts inexorably from the Forth to the head of
Strathmore. The camps are set on average 10 or 12 miles apart - a
comfortable day's march for a big army.
What were these camps for? Contrary to general belief the
progressive movement of a single large force through the
landscape was not the normal method of Roman campaigning; and
such substantial and coherent groups of camps as these are
without parallel in the Roman world. Hostile territory was most
readily dominated by ensnaring it in a web of strongpoints and
roads, which allowed Rome's most powerful weapons - literacy and
communication - to prevail. It seems therefore that Severus and
his generals had something completely different in mind than the
control and exploitation of a subjugated landscape.
When plotted against a modern map of agricultural potential the
putative Severan camps run unerringly through the most productive
land of eastern Scotland, and if a radius of 10 miles is drawn
round each, virtually no hectare of prime agricultural ground
remains uncovered. From the secure base represented by each camp,
determined troops would have had little difficulty in
systematically destroying the productive capacity of such an area
- burning the standing or stored crops and killing the livestock.
If the business was conducted around harvest time, the crops
would have been at their most vulnerable and the army itself
could live off the countryside it was laying waste. The American
Civil War Unionist General Sherman pursued just such a policy
during his infamous march through Georgia in 1864.
No direct contact with the enemy, whom Dio and
Herodian describe as elusive, would have been necessary. Few
would have survived winter in the devastated landscape; and in
the following spring, competition for what little remained,
combined with a chronic lack of seed and breeding livestock,
would have made the catastrophe self-perpetuating. Severus's
policy, in other words, seems to have been nothing short of an
attempt at genocide of the Caledonian population.
Dr Colin Martin is a Reader in Maritime Studies at the
University of St Andrews
Return to Table of Contexts
Return to the CBA homepage
Newly-found cave art reflects man's conflict
with wild animals, writes Paul Pettitt
In the flurry of excitement that greeted the discovery of
a new set of Upper Palaeolithic cave paintings in southern France
six months ago, the most interesting aspect of the paintings was
rarely mentioned, let alone discussed at length. It is that the
Grotte Chauvet, unlike any other known prehistoric painted cave
in the world, is full of paintings of carnivorous animals.
Palaeolithic paintings 20-30,000 years old are notoriously hard
to decipher, but on one matter nearly all scholars are agreed. In
depicting a range of large herbivores such as ibex and reindeer,
horses and bison, cave paintings in France and Spain reflect the
main types of meat eaten by people in the period. Herbivores are
depicted in the paintings at Grotte Chauvet too - recently dated
to 30-33,000BP - but in addition there are numerous paintings of
lions and bears, and perhaps the only Palaeolithic paintings in
Europe of spotted hyenas and a panther. In one panel, several
lions form a single composition, possibly stalking a herd of
bison facing them. So what does it all mean?
Caves commonly formed dens for large carnivores in the
Palaeolithic period, and in the Grotte Chauvet the bones and
paw-prints of carnivores have been found associated with - and
dating from the same period as - traces of human activity, such
as hearths, footprints, worked stone, and places where pigments
had been grubbed up and rolled into pellets. Some cave bear bones
lie intact in hibernation nests, suggesting that the animals died
in hibernation; but in many instances, carnivore bones have been
disturbed, and placed in what may be `privileged' positions - as
with a bear skull positioned on a large rock slab in the centre
of a large chamber. Cave bears have sharpened their claws on the
cave walls, and the claw marks often deface the paintings.
However, the evidence of animal-bone assemblages from caves
throughout Europe shows that by the Upper Palaeolithic carnivores
were using caves considerably less than in earlier periods.
Whereas Neanderthal bones from the Middle Palaeolithic are often
found in caves with gnaw-marks, suggesting the Neanderthals had
been eaten by animals, no known Upper Palaeolithic human bones
have been disturbed by animals. Taken together, the evidence
suggests that, over time, humans overcame - or at least contained
- the threat of carnivorous animals; and by fire, projectiles and
other weapons, generally kept them away from caves they were
using.
It may well be that man's broadly successful struggle against
carnivorous animals partly explains their presence in the Grotte
Chauvet paintings. Most Palaeolithic paintings were in some sense
`religious' - executed as they often were in dangerous and
inaccessible places, where the experience of seeing them would
have been heightened - and perhaps in overcoming the major threat
posed by bears, hyenas and lions, humans invested these animals
with a religious or mythological significance. Such Palaeolithic
`carnivore myths' may have been told, enacted and reinterpreted
in ritual ceremonies held in the mysterious confines of the cave.
Any such rituals would have involved `reading' the paintings and
interacting with the animal bones; and the Grotte Chauvet raises
many new questions about the mythological thinking of
Palaeolithic people. For instance, did they read the claw marks,
paw prints and bones of bears as they read their own art? What
did they make of the claw marks scratched through paintings? Did
people see themselves as carnivores; or did they rather project
human attributes onto carnivores; or did they do both?
The Grotte Chauvet paintings suggest that Palaeolithic people had
a complex imaginative relationship with animals, including
carnivores, that went far beyond the need to eat meat, and the
need to compete for food and shelter. The precise character of
Palaeolithic carnivore myths - if they existed at all - will
probably always remain a matter of speculation. However, further
excavations are planned in the cave, and it may prove to have
more secrets yet to reveal.
Paul Pettitt works in the Research Laboratory for Archaeology
and the History of Art, at the University of Oxford
Return to Table of Contexts
Return to the CBA homepage
We can learn much about the past by trying to
relive it, writes Jacqui Wood
What was life actually like in the Bronze Age? How smoky,
for instance, was the atmosphere inside a roundhouse? How did
Bronze Age women keep flies away from cheese? How comfortable
were Bronze Age shoes?
In the main, the only way to gain insight into these sorts
of questions is not through conventional archaeology, or the
painstaking analysis of finds, but through `experimental
archaeology' - that is, by reconstructing a life-size model
of a prehistoric settlement, and by attempting to solve through
trial and error the day-to-day problems of prehistoric living.
By reconstructing a Middle Bronze Age village on my land near
Truro in Cornwall, I believe I have been able to throw new light
on numerous aspects of Bronze Age life: on architecture and the
side-effects of house-building, on food preservation and storage,
on cooking, on tanning hides for leather, on basket-making, and
on weaving and other types of clothing manufacture.
Unlike most other experimental archaeology centres - such as the
famous Iron Age farm at Butser in Hampshire - I have attempted
to reconstruct all aspects of Bronze Age life, including all
crafts, rather than just a limited number. I have found that
different activities shed light on each other, and that insights
often come from surprising quarters.
Some of my practical (or intuitive) solutions to prehistoric
problems can in fact be backed up by traditional archaeological
evidence. Others cannot, and perhaps never will be. In these
cases, more rigorously science-minded archaeologists will have to
choose whether or not to accept them as historically valid.
However, in my view, if a solution can be shown to be both
practical and effective, using only materials available in the
Bronze Age, then there is a reasonable probability that the
solution was indeed put into practice somewhere, at some time,
during the Bronze Age period.
Having built four roundhouses (I am at present building my
fifth), I am convinced that the pitch of roundhouse roofs was
steeper, and that the thatch used was thinner, than most
archaeologists currently suppose.
At Butser Farm, the roundhouse roof was pitched at an angle of
about 45 degrees, and it was thatched by a skilled professional
thatcher. This seems to me to have been a mistake, because it
means that the thatch was put on in a modern way. On my
roundhouses, by contrast, I simply tied layers of water reeds
onto the roofs in the simplest way possible, and added a thatched
cap to the top. In addition, I pitched the roofs at an angle of
50 degrees, taking my cue from the tiny ceramic house-shaped
objects known as `house-urns' found at K”nigsaue in Germany, and
dating from c 500BC.
My roofs seem to work extremely well, for three reasons. First,
because rain runs off them quickly before it has a chance to seep
through; second, because they require about a third less thatch
than those at Butser Farm; and third, because they are thin
enough to allow smoke from inside to filter through, keeping the
air inside the roundhouse clear.
Most archaeologists assume roundhouses had no windows, but it
seemed reasonable to me, when I was building my roundhouses, to
cut windows in the daub walls, not just for light but also to
provide a draught for the central fire. I found that reed blinds
could be dropped depending on the direction of the wind. A year
after cutting my windows, I read of the discovery of `pieces of
daub with rounded cut-outs' found on Otomani (Bronze Age) sites
in Rumania, and at Fort Harrouard in Eure-et-Loir, France,
considered perhaps to have been window edging (cf Audouze
and Bchsenschutz, Towns, Villages and Countryside of Celtic
Europe, 82). If nothing else, this suggests that intuition is
not always wildly wrong.
At several Bronze Age settlement sites (for instance, at
Trethellan in Cornwall), pits have been found in a row, each one
relating to a house. In general, excavators have been baffled by
them, describing them as having some unknown ritual function. In
my view, however, they were daubing pits, created as a by-product
of mixing daub in the construction of houses. I have found from
experience that each time you mix clay, soil and straw on the
ground for daub, and shovel it up to add to the wall, inevitably
you also shovel up a bit of soil from the ground underneath the
daub, and after a few batches a pit has been formed. The pits are
next to the houses because naturally you mix the daub as close as
possible to the house you are building.
Another peculiar feature at Trethellan (also found elsewhere) is
a `pebble mound' inside one of the houses - a pile of burned
pebbles in a mound of baked clay, sloping back against a wall -
considered by the excavator, Jacqueline Nowakowski, to have been
possibly a hot-plate for cooking bread. I have built a pebble
mound myself, and found that it does not retain heat, so could
not possibly have been used for cooking. However, if you spread a
few glowing embers on the mound, and set a line of gorse sticks
on top, very quickly you have intense heat from a roaring fire.
The angle of the mound aids the fire, in the same way as an
old-fashioned sloping fire-back. In my view, pebble mounds were
simply warm-up fires for Bronze Age farmworkers on their way to
or from the fields.
We know from finds of `bog butter', especially in Ireland,
that Bronze Age people used bogs as natural refrigerators to keep
butter fresh. However, bogs are no good for storing maturing
cheese, which needs to be kept in a cool but airy place, such as
a cave. It strikes me that the man-made caves, or fogous, found
in several parts of Britain without natural caves (such as
western Cornwall) might have been constructed for just this
purpose.
Both butter and cheese need to be strained, and I have found that
a durable, non-rotting strainer can be made out of green marsh
rushes. For storing cheese, however, very useful baskets can be
made out of mint stems and bog myrtle, which have the dual effect
of flavouring the cheese and keeping flies away. Bog myrtle can
be found in marshes all over Britain, and there is some evidence
for its use in the Bronze Age. Traces were found in a birch-bark
container, together with wild cranberries and honey, in a barrow
at Egtved in Jutland, Denmark.
How did Bronze Age people tan hides for leather? It occurred to
me that you would have to keep your tanning hides away from
hunting dogs (for which Britain was famous, in the Late Iron Age
at least), and that hanging the hides from trees was a possible
solution. I have found that if you sew up a sheep's hide into a
bag (with the wool-side out), fill it with water and oak
chippings, and leave it for a while, the bag eventually falls to
the ground, the wool drops straight off the skin, and you are
left with a well-cured piece of sheep's leather. There is no
archaeological evidence that this was done in the Bronze
Age, but I'd wager that it was, all the same.
As for clothing, I am at present trying to recreate the entire
outfit of the Copper Age Ice Man, found in the Alps in 1991. His
shoes are particularly interesting. Each shoe consists of an
immensely complicated string net, which I never properly
understood until I reconstructed it (using twine made from lime
bark). The design of the net means that all you need to do is to
pull one string at the top, and the shoe closes over the ankle
and fits all sizes of foot. The Ice Man's shoes had soles of
bearskin, with deerskin panels over the top for insulation - an
extremely sophisticated design.
We may never know whether some of my experimental solutions are
historically valid or not, but they provide new ways of looking
at the past. If hard evidence is found by conventional
archaeology that backs them up, then genuine progress will have
been made.
Jacqui Wood is a member of the Cornwall Archaeological
Society, and runs the Cornwall Celtic Village at Greenbottom,
near Truro
Return to the British Archaeology
homepage
© Council for British Archaeology, 1995
To Scotland then they came, burning
Struggling artists of the Ice Age
Reconstructing life in the Bronze Age