Dark Age Cumbria #1: The 'Brigomaglos' inscription at Vindolanda

 

The site of Vindolanda, modern-day Birdoswald. Image Credit: Vindolanda Charitable Trust

Vindolanda is one of the best preserved and best-studied forts of the Roman frontier, with a remarkable assemblage of organic artefacts and delicate tablets preserved in waterlogged and anaerobic conditions by successive levelling and rebuilding. The history of the fort beyond the end of the 4th century is, on the other hand, as in Roman archaeological sites across Britain, hard to determine. While it is clear that the fort ended its purposes as a permanent military station by the end of the following century, it is less clear what happened to the buildings outside the fort; the vicus, where everyday trade, exchange, craftsmanship and worship took place. One inscription, however, may give some deal of insight.

On a damaged piece of tombstone found in a pile of assorted stones near the old cottage of Chesterholm, the name Brigomaglos was inscribed, together with the Latin 'Iacit' and another fragment of a Latin word, '-us', in lettering similar in style to other memorial inscriptions across Western britain. The antiquarians responsible for the discovery interpreted the name as a Brittonic, or old Welsh, form of the name Briocus. They proposed that the Brigomaglos of 5th century Vindolanda was identical to St Brioc, an early Welsh saint who was ordained by the famous statesman and bishop Germanus of Auxerre. This view continued to find support into the latter half of the 20th century, and annotated as such in volumes of Romano-British inscriptions. The missing third Latin inscription was interpreted as 'qui et Briocus', or 'also known as Briocus'.

It was only in 1982 when the name was imbued with a different meaning; that of a grandiose Celtic title, translated as 'high-chief' or 'mighty prince'. The second element, maglos, is a common element of known early Welsh kings, such as Maglocunus (Maelgwyn), a mid-6th century king of Gwynedd. The first is also found with the reputed grandson of Vortigern, Briagath. The tombstone could have therefore commemorated a man of considerable status, perhaps a regional warlord or petty king, subservient to power centres in Carlisle (Caer Ligualid) or Dumbarton Rock (Alclud). It is impossible to say, however, if this title was an Brittonic development or re-intepretation on a Roman office such as comes, magister or dux, or an entirely native development, representing continuity with pre-Roman concepts of kingship. 

If Brigomaglos was, indeed, a chieftain of the immediate post-Roman period, what was his relationship with Vindolanda? He may have used it as a base of operations, sending warbands with some resemblance to formations of limitanei or pseudocomitatenses to conduct raids on neighbouring Britons, probably on behalf of a more powerful authority. Alternatively, he may have been installed, or inherited a role, to protect a kingdom's frontiers. That Vindolanda was the seat of a chieftain is suggested by the unearthing of the foundations of a hall, constructed above an earlier complexes of granary stores. 

As noted in previous posts, pre- and post-Roman names of Celtic origin often appear high-sounding enough to fit a prince or member of an elite, but were used by people of all social classes, groups and backgrounds. Brigomaglos could have been a post-Roman warlord, in the service of the king of Rheged, Cunomarcus (Cynfarch) or the king of Strathclyde, Coroticus (Ceredig), or operating indepedent of both, but he could eqaully have been a common solider, a well-loved priest, a son of a wealthy merchant who died young or was killed, or even a Germanic mercenary brought up in a Brittonic society.

The inscription therefore provides a useful glimpse into post-Roman life, supporting the idea of a gradual transition from an interconnected Roman military and administrative frontier to an anarchic political landscape of rulers striking out at neighbours from strongholds formerly meant to guard this frontier. The 'nasty little Britons' which were once the menace of Roman soldiers recruited from across Europe became their natural heirs

Dark Age Durham #1: A Speculative Overview

 

LIDAR photograph of Maiden Castle, Durham. Credit: © Open Source Environment Agency

The evidence for human settlement in the area of Durham is for the most part, limited, save for a scattering of Palaeolithic and Mesolithic toolsets, as well as a few Bronze and Iron age artefacts. Before the invasion of Aulus Gallus (governor of Roman Britain between 52 and 57 CE) and the subsequent conquest of the Brigantian confederacy, the promontory fort of Maiden Castle stood as the local political and economic power centre. In the Romano-British period, there are only tentative signs of activity, at a farmstead in Old Durham Gardens and underneath the Cathedral's Great Kitchen. Between the withdrawal of Roman administration in the early fifth century and the advent of Bernician power in the middle of the seventh century, Durham is archaeologically blank.

However, where archaeology fails, medieval Welsh poetry may provide the answer. The Armes Pyrdain, a nationalistic hymn that urges the men and women of Wales to gather arms and rally against the Saxons, at  a time when the Great Heathen Army overran the Northumbria and Mercia, and drove Wessex to the brink of collapse, mentions Caer Weir, meaning 'stronghold on the river'. Maiden Castle may have been occupied occasionally during the early Medieval period; its proximity to Ebrauc/Eoferwic (York) and  Din Guarie (Bamburgh), two Brittonic settlements that became Anglo-Saxon royal centres, and its capacity to control traffic moving into the North Sea, would make it an ideal stronghold. On the other hand, the poem indicates that the Caer is located on an extreme point in the British Isles, which would suit a Pictish stronghold such as Caithness or Craig Phadraig, or even Orkney, rather than Durham. 

The Armes Pyrdain mentions the stronghold within the Marwand Cunedda, an elegy that mourns the death of the semi-legendary Cunedda, progenitor of the royal family of Gwynedd. Caer Weir is described as a target of Cunedda's warpath, along with Caer Lywelydd, most likely Carlisle. Sir Ifor Williams, among others, believed the elegy to date to the tenth century at the earliest, however, recent scholarship by John Koch and R.G. Gruffud has suggested that as no mention of Gwynedd, or any other place in Wales proper, is references, with Cunedda's activities confined around Roman civitates in the north and north-east of Britain, it may have originated immediately after the ruler's death, perhaps first as oral tradition and then written down a century afterwards. Cunedda's association with Gwynedd has also been argued to be a later invention, as has Taliesin's inclusion in the poem. 

If the mention of Caer Weir comes from an authentic sixth or seventh-century source, then reconciling it with the archaeological evidence is difficult. However, there was another fort along the River Weir; the Roman foundation of Concangis, which the Anglo-Saxons named Cuneceastra; modern-day Chester-le-Street. This foundation was built alongside Cade's Road, which possibly extended from the mouth of the Humber to the river Tyne. The river was navigable enough to supply a permanent garrison, and to evacuate the garrison should the need arise. Additionally, it is listed in the Notitia Dignitarum as well as the Ravenna Cosmography, indicating that the site was remembered for a substantial period of time after the withdrawal of Roman administration. 

The possibility that Caer Weir is a poetic renaming of Concangis is a plausible one. The old fortress remained relevant in the later Anglo-Saxon period as the resting place of St.Cuthbert, becoming the spiritual heart of the north-east until the foundation of Durham in 995. A well-travelled medieval listener may have made the association. Carlisle was also an equally significant monastic centre by the later seventh century, visited by St.Cuthbert. The saint's vita indicates. that Carlisle had preserved much of its Roman infrastructure, including a miraculously working fountain and intact city walls. Caer Lywelydd and Caer Weir, therefore, would have been natural locations within a poem re-told for a nationalist Welsh audience, linking the honor of their supposed progenitor with two of the most important spiritual strongholds of the north. 

To conclude, there is a case to be made that Durham was occupied during the period between Roman and Northumbrian rule, but a stronger argument can be made for Chester-Le-Street, which is supported by both the archaeological record and contemporary oral tradition. The broader picture of the area; the situation immediately before the Roman withdrawal, the rise and fall of Coel's Northern Britain, and the transition between the Britons of Bryneich and the Angles of Bernicia, is a topic which I will focus on in upcoming posts.

Early Medieval Dorset #2: What the hell is the Cerne Abbas Giant?

 

Photo credit: Ben Birchall/PA

I had the rare opportunity to visit the famous Giant of Cerne Abbas, Dorset earlier this week, it was a little smaller than I'd hoped but it got myself thinking about what exactly the Giant is supposed to represent. You can only really see it properly from the opposite hill or by helicopter, and to the passing walker it's nothing more than a series of lines etched into the soil. Personally, I find it hard to believe that it was intended to terrify or drive the fear of god(s) into local villagers, and the fact that Cerne Abbas is far away from any past political boundary, save perhaps the Iron Age boundary between core Durotrigan territory and looser Dobunnic/Atrebatic territory.

So what, then, was the Giant for? Recent archaeological analysis by Mike Papworth and Mike Allan, on behalf of the National Trust, has challenged the old assumptions about the Giant. It was thought that it was either a relic of the Bronze or Iron ages, emblazoning the local war-deity or warrior chieftain onto the landscape, or a caricature of Oliver Cromwell, who had sought to wrestle supreme political power away from its religious connotations - if the lord protector did not need a divine right to rule, perhaps his sovereignty rested on the blessings of giants and fairies instead. However, using samples taken from successive layers of chalk, the two archaeologists arrived at a date of between 700 and 1000 C.E. during the late Anglo-Saxon period. This was confirmed by the presence of two snail species known to have migrated to the U.K. around this time, in the earliest chalk layer.

If neither Celtic symbol nor royalist caricature, the reason for the Giant's etching is hard to determine. The Cerne Abbey was founded in 987 C.E., in dedication to the 9th-century Hermit Eadwold, who was apparently the long-lost brother of King Edmund of East Anglia, killed by the Great Viking Army. Those building the abbey would certainly have been aware of the Giant in their day-to-day lives, as it is clearly visible from the site; there is no evidence that it was destroyed or purposely meddled with at any point, so there must not have been a great objection to it..

One possible explanation is that the Giant represents a late flourishing of Anglo-Saxon paganism, borne out of necessity; as Viking armies and Mercian kings marched across the region, the local folk, dimly remembering the nature of the old gods and their power in battle, drew the Giant to ward off those who sought to rape and pillage. The names Grim's Dyke, Woden's Burh and the Wansdyke, all in the south-west, might have arisen out of similar desires; preserving the memory of the pre-Christian religion to erect spiritual barriers between one region and another.

It might have indeed been a caricature, but not of Cromwell, but of the Viking warlords, reducing their aura of terror and invincibility to a crude impression on the hillside. The monks of the abbey may have had a hand in its creation, mocking the Scandinavian warrior gods as blundering giants, ignorant of the universal power of the Lord. Alternatively, given the phallus that has given the giant fame was in all probably a much later addition, as late as the Victorian period, and that the trace of a lion's pelt or loincloth was once held by the Giant's right hand, it may have been a Christian symbol, referring to one of the apostles, the story of David and Goliath, or the story of Daniel in the lion's den.

Mike Papworth, who excavated at the site and has written in detail about the archaeology of Dorset, such as in his 2009 publication The Search for the Durotriges, has suggested that soon after its first creation, it was neglected for several centuries, before being rediscovered and rechalked, perhaps during the Norman period or later. This would explain why the records of Cerne Abbey, or the writings of visiting ecclesiasts such as Aelfric of Eynsham, do not mention the giant, with it being grown over with grass. While this might rule out a direct association with the abbey, it does not rule out the giant being evidence for a localised syncretism, borne out of necessity or otherwise; the flickering memory of the beliefs, that were once taken for granted, given new life as a means of protection. God may have been the heart and soul of the Anglo-Saxons, but the old gods and the old symbols were still there, just in case they were needed.

Dark Age Dorset #4: The White Hill of Badbury

 

Photo credit: Jim Cuthbert of visit-dorset.com

The hillfort of Badbury Rings is among the most iconic of British hillforts, and archaeological evidence indicates that it was inhabited since the Mesolithic period, with use both as a centre of settlement and a centre of ritual activity. Only two miles from the river Stour (to the Durotriges, the Sturr), it was at the heart of a nexus of trade that continued into the Roman period; coins of the Veneti, Baiocassi and Dobunii have all been found near Badbury, the former two being continental Celtic tribes.

Either immediately preceding or during the Roman invasion of 43 C.E., the outermost ring of earthworks were constructed, but it was too late, and within the year the Romans had depopulated the hillfort, resettling the survivors, along with their own veterans, in the nearby village of *Windosklādiyos (White Hill), which they rebuilt as the settlement of Vindocladia. It was only later, beyond the 3rd century C.E., that this settlement was fortified, with an imperial mansio, or inn, built in the same period, by which time it gained an economic and political status equal to Duronovaria and Lindinis.  Nearby enclosures, such as Crab Farm, Lake Farm, and High Wood, were all reoccupied and redeveloped after the Roman invasion. 

Badbury might have briefly been reoccupied, as Maiden Castle (Duronovaria) likely did, during Boudicca's revolt in 60-61 C.E., as tribe after tribe rose in revolt against the crimes of the Roman army, but for centuries afterwards it was securely a monument of the past. The twilight years of Roman rule, as shown with the rebuilding of the Bokerley Dyke and of the smaller dykes in the south of Dorset, was characterized by the rekindling of old tensions and the remaking of old tribal boundaries, as raids and the wandering armies of usurpers eroded the material prosperity of Britannia. In the case of Badbury, rubble was taken from a nearby Romano-Celtic temple to strengthen the ramparts, which, on the basis of abandonments of other temples, must have taken place during the end of the 4th century, either at the time of the Great Conspiracy of 367 C.E. or later, during the usurpations of Magnus Maximus or Constantine III.    

The nature of the site during the 'Dark Ages', between the beginning of the 5th and the end of the 7th century A.D., however, is poorly understood. Badbury's imposing physical form and ancient past have led many to draw a line between it and the clash of Mons Badonicus, the Battle of Mount Badon where, as the Historia Brittonum and later romances elaborate, Arthur heroically won against the pagan Saxons, with the virgin Mary by his side, securing a half-century of relative peace. It must have been a strategically important site for the sub-Roman Durotriges, as a place to garrison an army, with a full view of the Bokerley Dyke to the northeast. While the dyke itself would have been easy for a Saxon force to cross, the looming presence of Badbury might have made them think twice about trespassing into Briton territory. The refortified ramparts were used well after the sub-Roman period, when the fortress was occupied by the army of Edward the Elder in 899 C.E., during the revolt of his brother Aethelwold.

Could Badbury, then, be the site of Arthur's victory? In old English, the name Badbury simply means 'Baddan's fort', which means either a Saxon or Romano-Briton gave their name to it sometime in te sixth century. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle for 501 C.E. states that three Saxon chiefs led their warriors onto the Solent coast, slaying a Briton ruler 'of very high rank' at what would later become Portsmouth. One of those chiefs is called Bieda, which has been connected by some to the Baeddan of Welsh romance, the son of Melwas, later Maleagant in French literature. Plausibly, therefore, Badbury might have been Bieda's temporary stronghold, before being wrestled from it by the Britons. 

There are better candidates for Badon, however; aside from a location near Bath, known to the old Welsh as Cair Baddan, several historians have proposed that Badon, first mentioned in Gildas' letter of denouncement as Badonici Montis, is a copyists' error for Bradonici Montis, on the basis that Brad- is a fairly common element in Welsh place names. Andrew Breeze, in his latest book on the subject, suggests that Braydon in Wiltshire, regarding the local topography, fits with the written evidence, but I would agree with Alistair Hall, who argues in his recent work The Battle of Mount Badon that either Bardon or Breedon Hill in Linconshire is a more likely site, given its proximity to the proposed location of other Arthurian battles, and the fact that the area was a centre of Romano-British culture until the middle of the sixth century, with a mixed polity of Britons and federate Saxons established in Lincolnshire proper and a larger Brittonic kingdom centred around York, or Caer Ebrauc. 

At the very least, Badbury would have played a substantial role in the political and economic fortunes of the Britons of the south and south-west, not just in terms of heroic leaders and fateful battles, but as a physical reminder of the legacy of the native inhabitants.

Early Medieval Dorset #1: Vikings on the Isle of Portland

 

© 2009 G.L.Wilson at sitesandstones.blogspot.com

The first raid of Norse seafarers is commonly remembered as the attack on the monastery of Lindisfarne, the windswept religious capital of the Kingdom of Northumbria, in 793 C.E. However, Dorset can claim the dubious honour of the first 'viking' raid, as according to most manuscripts of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, in 787 C.E., 3 ships from Hordaland, referring to the petty kingdom which comprises the area of modern-day Hordaland and the city of Bergen, arrived on the coast. They were met by the local reeve, who asked them to take their grievances to the king's town (i.e. Winchester), but the Norsemen killed him on the spot. The Chronicle makes clear that this was the first Norse foray onto Anglo-Saxon territory.

Another source, the Chronicon Aethelweardi, a variant manuscript of the ASC, comes from the late 10th century but adds a few important details. The reeve was apparently called Beaduheard, and the fatal clash was in fact on the Isle of Portland, then home to a Saxon church, probably dedicated to St. Andrew as the later Norman church is (see above picture). Portland was also a defensive strongpoint, not only due to its topography but the fact that an an old Iron Age hillfort lay on Werne Hill, from which all naval activity could be monitored and prepared for. While the Chronicon Aethelweardi is somewhat unreliable, it challenges the idea that the Saxons were, until Alfred the Great, helpless towards the northern threat. For instance, it claims that Beaduheard, as soon as he saw the incoming fleet, rushed to the harbour's defence with a retinue of warriors, contradicting the claim made by most versions of the ASC that the reeve 'knew not what they were', and was killed as a result. 

The Chronicon's reason for Beaduheard's death is not that he was struck down by surprise, but that he spoke to them 'in an authoritative tone.' One interpretation of this is that, having heard accounts of other raiding parties and knowing of their pagan beliefs, commanded them to abandon their weapons and seek a summons with the king, which they naturally refused. More likely, though, is that Beaduheard simply caught word of the raiding fleets from the reports of terrified families and the local clergymen, and decided to send a small retinue to investigate, cautious but not entirely certain whether to trust those reports.

Still, both the ASC and Chronicon account broaden the extent of Viking voyages in their earliest period. Norsemen had already begun raiding along the Frisian coast, and had assisted their old Saxon co-religionists against Charlemagne in the early 780s, but if the ASC is correct then their ships may have sailed along the English coastline before this. Their landing on Portland might have been an attempt to find richer sites; perhaps stories of Exeter's wealth or the prosperity of Southampton brought them there. The mention of the raid being the first Danish attack, despite the fleet hailing from Hordaland, then a Norwegian kingdom, could suggest that the fleet's crew consisted of adventurers from across the Norse world, a coordinated expedition planned long in advance. Taken literally, the ASC account also implies that the earliest Norse raid was not just about fortune, they 'sought out the land of the English race', for their families or their kinsmen to seek new lands, not just to plunder but to farm, build and trade goods. 

To summarise, from the written evidence alone it is clear that the traditional picture of the horizons of Anglo-Saxon England at the start of the 'viking period', dominated by monks confined to barren cells and peasants fearing God's wrath with every change in the weather, is flawed. If the interpretations proposed here hold any truth to them, then a fleet of Danish-Norwegian Vikings, already knowing the nature of English channel and its weaknesses, landed and slew a Saxon reeve who was already aware of the threat they posed and made demands upon them. While the brief sentences in the ASC and Aethelweard's 10th-century revision provide little detail, about Dorset at the time or of anything else, the fact that the sentences were written show how important it was for the event to be recorded, not only for contemporaries but also for later generations.

Dark Age Dorset #3: The Battery Banks

 

Worgret Heath (Photo credit: Mike Rowland)

The Battery Banks are a small series of discontinuous earthworks, snaking south-east along the river Piddle and Frome from Stoke Heath to Wareham. Most of it has been destroyed by field ploughing or later development, but the surviving sections of the Banks form part of a number of small dykes around in southern Dorset, such as Comb's Ditch, south of Blandford, and the Worgret Dykes situated on Worgret heath, immediately south of Wareham. 

Like the larger Bokerley and Grim's Dyke in the north of Dorset, these dykes were originally Bronze Age boundary markers, perhaps for delineating fields or enclosures, but were repurposed during the late Roman and post-Roman period, defending the strategically important settlement of Wareham from outside incursion. In this sense, they can be seen as the precursor to the Saxon walls of Wareham, built as part of Alfred the Great's burh system to defend the realm from Viking raiders. 

In its intact state, the Banks and its accompanying dykes (including a number of 'cross-ridge dykes' that stopped an invading force from attacking along ridges) cut off the isle of Purbeck from the north. Exactly when they were used actively as a means of defence is unknown, as unlike Bokerley dyke no Roman coins have been found associated with the Banks, which have been used to date the stages of Bokerley's construction. 

In the post-Roman period, if the Banks were used for a military purpose it could have been patrolled by small groups of cavalry, there to summon the local militia of Wareham and the surrounding farmland in the event that a Saxon warband, or a rogue Dumnonian princeling, came barrelling southward. Interestingly, the construction of the Banks and the dykes themselves suggests a level of coordination that would not be the case if Wareham was simply an ecclesial hamlet or a fishing village with little relevance to the ruling elite of the day. This is despite the fact that Wareham, as Werham, is first mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle in 784, its name meaning a small fishing homestead. What, then, might have made defending Wareham and the isle of Purbeck necessary? Much larger earthworks, such as South Cadbury or Dunster Castle, fell to the Saxons through disuse rather than a military confrontations, and there is no sign that Maiden Castle was ever refortified to defend Duronovaria/Caer Durnac against enemy attack. 

There is one entry in the Anglo-Saxon chronicle, though, that might explain the earthworks. In 682, the ASC records that Centwine, the West Saxon king, 'drove the Britons into the sea', which cannot refer to the Britons of Dumnonia/Cornwall, as Egbert was the first to accomplish this feat following the Battle of Gafulforda in 825 and Hingston Down in 838. It could refer to a defeat of the Britons still living independent of Wessex's control in the marshes of Somerset and along the Severn, but by then Dumnonia, nor any other Briton polity, had control over the area, so there would not have been a reason to wage war against them. According to Aldhelm's Carmina Ecclesiastica (written in the late 7th century), Centwine won three great battles during his reign, at least one of which might be connected with the ASC entry. 

The fact that the Carmina also states that Centwine was a pagan might support a possible campaign against the Britons of southern Dorset; the church of Lady Saint Mary was evidently visited by high-states individuals, and recent excavations in Poundbury have shown that Christian burials continued during this period, continuing Romano-British patterns of burial. Given the bitter ecclesiastic schism between the Celtic and Anglo-Saxon church that reached its zenith by the turn of the 8th century, an attack against Christian Britons might not have been viewed entirely negatively by Centwine's Christian courtiers and bishops; after all, it would amount to another bishopric or two under their control. 

To conclude, while the Battery Banks and adjacent dykes are slim evidence in themselves for the socio-political landscape of post-Roman Dorset, together with the Bokerley Dyke and other certified Dark Age sites in Dorset, they add to a picture of a highly defensive and localised society, eager to protect the ways which their mothers and fathers had followed at any cost. 

Dark Age Dorset #2: Bokerley Dyke from the fourth to seventh centuries C.E

 

Photo copyright: Mike Rowland 26/06/07

The series of earthworks known collectively as the Bokerley Dyke straddles Dorset and Hampshire, near Martin Down and Cranbourne Chase, where another earthwork known as the Grim's Dyke runs. The dyke was first constructed either in the Late Bronze or Early Iron Age, possibly marking a tribal boundary between the Durotriges (the 'inhabitants of the hard ground') and the Atrebates, a Belgic tribe with connections to mainland Gaul. 

Archaeological evidence and Caesar's accounts testify to the Belgae being a well-established confederation that expanded across the Channel between 200 and 100 B.C.E, establishing tribal centres in Venta Belgarum (Winchester) and Calleva Atrebatum (Silchester). The Durotriges may well have been forced out of their homeland by the Belgae, and to avoid further conflict, constructed the Bokerely Dyke (as well as the Grim's Dyke nearby) to clearly demarcate their territory. The dyke was probably not guarded as a military frontier, but it must have held a symbolic importance, as shortly after the Roman conquest the Ackerely Dyke, a road running from Sorviodunum to Vindocladia, was paved right through the old dyke, as well as through neolithic barrows, a clear message that Rome would not recognise 'barbarian' boundaries and ancestral sites. 

For the next three hundred years, little changed, until around 325 C.E, when the Roman road running through the dyke was blocked. No usurpers or local rebellions are documented for this period in Roman Britain, so it's unclear why this happened. Perhaps it had something to do with Constantine's reorganisation of the army in 326, with forces split into tribally-aligned comitatenses and limitanei in frontier provinces. By the later fourth century at least, the Durotriges were regarded as a distinct tribal entity who were recruited for repairing Roman infrastructure such as Hadrian's Wall; Constantine's reforms might have emboldened local tribal elites to restore their old defences. Archaeologist, C.F.C. Hawkes, drawing on the research of Pitt-Rivers. Limitanei also served as an ad-hoc police force in some areas, and tended to their own farmland. The Bokerley dyke's rebuilding might then have been a response to local banditry.

The next stage in the development of Bokerley Dyke happened, according to C.F.C. Hawke, Pitt-Rivers and others, after 364, where the Roman road was fully blocked and the dyke was extended northward. This can probably be connected with the Great Conspiracy of 367 - 9, where local tribal authorities, who were entrusted with Britain's defence and are called by Ammias Marcinellinus areani or arcani, (meaning 'sheep-farmers' or 'the secret ones'), openly collaborated with Picts, Scots, Saxons and Attacotti (probably Irish tribes) to overthrow Roman civil administration as far as Londinium. The fact that part of the dyke that blocked the road was apparently a decade or so later removed suggests that its construction was either an emergency barrier against the invaders and their Romano-British allies, or that local Britons rebuilt the dyke, exploiting the sudden absence of Roman authority to restore old tribal boundaries. 

At some point after 393, the dyke was again extended; the usurpations of Magnus Maximus and Eugenius must have had a considerable affect on the local population, particularly conscripted soldiers and their families who had been poorly paid and sent to fight in faraway provinces for poorly understood religious motives, which was evident at the Battle of the Frigidus in 393. Welsh tradition in the form of genealogies imply that Maximus organised, or allowed the independence of, frontier kingdoms with their own dynasties, incorporating Irish immigrants as foederati in Demetia (Dyfed), Venedotia (Gwynedd), or restoring pre-Roman polities such as Venta Silurum (Gwent), once the tribal capital of the Silures. A similar situation occurred right after the Great Conspiracy north of Hadrian's wall, with the genealogies of Strathclyde and Gododdin (Lothian) listing regional rulers called Clemens and Paternus, respectively. Perhaps the Durotriges, like the Dumnonii were to later, attempted to run affairs independently as Roman rule disintegrated, although no written evidence proves this. 

In the immediate post-Roman period, civilian life clung on to major urban centres, as it was not until the end of the 5th century that major hillforts in and around Dorset and the West Country, such as the famous South Cadbury/Camalet hillfort, were reoccupied as watchpoints and power centres of regional lords. Gloucester (Glevum/Glouvia) remained a bustling urban settlement for some time, as did Winchester (Venta/Cair Guinntguic), where in the 420s St. Germanus most likely converted Elafius, one of the 'leading men of the country' according to his vita, as well as Dorchester (Duronovaria/Cair Durnac). This might explain why the Roman road was not closed off in these period. 

Pitt-Rivers' discovery of cattle bones buried in nearby enclosures suggests a possible function for the dyke as a defence against cattle raiding, as pastoralism became more widespread with the collapse of trade and exchange. The importance of cattle is evident not just from archaeology, such as at Yeavering, where an enclosure built to store cattle carcasses given as tribute was used in the late fifth and early sixth centuries, but in the heroic poetry of the period, both in Britain and Ireland. 

Overall, though, it likely returned to being a tribal defensive boundary as it had been before the Romans arrived, much like the Wansdyke to the west, although that was mostly built in the post-Roman period in two stages; in the late 5th century, during the low point of the Romano-British defence before the Battle of Mons Badonicus and other victories, and in the late 6th century, as a doomed measure to hold back Wessex and the Hwicce after the Battle of Deorham in 577. 

The fact that Anglo-Saxon charters refer to Bokerley dyke simply as the 'long ditch', and that lowland British culture appears (as the Lady St Mary's Church in Wareham has shown) to have survived into the mid-7th century, might give weight to the idea that the dyke became a recognised barrier between Saxons and Britons - especially since only one or two Brittonic inscriptions have been found west of the dyke. When it fell out of use is impossible to tell, but the effectiveness of the dykes was clear to later Anglo-Saxon rulers; Offa's dyke, for instance, was built to demarcate Mercia from Powys using existing Iron Age and post-Roman earthworks. 

Dark Age Dorset #1: Lady St Mary's Church, Wareham

 

Photo by Nigel Chadwick, CC BY-SA 2.0

 Although the Lady St. Mary's Church in Wareham dates from the early 8th century, apparently founded by St Aldhelm, Bishop of Sherbourne at the time, and was rebuilt around 900 and redesigned in 1200 and 1842, five 'Brittonic' inscriptions were found in the church's walls and naves that date back to the 7th century C.E. if not earlier. Their letters are a mix of Roman-style capitals and a contemporary style of lettering known as insular majuscule, found in 6th-century Welsh and Irish inscriptions. 

Their original purpose was probably as memorial stones in the early church's cemetery, before being re-used to support the church walls. Aside from their form and function, the inscriptions are interesting in that all have 'Brittonic' or Latin etymologies, suggesting as late as the end of the 7th century Briton language and culture was still going strong in southern Dorset, despite a string of setbacks beginning with the Battle of Deorham in 577.

The first inscription reads 'VIDCV... FILIVS VIDA'. The style of the lettering is likely 7th century, and when it was complete it probably read VIDCVMI FILIUS VIDAR. This links it to the two Old Welsh names *Guidcu and *Guidar, the former meaning something like 'Well-known kind one'. At the very least, it's a touching memorial to a father and son who undoubetly lived respectable secular lives, perhaps as fishermen along the Frome or farmers selling their produce in Duronovaria/Dornwaracaester.

The second inscription has been identified as late 7th century, reading 'IUDNNE... FILI QUI'. Iudnne in its complete form was most likely Iudnerth, an Old Welsh name found in the Book of Llandaff, which means 'lord-like strength', similar to modern Welsh Idris or Breton Judoc. The other name could be any number of Latin qui- type names, maybe Quintilius or Quintus. What's interesting about these names is that the first could refer to a person of some authority, in the manner of Riothamus, Vortigern or Cadwallon; perhaps Iudnerth was a local magnate or chieftain's son given the honour of a cemetery burial. High-sounding names are quite common though with Briton individuals, for instance Riocatus, a Briton bishop in Burgundy circa 480 mentioned by Sidonius Apollinaris, whose name means 'King of Battle', so it's probably a mistake to draw conclusions on that basis. The fact that Iudnerth was the son of a Roman-named individual, though, does suggest a degree of post-Roman continuity. Perhaps Wareham was a small pocket of lowland Romano-British culture that survived until Wessex's conquests at the end of the 7th century. 

In the third, fourth and fifth inscriptions the names Catgug, Gideon, Deniel, Auprit and Gongoria appear, each with very different etymologies. Catgug in full was probably Catguocaun, meaning 'glorious in battle', Gideon and Deniel are both Old Testament names, while Auprit's etymology is still up for debate. There's the old Welsh word 'pryt', meaning shape, but the au- remains unexplained. The last name, Gongoria, is 8th to 9th century in lettering style, so whoever Gongoria was probably did not meet Catguocaun, Iudnerth or anyone else inscribed in the memorials. The only close parallel to Gongoria is the male old Welsh *Guncar, from the Book of Llandaff.

To summarise, the memorial stones display a mix of Roman, perhaps lingering Romano-British or re-introduced romanitas as a result of Augustine's reintroduction of Christianity, and old Welsh/Brittonic language and custom. Far from being a Saxon sub-tribe as the 9th-century charters and the Domesday Book implies, it seems that people continued living and working as local Britons, just as they had been for centuries. 

I'll have a go at reviewing the archaeological evidence next, to see if the idea that Dorset in the Dark Ages was a cultural backwater holds any weight.