[Prehistory - 410] Dawn of Britannia

Our story begins not with kings or kingdoms, but with ice and water. Before it was an island, the land we call Britain was a peninsula of Europe, a vast, cold tundra roamed by mammoths and the earliest humans. Around 6500 BCE, as the last ice age retreated, melting glaciers caused sea levels to rise in a cataclysmic event. The low-lying plains of Doggerland, the bridge to the continent, were swallowed by the waves, and Britain was born, isolated and shrouded in mist. For millennia, its inhabitants were hunter-gatherers, living in small, mobile bands, their lives dictated by the seasons and the migrations of deer and aurochs. They left behind little more than flint tools and faint footprints, whispers of a life lived on the edge of survival. Then, around 4000 BCE, a revolution swept in from the continent. It wasn’t a war, but an idea: farming. This Neolithic revolution transformed the landscape and the people forever. Forests were cleared for fields of wheat and barley, and for the first time, people built permanent homes. In the windswept Orkney Islands, the stone village of Skara Brae stands as a breathtaking testament to this new world. Occupied for over 600 years, its semi-subterranean houses, complete with stone beds, dressers, and hearths, show a sophisticated, settled community bound by shared work and ritual. Life was still hard, but it was now anchored to a place they called home. This newfound permanence gave rise to monuments of staggering ambition. Across the Salisbury Plain, a new project began around 3000 BCE that would occupy generations: Stonehenge. This was a feat of engineering and social organisation on an almost unimaginable scale. The largest sarsens, weighing up to 30 tons, were dragged over 20 miles. The smaller bluestones, each still weighing several tons, were somehow transported 150 miles from the Preseli Hills in Wales. Why? We can never be certain. It was likely a temple aligned with the solstices, a celestial calendar, and a sacred burial ground for a ruling dynasty. Standing within its silent circle, you can feel the immense power of a people determined to mark their place in the cosmos. The age of stone gave way to a new, glittering era: the Bronze Age. The knowledge of smelting copper and tin to create bronze—a harder, more versatile metal—ushered in an age of warriors and chiefs. The bronze axe was not just a tool for clearing forests; it was a weapon and a symbol of status. Society grew more hierarchical. Lavish burials, like that of the ‘Amesbury Archer’ found near Stonehenge around 2300 BCE, reveal the extent of this new world. Analysis of his teeth shows he grew up in the Alps, yet he was buried with gold hair ornaments, copper knives, and archery equipment—the richest Bronze Age grave ever found in Britain. This was not an isolated island, but a key player in a complex European trade network. Around 800 BCE, a stronger, cheaper metal arrived: iron. The Iron Age saw the flourishing of the vibrant cultures history has often labelled as ‘Celtic’. This was not a single, unified nation, but a tapestry of hundreds of individual tribes, each with its own king, queen, and territory, but sharing similar languages, spectacular artistic styles, and warrior traditions. Daily life for most was in agriculture, living in sturdy roundhouses within small, fenced farmsteads. They were skilled weavers, creating the colourful chequered cloth that would one day be known as tartan, and their artisans crafted swirling, abstract designs—the La Tène style—onto everything from shields to jewellery. Power in Iron Age Britain was projected from massive, fortified settlements known as hillforts. Places like Maiden Castle in Dorset were colossal undertakings, their multiple rings of earthen ramparts and ditches enclosing an area the size of 50 football pitches. These were not just forts, but political capitals, trading hubs, and refuges for entire communities in times of war. Within this society, a special class held immense sway: the Druids. They were not just priests but also judges, lore-keepers, and political advisors, their authority so absolute that, according to Roman writers, they could halt a battle in its tracks simply by walking between the two armies. Into this world of chieftains and druids came Rome. Julius Caesar led two reconnaissance expeditions in 55 and 54 BCE, testing the waters and clashing with British charioteers before departing. The real invasion came almost a century later. In 43 AD, Emperor Claudius, seeking military glory, dispatched a formidable force of 40,000 professional soldiers. The conquest was brutal and bloody. One tribe after another fell to the organised might of the legions. Some tribes, like the Brigantes under Queen Cartimandua, chose to collaborate, becoming client-rulers for the new power. Others chose to fight. No story of resistance burns brighter or more tragically than that of Boudica, queen of the Iceni tribe. After her husband’s death, the Romans annexed his kingdom, flogged Boudica, and violated her daughters. Her response was a firestorm of vengeance. In 60 AD, she united several tribes and led a rebellion that annihilated the Roman Ninth Legion and burned three major Roman cities—Camulodunum (Colchester), Londinium (London), and Verulamium (St Albans)—to the ground. The Roman historian Tacitus claims her forces slaughtered over 70,000 Romans and their allies. The retribution was just as terrible. The Roman governor, Suetonius Paulinus, finally cornered Boudica's army and, despite being heavily outnumbered, his disciplined legions crushed the rebellion. Boudica took her own life rather than be captured, becoming an eternal symbol of the fight for freedom. With resistance broken, the province of Britannia was systematically Romanised. A new infrastructure was laid across the land. Over 10,000 miles of paved Roman roads, so straight and well-engineered that many form the basis of modern routes, connected new, planned towns. Londinium became a bustling port and administrative centre. In places like Aquae Sulis (Bath), Romans and wealthy Britons alike relaxed in magnificent public bathhouses built around natural hot springs. The elite adopted Latin, wore togas, and lived in luxurious villas with underfloor heating and intricate mosaics, while Roman law and currency became the standard. Yet, Roman control was never total. The northern tribes of Caledonia—modern-day Scotland—remained fiercely independent. To mark the edge of the empire, Emperor Hadrian ordered the construction of a wall from coast to coast. Built in the 120s AD, Hadrian's Wall was a 73-mile-long statement of imperial power. It was more than a barrier; it was a patrolled, militarised frontier, with forts, milecastles, and turrets controlling all movement, a symbol of the line between the Roman world and the ‘barbarians’ beyond. For nearly 350 years, Britannia was part of the Roman Empire. But the empire was vast and, by the late 4th century, was beginning to crumble under its own weight. Legions were slowly withdrawn from Britain to defend against threats closer to Rome. The island became vulnerable to raids from Picts in the north, Scots from Ireland, and Saxons from across the North Sea. The final, decisive moment came around 410 AD. The beleaguered citizens of Britannia appealed to Emperor Honorius for military aid. His reply, known as the Rescript of Honorius, was chilling in its finality: they were to look to their own defences. The eagles had flown. After four centuries, Rome was gone. The villas began to fall into disrepair, the towns emptied, and a new, uncertain age was dawning. A shadow was falling over Britain, and new peoples were looking hungrily towards its shores.