Roman Western Cumbria and Mannin

I gave the idea to Will Ritson to conceal an ISOT'd 2010 Mannin's weirdness from the 1065 British Isles.

The Hadrian's Wall garrison of about legion size (including legionary vexillations and auxiliaries) decides in AD 406 to at Petriana and adjacent forts decides to hole up in the more-defensible and resource-rich West Cumbrian and Furness coastal districts. Mannin is also seized as a guard for their rear and to provide further resources. They set up the buffer-zone (later called the Kingdom of Rheged) based at Petriana, to prevent barbarians from attacking their new heartland.

The idea is that the Romanised garrison retain a Roman nature right up into the early mediaeval period, albeit of the later Roman period rather than the Augustan that most are familiar with. They retain not just the culture of Imperial Rome but also its technology, to make sure that they can keep the barbarians away.

Why don't they contact Rome or New Rome (Constantinople/Byzantium)? Well, they feel that Emperor Honorius has thrown them away and they prefer not to pay Imperial taxgatherers. However, they do clandestinely trade to Iberia and Gaul for olive oil and wine. The wool and fish of Britannia make excellent trade goods, when oysters and hunting dogs prove useless. Later, of course, their metalworking, glassmaking and enamelling skills come in useful...

Do I continue this into a thread?
 
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J.D.Ward

Donor
Isn't the problem that they can't maintain Roman society and military organisation without the economic structure and resources to support it, while at the same time standing against the invading barbarians?

In OTL, Syagrius got it to work for about a generation in northern Gaul, but that's probably the limit. Anything beyond that, in such a small area, would be an ASB lost civilization.
 
Something along the lines of that did exist in Hungary with a small Romanized population managing to survive until the tenth century.
 
Anno Urbis Conditae 1163 : Honorius's Directive...

The fortress north of the Eden had originally been called Uxelodunum, but for generations now it had been called Petriana, after the Ala Petriana whose horses and men made up the thousand-strong cavalry reserve regiment of the Wall of Hadrian. The Roman military officer standing on the South Gate, the Portus Principalis, was the commander and Tribunus Augusticlavius, Marcus Gnaeus Pompilius. He was barely thirty-five years old, a career soldier with a great deal of experience and no desire to lay aside the responsibilities and rights of his rank. He had managed to keep in good order his men and those of the forts as far as Birdoswald, a force that numbered about four thousand legionaries and auxiliaries, most of them personally loyal and trained to a good level of military effectiveness.

"Tribune, the men are wondering what has made you stand here, thinking."
His second in command Camp Prefect Lucius Stilicho dared to come up and stand beside his commander in the rain. "We've held the Limes against the barbarians, sir, but what happens next?"

"The last despatch was from Deva, copied from an instruction to the Civitates Britannici from the - Ha! - Emperor of the West, Flavius Honorius Caesar." Pompilius said, still looking southwards. "The Civitates are instructed to guard themselves and to look to their own defence. Our poor four thousand good men - our 'Four Legions' - are being abandoned like a broken down mule, Stilicho!" And Pompilius thumped the rail of the old fort in emphasis, to lick his bruised knuckles thoughtfully. "Can you see any of those fools in Glevum, Londinium, Deva, Lindum, Eboracum and the rest, really understanding what that means? Britannia, my friend, has been abandoned by Honorius and your namesake Stilicho of Iberia."

"But - I am here beside you." Lucius Stilicho reminded him. "Do we leave Britannia for Gaul, as Gratian, Constantine and Maximus did?" He was almost relieved when Pompilius half-jeered, half-laughed, shaking his head.

"No, for we are still honest men and Romans." Pompilius turned towards him, a faint smile on his face. "We know Britannia, not Gaul. We know the province of Valentia, the Insulae of Mona and Mannin. We know the local tribes and the local people. We have mined the local coal, worked local iron, timber and stone, we have farms that rear cattle, sheep, grain for our food. We are staying, Lucius."

"Here, sir?" Lucius Stilicho became worried; the fortress was well sited to stop an invasion of Britannia, but it was not particularly well supplied with food and drink.

"Southwest, across the hills." Pompilius stretched out one brawny arm, marked with the scars of sword-cuts gained in practice and in open fighting. "Somewhere our poor few thousand can be fed and yet hold off a multitude of foes. Somewhere we can settle and become the last Colonia the legions establish in Britannia. A base and a district where we can hold out for Rome. For we cannot hold out here for long, we cannot protect the coastal forts, even if we tried to. And that I will have to tell the men!"
 
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A rewrite needed, on a prequel basis

The Ala Petriana was recorded as early as AD 69 by Julius Agricola, and seems to have been based at Stanwix/Uxelodunum from the early days of the Wall. It is tempting to see in them the basis for Arthur's knights and Coel Hen, for they seem to have kept aloof from military intrigues as the mobile reserve for the Wall. Until one gets to the mounted troopers anmd cataphracts of Byzantium, the Ala Petriana were one of the rare exceptions to the rule of fighting on foot that governed the Legions and Auxiliaries.

Another curiosity (check wiki) is Coel Hen. Whilst jotting down my solution to the age-old problem of fuel for smelting iron, I made Pompilius the inventor of coke manufacture. I made his men call him 'Old Coals and Cinders' and plead a case for Old King Cole. More to come...

...No, I'm winding this up. Too much on Coel Hen, Yr Hen Ogledd and Rheged to suit me. By the early 600s civil war put Hen Ogledd on the skids and it fell to Anglian Northumbria. Even if Cumbria became a steel-producing powerhouse, Pompilius (or his successors) would need to dominate the whole of Britannia. A Romanised province rather than a hidden Roman culture. And that wasn't the point of the thread.
 
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Bearing in mind 'Cato's Cavalry'...

...Here's a word document I wrote at the time of doing this TL. It's slightly different to the TL, but has a rather ruthless flavour.

Roman West Cumbria and Mannin :
It all began ten years earlier, in Anno Urbis Conditae 1153, when young Marcus Pompilius Carbo finished his military training on the Rhine and went to visit his uncle Flavius Pompilius Rufus, his guardian and mentor in many things, not the least of which was military strategy. He found the old Legate in his huge villa outside Hispalis in Hispana, supervising the manifold variety of works through his sons Macro and Phillip. Flavius had treated his dead brother’s son as if the lad was a third son of his own, even though in appearance they were radically different, for mentally they were mavericks and very similar. Marcus had seen the frontier where his father had died fighting hard with too few troops and too little equipment, the victim (so Flavius said) of a system that diverted military funding into the pockets and villas of corrupt officials. Legate Flavius had told Marcus not to bother him with complaints about pitiful official supplies and instead to walk about his uncle’s estate as if he was a military agent surveying a foe’s lands before an invasion.

Marcus smiled, then obediently set to work with waxed tablets, stylus and simple pacing, surveying what he found and gradually losing the smile. Instead he had a frown of concentration and a sense of disbelief; the estate villa was laid out like a fortress, with the extensions and projections forming flanking towers. The freed slaves who were the workforce were fiercely loyal to their patron and all were discreetly armed, a force of about a thousand armed men ready to muster as an army. Even the buildings scattered about the estate seemed designed to resist and break up an attack, whilst the storehouses and granaries held food, drink and oil, for several years. The shrewd old Legate was leaving his two sons a fief, rather than a defenceless estate, but at the same time had made himself one of the richest suppliers of wine and oil in the province. A little bewildered, Marcus had returned to his uncle.

“Are you going to seize the Imperial Throne, uncle?” That blunt question drew tears of laughter from the old Legate, who shook his head very firmly.

“No, no, my dear boy – Cincinnatus I was and am – I returned to my farm and have no wish to leave it for the decaying decadence of Roma Dea.” Old Flavius explained. “But I fear that Imperial Rome and its Empire are dying, taxed to death and with the people abandoning their support for the Honour that is Rome. I am preparing my family to survive the darkness that is following, when some barbarian King breaks through the frontier and reaches Rome. There is a Schola here to train up the children and Guilds to keep alive the skills of metalworking, clothmaking, pottery, glassmaking and leatherworking. The Christian Church uses its monasteries in the same manner, but they are full of monks and nuns – we need a living, growing city-state.”

“That’s not the same as running a legion, uncle.” Marcus had wondered what the old Legate was getting at. “Or – Roma Dea...!” Light had begun to dawn. “You are talking about a Legion that makes all its own equipment, grows or hunts for its own food and breeds its own recruits!”

More delighted laughter as the old man clapped him on the back. “That’s my lad! Yes, it’s the only way to carry on, in the face of declining central support. My influence should get you a posting in an area where you and your wife Junilla can run a Legion vexillation as an estate. The Byzantines use a system of farmers who serve as frontier guards – a militia, if you will, but with organised military training. You will need to develop a Colonia of serving soldiers that can maintain themselves in a barbarian wilderness – a bastion of civilisation to keep Roman ideals alive, when all about is falling into ruin. That, Marcus Pompilius Carbo, is my parting gift to you.”

To be appointed to the once-famous Ala Petriana, the reserve army at the west end of the Wall of Hadrian in Britannia, had seemed to be an honour at the time, but Marcus was cynical enough to guess that the reality was under-strength, ill-equipped, under-trained soldiers, who would rather stay in a fort than ride or march out and give battle to barbarian raiding forces. He was unpopular with other Tribunes in Rome for the precise reason that he was a professional soldier and regarded with contempt those who just wore a uniform and took the pay as another job on their way to a fat seat in the Senate. Not for them a cold posting to the most northerly frontier of Rome– a posting to Greece, Dalmatia, Gallia Narbonensis or Hispana, was more to their tastes. So Marcus Pompilius Carbo had left Rome with his wife of eight months marriage and had not looked back; the Rome he served he would never be able to return to, for it had faded long ago.

Life in Petriana was not, in the event, too bad, once Pompilius had imposed his authority and discipline; he was officially Tribune Augusticlavius, but actually the Prefect of the Ala and as time went on he became the dominant commander of the Wall garrison. There were several reasons why this happened, but the most significant was that he had invested his personal fortune in developing farms, mines and workshops, all tied together into a self-sustaining military estate, like his uncle’s. What the land failed to provide – things like oil, wheat and wine – he found substitutes for or traded for from the ports of Maia and Glannoventa. The iron ores and coals of the West Cumbrian Coast gave Pompilius the basis for an iron and steel industry that let him sell bar iron to other parts of Britain, as well as to provide the materials for the Petriana’s fabrica. Wool from sheep and hair from goats became cloth and felt for the troopers’ uniforms, leather and meat from cattle and deer. Bronze was a headache until he was able to trade for Iberian tin and zinc, the copper coming from deposits in Mona, the island that would one day be Anglesey. Lead and (secretly) silver, came out of mines in the Cumbrian fells and from Mannin, where a chance visit by Lucius Stilicho had revealed traces of lead ores. The Mannin chieftains were gradually absorbed into Pompilius’s Romanisation process, which in that sense added another remote outpost to Rome.

The years of work paid off in a flourishing trade, the surplus being enough to let Pompilius import some luxuries for his wife – until he got a glassmaker and a potter quietly to work with local resources. The fine sands of one of the Cumbrian lakes and the kelp ash from Mannin and the Cumbrian coast, were heated to make an excellent glass, whilst a substitute for Gaulish Samian was soon being made from filtered red clay slip. The model for the pottery was a legionary workshop near Deva, which turned out basic utensils and tiles from river clays, as it had for hundreds of years, but the glassware needed an expert from Colonia in Lower Germania, a man who almost wept at the purity of the materials he was given. Gypsum for plaster was found near Deva, the plaster being used mainly for mould-making; the results were at least as good as the blurry Gaulish ware, as the potter was part-Greek and respected his heritage.

“Tribune, we can sell in Britannia all we can make for you.” The glassmaker told Pompilius. “May I bring in some of my relatives? We can do well, here. Can you let us burn more charcoal?”

Pompilius frowned. “Timber and firewood might become scarce. Might you not try the stone-coals that we mine in this area?” He was rather intrigued by that substance; during his time on the Rhine as a junior officer, Pompilius had encountered miners who had told him a lot about it, not that they understood much; occasionally they found ferns, animals, the leaves and stems of strange trees, even the skeletons of animals and bat-like creatures. But coal came in many different forms, from a brown type like a hard peat through cannel coal and soft tarry coal up to a very hard dry type that formed hard cinders.

“Too soft and impure.” The potter explained the problem. “But a fire of cinders just might work – the heat of the first burning drives off the tar.”

“Let me think it over.” Pompilius went to speak to a charcoal-maker who thought the Tribune was crazy, but did what he was paid to do, turning a batch of hard coal into a hard coke that was eminently suitable as a replacement for charcoal. That went down well with iron-founders and copper-smelters as well as the glass and pottery makers. Rather to his astonishment, Pompilius found braziers of the coke appearing in various buildings, to his profit and that of the charcoal-makers, who hailed Pompilius as patron and Guild President. It was an invention that allowed the construction of shaft-furnaces that turned ore, limestone and coke, into liquid iron for casting into various objects. That added more wealth to Pompilius’s coffers and cast iron cooking pots and pans to the range of goods exported from Glannoventa and Maia.

The local tribes were astonished at Pompilius’s use of the stonecoal to smelt iron and heat the buildings of Luguvallium and Uxelodunum, so called him ‘Lord Coal’ and wanted to know more about him. They asked various troopers and centurions of the Petriana, who told them that the name of Pompilius was that of the second and almost oldest King of Rome and that the man himself was the son and nephew of great generals. The chieftains of the local tribes began to refer to the Tribune as the ‘King of Old Rome’ or the ‘Old King’, mostly amongst themselves, for his apparent ancestry was impressive. A knowledgeable Roman officer recalled that Numa Pompilius had given Rome its most just laws, agreeing that Tribune Pompilius was in the best traditions of his namesake.

By the time Constantine III decided to make his push to become Emperor, Luguvallium was a flourishing town and the Ala Petriana one of the best equipped units in Britain, supplying weapons and equipment along the length of the Wall and even to some of the Saxon Shore detachments. When the usurper decided to milk Pompilius for the men and weapons needed to invade and hold Gaul, his messengers found a grim-faced force quite prepared to defend their profitable Tribune and all he had achieved from all comers.

“The Ala Petriana is to defend the frontier, not to be used for some scheme to overthrow the legitimate government. Your pretender is not recognised by the Senate and People of Rome!” And Pompilius had the standard bearers parade the Standards before them, including the Signifer who bore the staff with the bust of Honorius on it. “You will leave this land and the Wall, or you will be regarded as the enemies of the Senate and People of Rome!”

But the messengers went away with some of the more unreliable and mobile troops, from further to the east, away from Petriana’s influence. It reduced the Wall garrison to a meagre 4,000 of all ranks, most of them looking to Petriana. Pompilius could have said more, but the rumours soon spread that Constantine III was a shaky prospect to follow, as the Rhine garrisons had also refused to mutiny and were holding the Limes as the Ala Petriana were. Secretly, a fast merchantman set sail from Maia a day later, carrying despatches south to Gaul and Iberia; they made it clear what the usurper was up to and repeated that the loyalty of the Ala Petriana was only to the Emperor legitimised by the Senate and People of Rome. Even more secretly, a despatch rider went to Hispalis and found old Flavius on his deathbed; the old man called his sons to him and warned them to take heed. Constantine had stripped out of Britannia the few troops left to defend its coasts from Saxon raiders, leaving only the Ala Petriana and a few other hard-nosed units faithful to their land and orders – but too few to save the country.

“Honorius has at least one good general left.” Flavius remarked. “If Stilicho is up to it, and keeps his hands off Honorius’s sister, there may yet be hope...And keep faith with Marcus – he will trade you his wool, linen, iron and dried fish for our oil, grain and wine.” His sons gravely agreed; Marcus had been a profitable but distant partner in their business.

The news that the ship brought back grieved Marcus Pompilius more deeply than he thought possible, but he put the Ala on the alert and made sure that the lands southwards to Eboracum and Deva were most carefully watched. But there came no usurper’s armies, or any relief force sent by the Emperor Honorius, only anxious messengers wanting to know if the Ala Petriana would come south in defence of this town or that. No contributions were offered to the payment for this defence, no towns except Viroconium and Isca agreed to train recruits with the assistance of the Ala Petriana. They all seemed to believe that they could get the support of Pompilius’s modest forces by right, without making any contribution in men or money to its upkeep. Although it hurt, Pompilius’s reply was the same; he would only send training optios and centurions to train the militias, which must also be armed properly. Weapons would be supplied at an at-cost discount and should be cared for. The Ala Petriana would only leave the Wall if other arrangements could be made to keep it and the people safe.

“Londinium has demanded that we come south and garrison the city.” Lucius Stilicho had glanced at one scroll that came in reply. “They’re Constantine loyalists. What shall I do?”

“Burn it.” The reply was quite firm. “Once the idiots realise we mean what we say, they’ll lose their allegiance to Constantine fast enough. They’re just waking up to the fact that Constantine’s abandoning Britannia and wants an Empire in Gaul, Hispania and Italia. I just hope Honorius uses his wits and sends Stilicho after Constantine. Our men will go south to Mona and overland to Viroconium. The ones for Isca can take a coastal vessel from Deva. When the barbarians in Hibernia and Geatland wake up to the weakness of Britannia, they’ll change the minds of the Civitates for us. Yes, it’s harsh, but we’ve no resources to waste.”

The winter weather closed down the seas and everything but the official roads; with the old Imperial Post service failing, Pompilius paid innkeepers to keep horses for him on the routes to Eboracum and Deva. It kept him aware of an unpleasant development; the Civitates demanded defence from Constantine and got nothing but silence, so deposed his officials and tried to elect their own governments. They had plenty of people who could run a city or a tribal kingdom, but a shortage of military officers able to serve as Comes Britannicus or Dux Soxonici. Only then did it become clear to the Civitates the magnitude of their mistake in supporting Constantine and ignoring Pompilius, whose advice was now seen as vital. He had kept a force in being by supplying it from his own resources, so the Ala Petriana was now the best force left in Britannia. The tribal kings were starting to rattle spears and dig out old swords, but they were inexperienced and poorly-trained, unsure of being able to hold their town walls, let alone the lands about them.

Emperor Honorius did have sense enough not to oppose his best General, for Stilicho chose his moment and forced Constantine to over-extend and do battle with tired troops. But the Emperor did not send either a Governor or a military force to Britannia, to the despair of the Civitates; it gradually became clear that Honorius considered a province that had produced three usurpers to be a danger more than a taxable asset. As a final effort, in the middle of the industry of winter, Pompilius composed a letter for the Emperor’s attention. The letter took three weeks to reach Ravenna, gathering notes from Imperial agents before it finally arrived before a committee composed of the Emperor, two Senators with military experience, the Commander of the Praetorian Guard and the head of the spies.

“Marcus Pompilius Carbo – from a military family, appointed eleven years ago as the last Tribune Augusticlavius of the Ala Petriana. Successful dealer in stonecoal, iron, steel, wool, dried fish and leather, to quote a few items. Profits go to the pay and support of the Ala Petriana and the development of the estate or colonia being run for the milliaria and its dependents. Family villa at Glannoventa, extensive mines, smelting works and workshops. Nearest surviving relatives are two second cousins with an estate near Hispalis. They trade oil, wine and grain to Pompilius in return for some of his goods. The villa is modest – the money mostly goes to the Petriana.” The head of the spies examined his lists. “Cumbria and Luguvallium seem to be full of people who have connections with the Ala Petriana or the Wall garrison. My agents say that the local tribes call him ‘The Last Roman’, because he keeps to the ways of Rome.”

“Britannia has produced nothing in Our reign but a succession of usurpers.” Honorius remarked, lazily rotating a ring on one finger with his other had. “This fellow could be the next one.”

“No – he’s a man with a dream that died generations ago.” The Praetorian commander was actually amused. “A Republican Roman devoted to family, legion and duty. We have evidence – pass me that scroll on the usurper, will you? – that Constantius wondered if he dared attack Petriana, but was put off by the risk of defeat. Every message and annual report from Petriana tells the same story – a unit maintained at continuously high levels of readiness for raids by Irish, Pictish and Saxon barbarians. I would recommend, Caesar, that you tell the British Civitates to ask Petriana for help in defending themselves. That can give Marcus Pompilius Carbo a task to do and show the Civitates that they must find resources to defend Britannia in the land itself.”

The Senators were bored and wanted their next meal, the Emperor wanted a way out of a couple of problems and the head of the spies had other matters to deal with, so the Commander of the Praetorian Guard was told to draft an order to Petriana from the Emperor, which Honorius later sealed and which was sent to Marcus Pompilius in Britannia.

“’... The Empire is aware of the resourceful care that you have shown in the maintenance and defence of the Limites Hadrianicum and the military acumen displayed by the Ala Petriana in recent years. Your loyalty to the Empire is unquestioned and relied upon in these troubled times, to maintain the defences of Britannia against barbarian assaults. You are therefore permitted to offer such assistance as may be practicable to the Civitates of Britannia in organising their own defence, even to the supply of instructors and weapons. This does not authorise you to conduct any military actions beyond the coasts of Britannia and its adjacent islands. You may discharge the functions of a Dux Britanniorum or a Comes Saxonici if this is agreed to by the Civitates Britannicum, but only for a period not exceeding a year at any one time...~

Marcus slammed the scroll down on the desk in front of him, and looked thoughtfully at the bust of Julius Gnaeus Agricola that stood, neatly polished and repainted, on a fluted pillar-base. One of his greatest heroes, Agricola had not had the troubles that beset Marcus now; at a stroke, the Emperor had cut away the restriction that had been in the background – the Ala Petriana had its Wall duties and little else. The only reassuring feature was that the one-year-rule might it impossible for him to become a military dictator – presumably because of fears that the tiny Petriana garrison might yet generate a usurper. That made the cynical Marcus curl his lips; he had troubles enough maintaining the garrison without adding to them. Still, it was useful to have his weapons-plus-instructors policy ratified, even if its logical conclusion was that he might have to stamp on the toes of more would-be usurpers and ‘High Kings’ when the Civitates became militarily confident.

“Lucius, I think we’re going to have to be careful – as usual.” His deputy rolled his eyes in a speaking manner; they had been one step ahead of disaster with the Civitates all the time. “You’ve read the Imperial Hand?” He gestured to the message; Lucius had a habit of reading such correspondence as soon as he could. “You know what it is? Honorius can’t be bothered to spare legions recovering Britannia from itself. But he doesn’t want us to develop so much military power that we produce yet another usurper. A most unwanted independence.” And he laughed, weakly and painfully. “My uncle was horribly right!”

Lucius sighed; his Tribune had frightening perception about some things, but it was not all reassuring, for many were afraid that all depended upon Carbo. It was time for something Lucius had long wanted to establish, but which Marcus Pompilius had been reluctant to establish. “Sir, we will need a government. At the moment it’s just you and our senior officers. Who will be in charge here when you die? I don’t think that Ravenna’s interested in sending anybody reliable here.” He grinned at Marcus’s sudden dismay, for the Tribune was dumbfounded . “It’s not as if Lady Junilla doesn’t have fine children – it’s whether we establish a dynasty or a republic. Your uncle Flavius has his sons and you have a son and two daughters. What do you mean to do, sir?”

“Think this one over carefully.” The Tribune admitted. “Junilla’s pregnant again... I’m a landowner, but I’m also your Tribune...” He sat thinking over the possibilities as Lucius let himself out, then hurried along to where an anxious group of officers – and a few local tribal chieftains – sat in conclave around two flagons and some new-baked bread. They looked up hopefully as he entered, then groaned when he shook his head.

“Give him a little time.” Lucius Stilicho warned them. “He’s aware that we’ve been abandoned and he’s trying to decide what’s best. But he did tell me that the Lady Junilla is pregnant. I think we will have a King at Petriana yet. But you’d better be ready with a Tribal Council – a local Senate of the Civitate, Master Atrechorus -” This to a burly, bearded Celt who had native ancestry and many spears to his name. “- for he may want to have a Republican Senate. Honorius won’t let him be war-duke for more than a year, so do not expect him to become High King of Britannia.”

“Lucius, we don’t have much time.” That was the suave Venutius of the Brigantes, the tribe that still dominated the Pennines. “Britannia is known by the Frisians to be empty of troops. We can either employ some as mercenaries or we can recruit our own people and train them. Let me speak to Carbo myself!”

But Lucius shook his head. “Try to push him and the Legate will dig his heels in and fight you. I know him better than you do.”

“Junilla, you are a Patrician Lady of the Senatorial Class – would you like to be a Princess or a Queen?” That question made the sleek-haired and silk-dressed matron chuckle; Junilla was as dark as most Italians but had kept her figure, unlike some. At the moment she was four months pregnant and feeling increasingly ungainly, hardly the elegant figure she imagined a Royal Lady to be. Marcus had never been a man for titles, other than those of achievement; he had been delighted with ‘Old Cole’ and his title of Legate. An intelligent woman, Junilla had the answer at once and it was another question.

“Lucius expects you to become a Prince or a King.” Junilla remarked. “Do you want to be? I’ve been the Legate’s Lady for years.” Marcus held up a hand, a swordsman acknowledging a hit, then seated himself beside her. He often discussed ‘matters of state’ with her, for she was highly intelligent and kept her ear open for matters good or troublesome. “There are lots of petty Kings in Britannia, but only one Legate. ‘Princess’ will be quite adequate.” The smile on her lips and in her eyes made him laugh; as usual, she had found the solution to the problems of protocol with wit and wisdom.

Marcus was not wholly ignorant of the small meetings the officers held and for which Lucius was often their spokesman, on this occasion going straight to the senior centurion’s residence and catching the whole group still in conclave. They rose as he entered without ceremony, but he gave them an ‘at ease’ signal that made them sit down, somewhat uneasily; Marcus was slow to act at times, but when he did, wild horses were not faster.

“The Lady Junilla is content to be a Princess, but I am the only Legate in Britannia.” Marcus told them, with calm amusement. “And I now have the Imperial authority to advise and arm the Civitates in their own defence. But I may only be Dux Britannicum or Comes Saxonici for a year at a time. Does that help you, my friends?”

“Not with Vortigern trying to make himself High King down in Londinium.” Venutius held the Legate’s gaze. “The fool wants to import mercenaries from the Frisiones – he wants to pay them in land.” To his satisfaction. Marcus gasped at the extent of this stupidity; Vortigern plainly failed to see that it would open the door to immigration and conquest by the Frisiones and their Geatish allies, not to speak of the wild Angles and Saxons. “The civitates and the tribal Kings want you to stop him.” The unspoken words ‘Before it is too late’ hovered in the air; the Legate glanced at his deputy.

“Call out five hundred troopers and get them ready to ride south. Apart from anything else, Vortigern plans treason. I will be Dux Britannicum for one year only. Understand me?” His gaze swept the room; Marcus was rarely angry, always decisive. “Lord Venutius, I thank you for this wisdom. My lords, I look for your support and for recruits in the days ahead.”

*

Used to rapid moves to battlefields in Valentia north of the Wall and to coastal defences on Britannia’s eastern coast, the Ala Petriana made light of the ride south to Deva then down Watling Street to Londinium. The five hundred riders had almost a thousand camp-followers – armourers, horse-handlers, cooks, leatherworkers, capsuarii, farriers and quaestionarii. Those last two categories expected specialised work in Londinium, for the word rapidly spread of Vortigern’s treachery. Loyal almost to a fault, the Ala Petriana kept quiet about their mission, for it involved a surprise attack on the Palace Vortigern had stolen from the military government. In a nutshell, the absence of Constantine III had left the province without a central government authority, so the self-proclaimed ‘High King’ had seized the structure for himself. Honorius had not been concerned, but Venutius and Marcus Carbo had realised that the symbol of government was important and so was the disposal of Vortigern and his Frisian allies.

The force was riding into Londinium before anybody there knew the Ala Petriana had arrived, the camp followers seizing the old Cripplegate military fort, the five companies of troopers dividing into two forces – two companies to seize the Palace and three companies to seize the Frisian longships down by the quayside. The practiced and trained veterans under Lucius Stilicho shot down the handful of Frisian guards, seized the ships, then rounded up their crews, before sending a company to the Palace. There, Marcus and Venutius had surrounded the building and isolated it before going in with swords drawn and bows ready, disposing of the Frisione mercenary guards in a short and unequal fight. They caught Vortigern, Hengist and Horsa, their sister Rowena and a number of hangers-on, ‘King’ Vortigern demanding to know what authority they had to do this.

“This!” Legate Marcus Pompilius Carbo told him, tapping his sword. “And Emperor Honorius has instructed me to defend Britannia against her enemies.” He surveyed the motley group before him. “And I think a lesson is in order. I understand you intend to pay these Frisians in land, not denarii – and from who are you stealing the land?”

“The Iceni, amongst others.” Venutius remarked, then fell silent at a glance from Marcus, who raised an eyebrow at Vortigern, then glanced at the long-haired Frisian brothers.

“There are – ah – lands abandoned by former owners.” Vortigern was visibly sweating, but the plump King was fighting for his life.

“Under the laws, they are the possessions of the tribes or the Emperor’s officials.” Venutius snapped back. “Legate, those lands include six of the Litores Saxonici fortresses, stretching from Branodunum to Rutupiae. It is handing the province to these Frisione pirates!” And he glared at the blonde Rowena. “Legate, Vortigern is doing so in return for a woman!”

“I will question them.” Marcus recalled the language he had spoken to the Batavii whilst serving on the Rhine frontier. “What has this traitor promised you?”

“Vortigern says we have lands if we fight enemies.” Hengist offered. “Weapons and forts. We keep words. He wants Rowena as wife – Kvenna - Lady of Britannia.” It was hard to understand all his words, but Marcus got the gist and he was furious.

“Vortigern is a dead man. I am warduke of Britannia and the Imperial Hand. It is forbidden for foederatii to serve where they threaten a province. Understand me?” The two Frisians nodded agreement. “Good! I have your ships and your men. If I say so, you die.”

“I... speak Latin.” Rowena remarked. “Maybe I make a peace -?” She went on one knee before them.

“The Most Excellent Legate is married to a Princess of the Romans.” Venutius remarked, as Marcus considered his reply. “And you have been Vortigern’s mistress for weeks.” He turned to the Legate. “Your Excellency, she may carry his child.” Venutius saw Hengist and Horsa relax and was annoyed.

“A triple threat, then.” Marcus heaved a weary sigh. “Take them away and tell the headsman to be swift about it... “

Marcus left the room as Vortigern started screaming, followed by Rowena, her brothers shouting threats, curses and obscenities. They and their hangers-on were executed in front of the Palace, where crowds watched the swift Roman justice. Each of the prisoners was killed in less than a minutes by the headsman’s axe, first Vortigern, then the blonde heads of Rowena and her brothers rolling in the blood and dirt. The remains were later bonfired on the foreshore near Tyburn.

*

The destruction of the Frisian nobles and Vortigern’s following sent a shock throughout Britannia and the North Seas coasts, for nobody had expected that Marcus Pompilius Carbo would have been so ruthless in his disposal of them. Hengist and Horsa had been younger sons and adventurers after lands and wealth of their own, so they had few mourners. Rowena was slightly more important, but her behaviour with Vortigern did not help her reputation after death. The civitates were relieved that they had a strong defender who refused Imperial dignities and – like Cincinnatus - placed a time limit on his involvement. The Palace was occupied by the Dux Britannicum as Acting Governor, but Marcus hated being there and only agreed to it after Junilla came to Londinium and stayed there as a reassuring presence.

Junilla took her position seriously and dressed and carried herself as a Princess, although with the benevolence not often associated with her rank. Like her husband she had her clients, although most of these were either servants or mothers seeking her help for their daughters. Her informal ‘court’ was useful as a source of intelligence and gossip in the merchant and tribal households of Britannia, an aid to government of the province and emerging nation.
 
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A different solution to Vortigern...

...But maybe more in keeping with Roman and British practice at the time. I stopped at that point as it was a definite pre-1900 POD and outside OTL.

Cymraeg's Cato's Cavalry is probably more subtle - but I am tempted to revive my thread.

Any comments?
 
Well, it looks pretty interesting I must say

I think it could be an interested development, to have a more stable northern kingdom, constituted on a Roman basis. I can't see it retaining its distinctiveness in the long term, given the size of the core population, but then I guess Bactria did not have much in the way of Greek settlers either!
 
...But maybe more in keeping with Roman and British practice at the time. I stopped at that point as it was a definite pre-1900 POD and outside OTL.

Cymraeg's Cato's Cavalry is probably more subtle - but I am tempted to revive my thread.

Any comments?

Only that coal/Cole is a pun that only works in English (and yes, I am aware of what Carbo means:cool:) - a language which none of the characters speak and for that matter which doesn't even exist. The Welsh word for coal is glo, and the ancient British one would probably have been somenthing similar and has nothing to do with the name of the historical Coel Hen. Other than that, this is great stuff - more please:)
 

Sior

Banned
I'm always interested in any time line where the Angles/Saxons get their arses handed to them.
 
Dear Sior <ROFL>

...I'm partly Anglian / Frisian. Saxons were our enemies. My tribe (the Hwicce of Selewudu) fought the West Saxons and must have thrashed them on occasion. The Wessex 'Anglo-Saxon Chronicle' is so chauvinist it only records victories over the Hwicce, not defeats. Ethelfleda, Lady of the Mercians, may have been one of us.

However, some of my ancestors were Huguenots, others were Norse Yorkshiremen, so I'm a right mongrel tyke, lad...

Spoiler : Manxlaw rules!
 

Sior

Banned
...I'm partly Anglian / Frisian. Saxons were our enemies. My tribe (the Hwicce of Selewudu) fought the West Saxons and must have thrashed them on occasion. The Wessex 'Anglo-Saxon Chronicle' is so chauvinist it only records victories over the Hwicce, not defeats. Ethelfleda, Lady of the Mercians, may have been one of us.

However, some of my ancestors were Huguenots, others were Norse Yorkshiremen, so I'm a right mongrel tyke, lad...

Spoiler : Manxlaw rules!

My ancestors are from the Silures and Durotriges Celtic Tribes. We still remember the night of the sais knifes.
 
The idea is that the Romanised garrison retain a Roman nature right up into the early mediaeval period, albeit of the later Roman period rather than the Augustan that most are familiar with. They retain not just the culture of Imperial Rome but also its technology, to make sure that they can keep the barbarians away.

Which Roman technologies?

Even Late Roman agricultural technologies were best adapted to the Mediterranean, and ill-adapted to central or northern Europe or Britain. And barbarian agricultural technology was already better-adapted to central and northern Europe, and continued to develop through Roman and post-Roman times.

And I'm not familiar with the history of shipbuilding, but the Romans would need to copy the frame-built ships which were used on the Atlantic instead of staying with the shell-built ships which were usual on the Mediterranean. So at best they start with the same basic shipbuilding technologies as their neighbors.

And the Romans had the same basic military technologies as their neighbors, though they had the sheer economic scale for large-scale production of mail and scale armor, which their neighbors did not. But they concentrated much of the iron-working in specialist factories which were not in Cumbria. [see the Notitia Dignitatum].
 
I come to praise Corditeman not to bury him...

...But maybe more in keeping with Roman and British practice at the time...Cymraeg's Cato's Cavalry is probably more subtle - but I am tempted to revive my thread. Any comments?

Salve Citizen,

I have a MA in History and I did my Master's Thesis on Roman Britain. I heartily endorse your obvious scholarship and research. I praise your writing ability and urge you to resume this thread. Subscribed!

Hero of Canton
 
Marja, you're missing the point...

...The necessary technology has been introduced as a measure of desperation - and Carbo has access to some of Britain's best mineral deposits, in Cumbria. Agreed, expansion of this capability to defend Britannia would need to involve the Forest of Dean and Weald ironworks.

Still busy with HMS Heligoland (a year to go) and the open-ended Isle of Man ISOT.

Going to shower and go to bed...

G'night...ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ...
 
Too useful to be dumped...

...I'm making use of the name of Gnaeus Pompilius in the new 'An Island of Temporal Instability', whilst transferring his accomplishments to Ambrosius Aurelianus. This will tie in with the 'Isle of Man ISOTed to 1065 Part 2'. I'm also going to use Lady/Princess Junilla....

...Recycling?:rolleyes:
 
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