“With the departure of the Roman troops, historians imagined the end of History. And from their empty pages we have conjured up a desolate wasteland of abandoned cities, overgrown fields and marauding barbarians and we call this the Dark Ages. In actual fact, sophisticated societies developed in Britain in the Dark Ages. Released from its associations with Rome, Britain began to forge an independent identity. Ancient trade routes were resurrected, languages evolved, and the foundations of Modern European thought were laid down. These were not the Dark Ages.” –Francis Pryor Britain AD
In a previous essay we outlined our thesis regarding British sea-power in post Roman Britain.[1] Simply put, during the fifth and sixth centuries—the Brittonic Period—it is argued that sea-power played a key role, militarily and economically, for the peoples of the British Isles as they responded to the manifold challenges posed by independence from the Roman Empire.[2]
Implicit in this thesis is the view that, at the time they gained autonomy, native Britons were far from being the weak minions of an imperial power as they have so often been portrayed. The inhabitants of the former diocese of Britannia were neither hapless, helpless, nor incapable of fending for themselves once the mighty legions of Rome supposedly departed for “home.”[3] Rather, as they had done on previous occasions, Romano-Britons rose and took up arms to defend themselves—and did so by sea as well on land.
The role of Romano-British sea-power in the history of this era has been largely overlooked by historians concerned with this era. Why this is so may have more to do with modern a priori assumptions regarding Brittonic society and culture than with an actual lack of evidence.[4] More and more, older paradigms for the beginning of British independence have been recognized to be fundamentally flawed, although they continue to influence scholarly thinking to an inordinate degree.
The sea, for all of British history–and an even longer prehistory–has been a rich natural resource, a virtual cornucopia, and the earliest inhabitants of the British Isles certainly exploited that resource to their benefit. The notion that maritime affairs played a major role in the Brittonic Era, as it had in other periods, therefore, should not come as a radical theory. Nevertheless, outside of theorizing about a putative Adventus Saxonum, few English historians have devoted serious thought to the role that sea-power played in the history of Britain during the fifth and sixth centuries A.D.[5]
To be sure, anthropologists and archaeologists have not been remiss in investigating this topic, and what progress we have seen in the last several decades has been largely due to their efforts and the insights they have given us. By contrast, English historiography has largely focused on aspects of Saxon seafaring and whether the alleged “Anglo-Saxon Invasions” were a mass migration or an affair of military elites. Other than that, naval aspects of the era have been neglected, with the role of native Britons in maritime affairs being relegated to an afterthought.
It is this present writer’s view that the Brittonic Era was foundational for all of what would follow in the history of Britain. Failure to properly apprehend the nature of this period, therefore, is to also misapprehend what came after. From another perspective, in the context of Toynbee’s “Challenge and Response” model of history, I think it is safe to say that the main course of English historiography has been to regard the native British polity of this period as a “failed state.”[6] This author, by contrast, adopts the position that, overall, the native British response was reasonably successful in confronting the challenges of independence, especially compared to the chaotic state of affairs on the continent during this same period. It is this success that would come to form the solid factual core around which successive of accretions folklore, fantasy and literary fiction would coalesce to form the mythos of the Arthurian Cycle.
While this present essay is primarily concerned with contemporary evidence for Brittonic sea-power, we would be remiss not to mention one historian’s research on an important primary source dealing with Brittonic sea-power. While a majority of Dark Age historians have proven singularly disinterested in the subject of British naval warfare during this era, the lapse is not absolute. One notable exception to this academic lacuna has been an essay by noted Dark Age/Late Classical historian Bernard Bachrach.[7] In Bachrach’s “The Questions of King Arthur’s Existence and of Romano-British Naval Operations,” he took a look at Chapter 66 of the Historia Brittonum—the “Arthurian Battle List”—and came up with new insights into this much-discussed ancient document. Bachrach’s essay is foundational for the subject at hand, and while we note it only in passing, the insights he shares and the issues he raises are deserving of far greater discussion and update.
Turning to historical records, while most of our sources for this period were only committed to paper at a later date, a careful reading of the sources and events contemporary with the period do yield evidence regarding Brittonic sea-power during this era.
PRELUDE TO INDEPENDANCE
An Island “Fertile in Tyrants”
Looking for immediate antecedents, we turn to the late fourth century and the imperial usurper Magnus Maximus. Maximus’ attempt to seize the Imperial throne is told more fully elsewhere; our interest here is more limited in scope—namely to the precedent he established in the use of naval resources.[8]
Maximus’ reign was all but forgotten on the continent, but he was well remembered by the Welsh for millennia, who turned him into the folk-hero Macsen Wledig.[9] In one Welsh tale, “The Dream of Macsen Wledig,” for example, Maximus is portrayed as a heroic leader, not a usurper or “tyrant.” In other accounts, Macsen was often portrayed as a native of the island, although history informs us otherwise—he was originally from Hispania. His adoption by the Welsh as a native son may well be a reflection of earlier native Romano-Britons’ sentiments towards him and his reign.
In the “Dream,” the presence of the British fleet looms large in the story:
“and he saw a fleet at the mouth of the river, the largest ever seen. And he saw one ship among the fleet; larger it was by far, and fairer than all the others. Of such part of the ship as he could see above the water, one plank was gilded and the other silvered over.” [10]
Regardless of the heavy folkloric overlay, it cannot be forgot that we are dealing with a genuine historic figure. In the actual event, Maximus’ initial successes ultimately turned to tragedy; his achievement was such, however, that it earned him immortality in Brittonic and, ultimately, Welsh, culture. For our purposes, the historical fact that he was able to assemble a fleet, cross the channel and, “at once crossing the Ocean in ships, anchored in the mouths of the Rhine and wrest control of Gaul” points to his being in command of substantial naval and maritime resources, a feat that would be repeated scarcely a generation later.[11]
Passing to the early fifth century, we have the subsequent attempt of Constantine III to seize the purple. While this attempt failed too, it proved a pivotal precursor to Britannia becoming an independent polity. Whether Constantine was motivated by crass ambition or noble patriotism is a moot point. What is important is that his initial efforts were crowned with success, seizing control of both Hispania and Gaul with minimal struggle and that, for a brief time, he was even granted a degree of legitimacy. Hailed as a restorer of order, he rallied both regular Imperial troops and barbarian auxiliaries to his standard and, for a brief moment, seemed on the verge of complete success.[12]
As with Macsen’s attempt, the prerequisite for Constantine’s campaign to seize power on the continent required command of the seas. All available naval and maritime assets were assembled by Constantine to carry out the insurgency: “and he (Constantine) straightway gathered a fleet of ships and a formidable army and invaded both Spain and Gaul with great force.”[13] Of necessity, this included commandeering existing native British merchant vessels and any Roman merchantmen in British ports at the time. Less well known is the fact that, like earlier Britannia-based usurpers, Constantine also recruited barbarian “pirates”—maritime mercenaries, such as Saxons and Franks—to supplement his armada.[14] Of Roman naval vessels, Constantine would have undoubtedly scrounged both sides of the Britannic Sea (English Channel) for units willing to partake in his venture. At least some Saxon Shore forts in this period had naval squadrons attached to them and these units undoubtedly comprised the main regular naval component Constantine’s armada.[15]
Details are lacking for both exempla above, but one can be confident that neither of these expeditions could have taken place without a substantial naval force to assure its safety, either from random pirate freebooters, or from a potential counterstrike by Imperial naval forces loyal to the legitimate emperor. Technically, the expeditions by Magnus Maximus in the late fourth century and by Constantine III in the early fifth, could be regarded as Roman military actions. Their intent was not to form an independent state, but rather to use the diocese of Britannia as a staging area in their bid to ‘wear the Purple’ and wrest control of the Western Roman Empire from an existing ruler, much as Constantine the Great had done.
However, almost imperceptibly, after centuries of Roman units occupying the same garrisons on the island, what had once been viewed as a hated army of occupation, evolved into a force composed largely of native British troops. Constantine’s men left Britannia Roman soldiers and sailors, true; but those who lived to return home did so as Britons, men whose homeland was henceforth independent of Imperial Rome. And they came home by sea—save for those remnants who, in return for land in Gaul, pledged allegiance to a weak Emperor cowering in swamp-surrounded Ravenna, a fop who cared more for the well-being of his pet chicken “Roma” than the sacking of the sacred city of Rome.[16]
INDEPENDENCE
The year assigned to Britain’s independence is AD 410, the date of the Rescript of Honorius, in which the western emperor responded to a petition from the united civitates (city-states) of Britain, pleading for help with the barbarian threat.
With barbarian tribes and usurpers in control of most of the continent, and with Rome having just fallen to the Visigoths, Emperor Honorius’ answer, telling the Britons to fend for themselves, should not have come as a surprise to the British provincials. It may even be that the original letter to the emperor was merely intended as political cover to forestall future imperial punishment, the British having already revolted against the usurper Constantine III the year before. In recent years, some scholars have tried to question the Rescript’s intent or legitimacy, but whether one dates British independence to 410, 409, or even to Constantine’s revolt in 406 (or 407), it seems certain that Britain’s permanent separation from the empire occurred at this time, even if it may not at first have been intended to be permanent.[17]
After an inter-regnum—which may have included flirtation with a republican type of government on the part of the civitates of Britain—the island’s elite returned to a more familiar form of rule, one by a single sovereign, albeit one who governed in conjunction with an island-wide council of elders, patterned along the lines of the Roman Senate yet retaining more authority than its architype.[18] The main reason for the return to a stronger, centralized style of governance had to have been due to concerns over the island’s security.
So much ink has been spilled on Vortigern’s recruitment of a naval detachment of Saxon foederati a few years later, we find it superfluous to discuss the subject here, save to suggest that a three-ship flotilla, such as Hengist is said to have initially led, would merely have served as a supplement to an already existing Brittonic naval force. Hengist’s detachment (roughly the equivalent of an understrength numerus) probably numbered between some ninety to one hundred eighty warriors, depending on the carrying capacity of his three cyls. They were certainly not the totality of the island’s naval capability in the 420’s.[19]
Towards the middle decades of the fifth century, we have a rare written primary source which provides further support for the existence of a Brittonic naval force. Preserved is a contemporary letter from Bishop Patricius—St. Patrick—protesting a raid by a Brittonic leader named Ceretic, (or Coroticus). Known as “Letter to the soldiers of Coroticus,” the document is well known to scholars as an example of a religious leader of the period asserting dominance over secular authorities.[20] Undoubtedly that is why Patrick’s letter has been preserved from this period when hundreds, perhaps thousands, of other contemporary British documents have not survived. But more is going on in this missive than perhaps even its sender was aware of.
Apparently, Ceretic, commanding a frontier detachment, had conducted a raid across the Irish Sea against Hibernian folk whom Patrick asserted were recent converts to Christianity and, allegedly, no threat to the British. For our purposes, what matters in this dispute is that this was obviously a naval expedition, a surprise attack by sea to either punish a local Irish ruler for his prior attack on British territory, or simply as a piratical enterprise: to garner loot and slaves to enrich the purse of the Brittonic commander and his men. It may well be that such maritime raids as this were how frontier garrisons were compensated (or sated) by the central British government in the fifth century for their services.
Patrick is, unfortunately, long on invective and short on details, but he is clearly concerned that the young female captives remain unmolested and that at least some of the other booty—the kind made of gold and silver—also be shared with him. Patrick seems more disturbed by the soldiers of Coroticus’ “un-Roman,” than their un-Christian, behavior: “I cannot say that they are my fellow citizens, nor fellow citizens of sacred Rome.”[21] Farther down in the letter, the ostentatiously humble Patrick boasts that his father was a decurion in the Roman political hierarchy.[22] From his auto-biography, we also learn that Patrick’s grandfather was a well-to-do cleric and Patrician.[23] Although called to minister to the barbaric Hibernians, Patricius clearly identified more with his Roman political heritage and culture rather than his native British identity.
In contrast, from what one may glean from the available information, Coroticus was of a very different background and mindset than the wealthy Romano-British missionary. From comments made in the letter, it is clear this British leader had regular dealings with Picts and Scots, folk whom Patrick labeled as “apostate.” While “Scot” in the Roman era was generally considered as equivalent to any Irish folk, Patrick seems to refer to the folk he ministered to as “Hibernians,” who were Irish pagans and apparently different from the people he terms Scots. His use of the term apostate indicates that such folk had been Christian sometime in the past—which in turn may imply folk whose homelands lay in northern Britain, probably beyond the Wall. He may have in mind the Dalriada Scots, north of the Wall.
If the leader whom Patrick condemns was indeed in charge of the garrison at Alt Clyt, Coroticus likely would have had dealings with both Picts and the Dalriada Scots north of the Walls. In the genealogies for the Kingdom of Strathclyde, an ancestor who is thought to have reigned sometime in the mid- fifth century is named Ceretic and this may be the eponymous leader to whom Patrick directed his wrath.
The name of this British leader itself is highly instructive. The name first appears in the early history of the conquest of Britain, but then disappears as a personal name for nearly four centuries—and for good reason. In the early decades of the conquest of Britannia, one man’s name stands out above all the rest in the annals of Britain’s resistance to the Roman invaders: Caractacus.[24] This early British monarch waged a long war against the Romans. At first carrying out regular military campaigns against the invaders, he found himself unable to withstand their onslaught; he then resolved to conduct a strategy of irregular warfare. Joining with the Silures hill tribes, Caractacus waged a relentless guerilla war, holding out against the assembled might of the Roman Empire for close to ten years. In the end, however, he was betrayed by another British leader, who turned him over to the Romans. We probably would know nothing of Caratacus’ exploits, had not the Emperor Claudius decided to pardon the rebel king, to glorify his own Imperial regime and make the Empire appear magnanimous to the rest of the civilized world.[25]
Beginning in the early decades of British independence and continuing on into the sixth century and beyond, variations of this name were given to Britons, high born and low. Clearly, memory of this British national hero made a great resurgence among those in Britain who were inspired by his stubborn resistance to foreign invaders, as well as those who valued independence from Imperial Rome. It is likely, therefore, that the Patrician Bishop Patricius’ criticism of Coroticus’ failure to adhere to the “sacred” values of Roman citizenship fell on deaf ears.
The Rock of the Clyde, known as Alt Clyt, or Dumbarton (but originally called Dinas Breatann in all probability), was an ancient stronghold overlooking a bay that had a natural harbor. It was an ideal staging area for a Brittonic fleet. Strictly speaking, this area lay beyond Britannia proper. Its folk belonged to the Damnonii, a tribal group believed to have been governed in the late 4th and early 5th centuries by a series of Roman officers appointed to command them as Laeti. Technically, they were auxiliaries, irregular frontier troops stationed outside Britannia proper, but they were crucial in their role of protecting the provinces’ northwestern flanks.
With Roman rule gone for decades, the leaders of Dunbarton, if they had ever truly been Roman, had “gone native.” Clearly, this ruler’s forebears had chosen to name him in honor of Rome’s staunchest British foe; we may deduce that, even if Christian, he had little love for “sacred Rome.”
The Alt Clut ruler is the most likely candidate of Patrick’s wrath, but certainly not the only Coroticus known; several such commanders and kings are known, including the founder of the Saxon Wessex dynasty, “Cerdic.” Whichever eponymous candidate one may select, what is certain is that he had his military command located somewhere along the west coast of Britain, lived sometime in the mid-fifth century, and that he and his warband made raids upon the shores of Hibernia in their fleet of swift warships.
An even more substantive case for Brittonic naval power can be made for the expedition of the British King Riothamus and his fleet. There is no question that a British army of at least 12,000 men crossed into Gaul at the invitation of the legitimate western Roman emperor in 468:
“The emperor Anthemius…asked the Britons for aid. Their king Riothamus came with twelve thousand men into the state of the Biturges, by way of the Ocean, and were received as he disembarked from his ships.”[26]
Riothamus and his Brittonic field army were there to buttress legitimate Imperial authority, but the traitorous Prefect of Gaul conspired with the Visigoths to thwart that goal. Instead, the British had to fight a series of pitched battles against increasingly long odds, without the support they had been promised. While Riothamus was unknown to traditions in the British Isles per se, a strong memory of him was preserved in Brittany, where several local dynasties claimed him as their ancestor. He is well attested in continental sources, including contemporary letters and documents.
The history of this episode has been related more fully by Geoffrey Ashe and other independent scholars.[27] For our present purposes, the identity of the Brittonic ruler and ultimate fate of his army is of lesser concern than the fact that he was, in a relatively short amount of time, able to muster a substantial field army, transport it across the Brittonic “Ocean” unopposed and then land it on the continent to come to the aid of the faltering western Roman Empire. That fact alone testifies to a substantial naval capability among the British in the late 460’s. Moreover, even if Riothamus were merely a regional ruler, as some have theorized, and not an overking or Ameradaur on the scale of say, Vortigern, Ambrosius, or Arthur, that simply strengthens the case for the Britons having major maritime resources at their command. An “overking” would have far more substantial naval forces at his disposal than any sub-king possibly could have had.
One important aspect of Riothamus’ continental campaign that has been largely overlooked is the fact that it was part of a grand strategy of great import. If Anthemius’ strategy had succeeded, it would have reversed the “inevitable” decline of the western Roman Empire. It was a strategy which entailed a major naval campaign against the barbarians in the west, of which Riothamus amphibious operation was only one element.
In 467, Anthemius, newly appointed western emperor, joined forces with his eastern counterpart, Emperor Leo, as well securing the support of Comes Marcellinus, a semi-autonomous warlord who ruled Dalmatia. This grand alliance assembled a massive armada, and an army to match, to reconquer Carthage, North Africa, and the western isles, then under yoke of the Vandal Empire.[28] The Roman naval campaign initially met with some success against the Vandals in 467, retaking Sardinia and Tripoli.
However, in 468, at the Battle of Cap Bon, what should have been a stunning victory for the Romans turned into a catastrophic defeat at the hands of the Vandal Empire. After begging for a truce to allow time to consider surrender terms, the Vandals suddenly sent fire-ships into the midst of the assembled armada of Roman warships and transports anchored at Cap Bon, causing chaos and consternation.
Vandal buccaneers then launched a sudden attack on the disoriented Imperial fleet. Anthemius’ ships were virtually annihilated and the eastern fleet, or what was left of it, fled back to Constantinople. Then, when Riothamus’ expedition to Gaul was betrayed by a renegade Imperial official, the second leg of the grand strategy also came undone, spelling doom for Anthemius’ attempt to restore the western empire. Anthemius was treacherously murdered in AD 474 and the Western Empire ceased to exist two years later.
While this last, best hope to restore the western Empire failed, in the end it was not an utter failure for the Brittonic realm to the west. It is to this period that the “Second Wave” of Brittonic migration to Armorica is often dated. Some of Riothamus’ survivors made their way to the Breton coast, where they found safe haven and a friendly welcome, as well as bolstering its defenses. It is also to this period of time that one may probably date the absorption of the surviving Roman garrisons, still manning the coastal defenses of Armorica, into the growing Brittonic populace: “[they] handed themselves over along with their military standards and the lands that they had been guarding for the Romans for a long time to the Arborychoi [Armoricans]”[29] Despite Riothamus’ debacle, with Armorican ports now firmly in friendly hands, it is likely that travel and trade between the Armorican coasts and western Britain increased substantially in volume, further strengthening old ties between the two Celtic realms.
In the case of Riothamus and the prior rulers mentioned, the evidence for the existence of their fleets is clear, but lacking in detail. However, we do possess one direct mention of Brittonic warships and their crews dating to the fifth century. While brief, it at least gives us a direct contemporary reference to what surely was a more widespread and long-lasting aspect of independent Britain’s defenses. It appears in a treatise by Flavius Vegetius Renatus, Epitoma Rei Militaris, the most widely read source on the Roman Army in the Middle Ages. The treatise was, unfortunately, not written by a professional soldier and mostly discusses the Roman army as it existed in earlier times, when Rome was at its height. There are, however, references here and there in his text than do tell us something about late fourth and early fifth century warfare and the Roman army, and these occasional nuggets make Vegetius well worth the effort of plowing through his tedious late Classical prose.[30]
Book IV of Vegetius specifically deals with the Roman navy; but this volume has traditionally been ignored by military historians, far more so than other sections of his treatise.[31] In fact, it is still left out of most modern translations of the military manual. Vegetius’ description of Brittonic war vessels is short but tantalizing:
“…Scouting craft, however, operate in company with the larger men-of-war; having about twenty rowers on each side — the Britanni call them “Pict boats.” It is the practice for surprise attacks to be made with these, for convoys of the enemy’s ships to be intercepted sometimes and for the approach of the enemy and their strategy to be found out by keeping a keen watch. So that the scouting vessels will not be betrayed by brightness, the sails are dyed Venetian blue, similar to the color of the sea, and the tackle is colored with the wax that ships are generally coated with. Also, the sailors and marines wear Venetian blue colored clothing so that not only at night, but even in the daytime, they more easily remain unseen while scouting.”
Vegetius is clearly describing a system of local Brittonic naval detachments primarily organized for coastal defense, presumably operating in conjunction with a series of coastal watchtowers which have been documented by archaeologists of an earlier generation.[32] If he had been referring to naval forces under Roman command, he would certainly have said so. These “Pict boats” were both oared and had sails, so they could easily be used along the mouths of rivers or in shallow coastal areas, as well as on the high seas. Vegetius also alludes to these vessels coordinating with larger warships, presumably in major naval actions. The evidence here is clear and for the most part undisputed.
The main problem is dating Vegetius’ work. Some modern historians, wishing to use him as evidence for the fourth century Roman army, have tried to shoehorn the composition into that century. However, based on contextual evidence there was only a limited time-frame in which the treatise could have been originally composed; currently the preponderance of evidence points towards it having been first written sometime during the reign of Valentinian III, ca. AD 425-455.[33]
The best estimate therefore puts the work clearly during the period of Britannia’s independence. Even if it had been written prior to 425, we know from contemporary evidence that the manuscript had gone through at least seven revisions by the time it is reported to have appeared in Constantinople in 450. The passage in question is wedged between a section dealing with weather signs and another dealing with types of wood used in ship construction, both unrelated to the topic at hand. The section referring to the Brittonic navy would likely have been inserted during one of those seven subsequent revisions. As our Brittonic chronology would assign it, this would most likely have been in the reign of Vortigern (ca. AD 425-441) or, at the outermost, during the succeeding reign of Ambrosius Aurelianus (ca. AD 442-451).[34] Vegetius is not the only contemporary witness to Brittonic sea-power, but certainly he is the best, and at least one researcher believes his information may be based on first-hand observation.[35]
DECLINE AND FALL: RISE OF THE WARLORDS
Sometime in the early sixth century a civil war erupted in Britain. Historical tradition avers that Arthur was the sovereign and that his close kin revolted, seeking to usurp his throne. Modern scholars have cast doubt on this narrative and even go so far as to deny Arthur’s existence. Putting aside academic disputes over its nature, however, it is safe to conclude that an internal struggle for power erupted which culminated at the Battle of Camlann. Regardless of who won or lost, the net result was that the unified polity that had ruled Britannia for over a century ceased to exist as the outcome of the war.
If the mid-sixth century narrative of Gildas is to be trusted, peace did not result at the end of the civil war. After a long period of peace—the Pax Artorius—Britain once again became “fertile in tyrants” as local civil, military & tribal leaders of the former unitary government usurped power, becoming warlords, with each seeking hegemony over the others, to reunite the fractured polity back into one once more. The only saving grace to this era of warlords was that, at first, the Saxons did not take advantage of the disorder in the Brittonic state. The Saxons only interfered to the extent of their occasional recruitment by one or another warlord, accepting cut-silver in return for their service as mercenaries.
During this same era, migrations from the island of Britain to the mainland increased greatly in scale, as Armorica transformed into Brittany. Despite the political chaos, the mere fact of mass migration required firm control over the sea lanes between western Britain and northwestern Gaul. Even if most maritime traffic were in merchant vessels, a substantial naval presence would still have been a sine qua non to allow such vessels to ply between the two realms unmolested from pirates.
If the common folk thought that by fleeing war torn Britain they were relocating to a land free from war or strife, they soon found that similar political and military unrest had infected the promised land of Armorica as well. If information about events in Britain remain poorly documented even into the sixth century, on the continent we have numerous sources attesting to the turmoil in Armorica, and these sources often allude to naval warfare in passing.
While several rulers and their careers are referenced in the sources, perhaps the best-known leader of the sixth century wave of migration—and of the ensuing struggle for control of the Armorican Brittonic settlements—was the legendary King Mark of Cornwall, also known as Conomorus.[36] While he figures large in Arthurian legend, unlike Arthur, there is no doubt among academics as to Mark’s existence.[37] He is mentioned in contemporary documents, histories and especially in saint’s lives, where he is often portrayed in a negative light. Despite Mark’s “negative press” it might be best to take the horror stories about him with a touch of skepticism. For one thing, he led the losing side in the war for control of the Armorican colonies. For another, Marcus also managed to rouse the ire of the British clerics against him, who, we should remember, were the people who wrote most of the histories and biographies we have of the period.
At the same time Mark was involved in dynastic machinations among the Britons, he was also deeply involved in court intrigues with the Frankish royal family. At one point he was even appointed Regent for an underage Frankish king.
Conomorus was apparently made “Praefectus” by the Frankish king. While Medieval hagiographers had assumed this was a purely honorary title. However, modern historians, viewing it in the context of the Frankish government having inherited Roman institutions and administrative apparatus, as well as the fact of his naval dominion over the western sea-lanes, have instead concluded that Conomorus was conferred with the very powerful Roman military rank of “Praefectus Classis”—Admiral—by the Franks.[38]
In the course of his campaign for control over Armorica, Marcus assembled a great fleet and gathered together a mighty army in Britain, to conquer the entire of Brittany, once and for all. As an interesting aside, sources indicate that Conomorus had recruited Saxon and Frisian mercenaries to supplement his Brittonic forces for the campaign—this at a time when Gildas was decrying the Saxon presence in Britain![39]
Once having solidified his authority on both sides of the “British Ocean” and established a firm power base in both realms, there is no telling how far the over-arching ambitions of Conomorus might have stretched. Had Marcus succeeded in this venture, his next gambit may well have been to maneuver a pliant Merovingian prince onto the throne of Gaul as figurehead, with a view to acting as the power behind the throne—much as barbarian generals had controlled a series of puppet Roman emperors in the waning days of the Western Empire. Once in firm control of Armorica and Gaul and their armies, and already Admiral of a combined Gallic-Brittonic fleet, the re-unification of the Arthurian polity would have been an easy matter. From there, one may venture the ambitions of Marcus Aurelius Conomorus might even have dared extend to restoring the western Roman empire, with himself on the throne. Had that transpired, the entire history of western Europe would have been far, far different.
However, King Mark overplayed his hand and, in addition to being excommunicated for his alleged sins, Conomorus’ invading army was defeated by a Frankish-British force under Judual, son of Jonas, a rival Breton warlord whom he’d killed. After securing the backing of the Merovingian king Clothair, Judual raised an army and returned to Armorica by sea, stopping at the Channel Islands to secure more recruits before landing on the mainland of Brittany. In a final denouement, which might have been something scripted by Shakespeare, King Mark, Admiral of the Ocean Seas, ruler of two Domnonias and Cornouailles, husband to five wives and, finally, claimant to dominion over all of Armorica—and more— came to his end in battle near Ploueneur Menez in AD 560.[40]
CONCLUSION
In the end, despite numerous campaigns by land and sea seeking to unite the Brittonic polity as it had existed under Arthur and his predecessors, a unified realm was never restored. As time went on, British kingdoms were sub-divided into ever smaller and weaker polities, fighting one another more often than their Saxon neighbors. As their armies grew smaller, so too shrank the naval resources these petty kingdoms had to draw on. By the dawn of the Viking era, both Celt and Saxon kingdoms alike fell prey to the depredations of the renewed maritime barbarian onslaught which arrived by sea to Britain.
That Britain, an island realm, should have been greatly influenced by the sea in the fifth and sixth centuries seems to us self-evident. Of necessity, the inhabitants needed to adapt to independence politically, militarily and economically or else perish. Unfortunately, Gildas’ overwrought homily, although close in time to some of these events, has been taken literally for far too long by generations of writers. Following Gildas’ rhetoric, which owed more to the Old Testament than British events, later writers gullibly believed that Britons, bereft of their corrupt and incompetent Roman overlords, had passively allowed themselves to be slaughtered without lifting a finger in self-defense.
The archaeological record indicates that Britons, using existing resources, developed a thriving maritime trade stretching from the Irish and Severn Seas all the way to Constantinople and the Levant.[41] It follows that the British (or Romano-British if you prefer) also developed the naval capability necessary to defend those trade routes. Although frequently challenged, the British developed the ability to defend their own shorelines from foreign assault. In addition, during the Brittonic Period, the British managed to expand their dominions well beyond their island proper and colonized northern Hispania and Gaul.
The reason that today we speak a derivative of the tongue which the German mercenaries hired to defend Britannia spoke, rather than a dialect of that which the native British did, has less to do with either God’s wrath (as Gildas averred) or Saxon military might (as English nationalists preferred to believe), than the Britons’ own internal discord. Successful in repulsing outside threats and adapting to the changing economic circumstances of independence, ultimately what ultimately brought an end to “Camelot” were dynastic disputes and fratricidal infighting.
The sources which bear on sea-power in the Brittonic Period are far more extensive than those indicated above, although they were often not committed to paper until centuries later, and almost every source, early or late, has been the subject of disagreement and scholarly dispute. Nonetheless, the subject is worth the effort to untangle the controversies and opposing theories that surround these source materials.
It is hoped that when the full manuscript dealing with Brittonic sea-power in the Age of Arthur finds a home with an appropriate publisher, the role which naval and maritime affairs played in the founding of Britain will receive the attention it deserves from historians, and that it will prove of some value as a foundation for further research into this aspect of post-Roman Britain.
NOTES
[1] See my essay, “British Sea-Power in the Age of Arthur,” Rex Quondam Futurusque, 5/11/2017. https://coleckc.wordpress.com/2017/05/11/brittonic-sea-power-as-a-factor-in-post-roman-british-history/
[2] When historians don’t skip over the period entirely, they simply label it “Anglos-Saxon.” In recent decades, various circumlocutions have somewhat ameliorated this bias: Sub-Roman, Post-Roman, Romano-British, etc. It is more popularly known as “The Age of Arthur,” a label favored by the late Welsh historian John Morris, but frowned on by the Minimalist school, which has since worked hard to discredit Morris’ entire life’s work. Christopher Snyder has coined a more neutral, yet descriptive term, the Brittonic Period, which I have adopted here: see, Christopher Snyder, “The Age of Arthur: Some Historical and Archaeological Background” The Heroic Age, Issue 1, Spring/Summer 1999, paragraphs 2-3. http://www.heroicage.org/issues/1/haage.htm
[3] Indeed, the proposition that the legions left in 410 at all is now generally rejected by most historians and that whatever “collapse” may (or may not) have occurred, it was not due to the Rescript of Honorius. But we leave that discussion for another time.
[4] Regarding the anti-Brittonic bias in English historiography and nationalistic agendas behind their ideas of Anglo-Saxon ethnogenesis, see Howard Williams, “Forgetting the Britons in Victorian Anglo-Saxon Archaeology,” in, Nicholas J. Higham Ed., Britons in Anglo-Saxon England, Publications of Manchester Centre for Anglo-Saxon Studies Volume: 7, (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2007), 27-41; also see, Sue Content and Howard Williams “Creating the Pagan English from the Tudors to the Present Day,” in Carver, Sanmark & Semple, Signals of Belief in Early England, (Barnsley: Oxbow Books, 2010) 181-200.
[5] British archaeologist Francis Pryor, in his documentary “Britain AD,” described the Adventus Saxonum as “the invasion that never was.” Regarding the “Adventus Saxonum” see, Donald A. White, “Changing Views of the Adventus Saxonum” Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol. 32, No.4 (Oct.-Dec., 1971), 585-594. While Pryor produced a book version of the Channel 4 series, that text is much changed from the original documentary series narrative, perhaps due to peer pressure; see: https://www.channel4.com/programmes/britain-ad-king-arthurs-britain
[6] See, for example, Stuart Laycock Britannia: The Failed State: Ethnic Conflict and the End of Roman Britain (Stroud, UK: Tempus, 2008); also, “Britannia: a failed state?” Current Archaeology, May 13, 2008, a review article of Laycock’s book. Also see, Simon Esmonde-Cleary, “South Britain in the Fifth Century: a Collapsed State?” Late Roman Silver, The Traprain Treasure in Context, F. Hunter and K. Painter, Eds. (Edinburgh: Soc of Antiquaries Scotland, 2013), 45-53.
[7] Bernard Bachrach, “The Questions of King Arthur’s Existence and of Romano-British Naval Operations” The Haskins Journal 2, 13-28.
[8] For Magnus Maximus’ career and usurpation, see Walter E. Roberts, “Magnus Maximus 383-388 A.D. De Imperatoribus Romanis, An Online Encyclopedia of Roman Emperors. (1997); Anthony R. Birley, “383 Magnus Maximus, dux or comes litoris Saxonici,” The Roman Government of Britain (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2005), 443-450; Alisdair Menzies, “Magnus Maximus – An overview of early sources” via academia.edu https://www.academia.edu/11630521/Magnus_Maximus_An_overview_of_early_sources
[9] See, “The Dream of Maxen Wledig” (Breuddwyd Macsen Wledig) included in both the “White Book of Rhydderch” (National Library of Wales, Peniarth MS. 4–5) and the “Red Book of Hergest” (Oxford Univ., Bodleian Library, MS. Jesus College 111). Although not strictly part of the Mabinogion, it is included in most modern recensions of that compilation. In fact, Magnus Maximus was not British at all, but came from Hispania originally; despite this, Maximus was never commemorated as a native hero there as he was in Britain: see Daniel Hernández San José, “’The Dream of Maxen Wledig’: The Medieval Topics of ‘The Loss of Britain’ And ‘The Loss of Spain,’ The Heroic Age, 20 (2021) http://www.heroicage.org/issues/20/hernandez.php.
[10] Lady Charlotte Guest, The Mabinogion, (London: Bernard Quaritch, 1877), 444.
[11] Zosimus 4. 35.4; Birley, Government, 445.
[12] For Constantine III’s revolt see: Michael Kulikowski, “Barbarians in Gaul, Usurpers in Britain,” Britannia, 31 (2000) 325-345; María Fernandez Portaencasa, “A Fifth-Century “Gallic Empire”: Hispania as Part of Constantine II’s Usurpation” Studia Historica: Historia Antigua 38, (2020), pp. 217-243.
[13] Procopius, Wars, III, ii, 27-32.
[14] One of the two officers Constantine appointed as Magister Militum, Nebiogastes, is described as a Frank, and Frankish Laeti from northeastern Gaul are believed to have joined Constantine’s army soon after it landed on the continent. In reference to the Constantinian armada’s arrival at Bononia (Boulogne-sur-mer), the Roman historian Zosimus curiously describes this Roman naval port as “German speaking” (germanorum), which clearly means that it was already being garrisoned by either Saxons or Franks. Zosimus makes it clear that Constantine did not face a hostile reception when he landed there and that the other barbarian troops in Gaul flocked to his standard as well. During fourth century campaigns, Saxons had frequently campaigned with Franks, so the likelihood that Constantine’s force included a substantial Saxon contingent is strong. See, Zosimus, Historia Nova, VI, 5, 1-2. In light of these and other facts, archaeologists and some historians have begun to question older assumptions about the Saxons being unremitting raiders and pillagers, looking at the contemporary evidence shorn of later writers’ nationalistic biases; see Ian Wood, “The Channel from the 4th to the 7th centuries AD,” in Sean McGrail, Maritime Celts, Frisians and Saxons, (London: CBA, 1990) CBA Research Report #71, 93-97.
[15] Each of these individual forts would have had a small naval squadron attached, replacing the large centralized fleet of the old Classis Britannica. This is demonstrated by the appearance of the late listing of “Classis Anderetianorum” in the western section of the Notitia Dignitatum. It is interesting to note, however, that this squadron, named after the Saxon Shore fort Anderitum (Pevensey, East Sussex), is not listed in the Notitia under the respective garrison for that fort, but rather is listed under the Gallic Command, posted to the river port of Parisius (Paris). What of its sister squadrons, where were they? No other Saxon Shore squadron is so listed. The other Saxon Shore squadrons which followed Constantine, presumably, refused to accept an accommodation with the government of Honorius and sailed home to Britain, in consequence of which they were eliminated from the rolls and no longer listed in the Notitia Dignitatum by AD 425. See Otto Seeck, Ed., Notitia Dignitatum (Berlin: Weidmanns, 1876), 216, l. 23-4; (OC XLII. Praepositurae Magistri Praesentalis a parte Peditum. In Gallia: In Provincia Lugdunensi Senonia: “Praefectus classis Anderetianorum, Parisius.” OC XLI also lists a unit called “Militum Anderetianorum” stationed in the city of Uico Julio, which may possibly represent a detachment of marines from the naval unit, or the squadron itself under a different designation. The fate of survivors of the two usurpers expeditions has rarely been discussed by English historians but, much to their credit, in recent years the subject has received increased attention from French historians of the period.
[16] Procopius Wars, III.ii.7-39.
[17] See Fabio P. Barbieri, “The Rescript of Honorius” History of Britain 407 to 597, (2002) Book II, Chapter 2.2: http://www.facesofarthur.org.uk/fabio/book2.2.htm#_ftn6
[18] While the thesis of a republican form of governance is implied by the phrasing of the Rescript of Honorius, we do not have direct evidence of such. However, when Vortigern is appointed “overking” he still governs with the approval of a “council of elders” which seems to have had more power than the Roman Senate it was modeled on. I had formerly thought my hypothesis unique, until I came across a similar formulation by noted British historian Sir Charles Oman: “When in 410 Honorius bade the Britons “defend themselves,” the message must have been delivered to the magistrates of the tribal cantons into which the province was divided, and to the commanders of those cohorts and numeri which still survived out of the old garrison….We must therefore suppose that they organised some sort of a provincial league….If guessing is permitted, we may think of Britain in the early fifth century as a loose confederacy of communities, in which the municipal element was progressively growing weaker and the monarchical element stronger.” Sir Charles Oman, England Before the Norman Conquest, (London: Methuen & Co., Ltd, 1910), 192-94. In later editions of this tome, however, Oman recanted of his Republican heresy.
[19] We subscribe to a “low” chronology, which does not assume a period of “44 years of chaos” between the Rescript of Honorius and the election of a “superbo tyranno” to govern the land. The “high” chronology makes that leap of faith. That there is no general consensus as to the chronology of the Brittonic Period adds to the problem of trying to establish a coherent history of the period. As for Hengist and his ‘threes ships a-sailing,’ this is well attested in sources, beginning with Gildas: “then there breaks forth a brood of whelps from the lair of the savage lioness, in three cyulae (keels), as it is expressed in their language, but in ours, in ships of war under full sail” De Excidio, c.23; Bede, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and the Historia Brittonum provide the names of the leaders of the three ships as Hengist and Horsa. Hengist is the central character of the “adventus” narrative, by far, and while Hengist and his crew may not have been the first Germans to be recruited by the Britons for naval service, they are the ones which both British and Saxon tradition have remembered. For more on Hengist, see: Nellie Slayton Aurner, Hengest: a Study in Early English Hero Legend, University of Iowa Humanistic Studies Vol. II No. 1 (Iowa City: University of Iowa, June 1921); J.R.R. Tolkien, Alan J. Bliss (ed.). Finn and Hengest: The Fragment and the Episode. (New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1983).
[20] Patricius Episcopus, “Epistola ad Milites Coriticii” (Latin original): Ludwig Bieler, Libri Epistolarum Sancti Patricii Episcopi (Dublin: Royal Irish Academy, 1993), 91-102; translation: John Skinner, transl, The confession of St. Patrick and Letter to Coroticus (NY: Image, 1998), also available online.
[21] “dico ciuibus meis neque ciuibus sanctorum Romanorum” par. 2, Bieler ibid, 92
[22] “decorione patre nascor,” par. 10, Bieler ibid, 96.
[23] Patricius, Confessio, par. 1, Bieler ibid 56.
[24] For the story of Caractacus’ nine year’s resistance, see Anthony R. Birley, The Roman Government of Britain, (NY, Oxford University Press, 2005), 25-30.
[25] See Tacitus, The Annals, XII, 31-37; English translation: Alfred John Church and William Jackson Brodribb, The Complete Works of Tacitus, (NY: The Modern Library, 1942), 263-67.
[26] Jordanes, Getica, XLV.237-238; published in Theodor Mommsen, Jordanis Romana et Gethica, Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Auctores antiquissimi, 5.1. (Berlin: Weidmann, 1882),118-119. The main port of the Biturges was Burdigala, the modern port of Bordeaux.
[27] Geoffrey Ashe, The Discovery of King Arthur, (London: Guild Press, 1985), 53ff. Another independent scholar has reconstructed the series of events somewhat differently, without positing Arthur as the mysterious Riothamus; see Dave Pestano, “Riothamus and the Visigoths” Dark Age History Blog, August 21, 2011: http://darkagehistory.blogspot.com/2011/08/riotimus-and-visigoths.html
[28] For the naval campaign of AD 467-68 see, Procopius Wars, III.vi.4-27(Dwing edition, Vol. II, 57-63); M. Kulikowski, “Marcellinus of Dalmatia and the Dissolution of the Fifth Century Empire,” Byzantion Vol. 72, No. 1 (2002), pp. 177-191. This, and by extension the century-long Reconquista of the Mediterranean provinces from the Vandals, has sometimes been called “the Fourth Punic War.”
[29] Procopius, History of the Wars. V. xii.17-22. (H. B. Dewing edition. vol. 3, 123)
[30] See, Michael B. Charles, Vegetius in Context: Establishing the Date of the Epitoma Rei Militaris. Historia-Einzelschrift, Band 194, (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2007).
[31] Until a new translation and analysis was made by Paul D. Emanuele as part of his MA thesis in 1974, the last time Book IV’s naval section had been translated was by John Clarke in 1767. Since then, however, other scholars have published new translations of this work.
[32] Morris, Age of Arthur, 16, 51; also see H. E. M. Cool, “The Parts Left Over: Material Culture into the Fifth Century,” in Tony Wilmot and Pete Wilson, The Late Roman Transition in the North, (London: BAR Series 299, 2000), 47; Ray Spencer, “Filey Roman Signal Station, Carr Naze, East Yorkshire,” Journal of Antiquities blog April 29, 2012, https://thejournalofantiquities.com/category/filey-roman-signal-station/; “North Sea Watch Towers.” Roman Britain website: http://www.roman-britain.co.uk/attraction_type/north-sea-watch-towers/. The “signal stations” were attacked sometime around AD 428, and the native British garrison left for dead or fled; Morris believes they were replaced at this time by Saxons auxilia, employed to guard against naval attacks by the Picts from seaward. Vegetius’ account describes Brittonic naval units, although he does not specifically locate their whereabouts.
[33] Gibbon in his Decline and Fall, had dated Vegetius to Valentinian III, as did Vegetius’ nineteenth century editor, Otto Seeck; more recently, leading scholars Walter Goffart and Eric Birley have also arrived at the same conclusion and, most recently, Michael Bernard Charles, “Vegetius in context: establishing the date of the “Epitoma rei militaris” (The University of Queensland, PhD Diss. 2003), has made compelling arguments for conclusively dating Vegetius to the reign of Valentinian III. More recently, an Italian scholar argued that the book originated in the East, under Emperor Theodosius II, and dates it to AD 435; see Maurizio Colombo, “La datazione dell’Epitoma rei militaris e la genesi dell’esercito tardoromano: la politica militare di Teodosio I, Veg. r. mil. 1.20.2-5 e Teodosio II” Ancient Society, Vol. 42 (2012), 255-292. The preponderance of academic judgment thus favors a solid fifth century date for the reference to a British fleet of light patrol craft.
[34] For dating the end of Vortigern’s reign and that of Ambrosius’ see, C. Kiernan Coleman, “Comets, Kings and Chronology: Dating Fifth Century Britain” forthcoming.
[35] See Sabin H. Rosenbaum, “Insights into the Writer Vegetius,” (2012), Academia.edu: https://www.academia.edu/4779671/Insights_Into_The_Writer_Vegetius
[36] Cunomorus may translate as “Sea-leader,” or alternately “Sea-dog,” depending on which root of cane one chooses to use. Early Welsh writers undoubtedly also frequently employed puns based on the similarity of the two prefixes.
[37] For a brief synopsis of King Mark/Conomorus life and career, see Morris, Age of Arthur, 256-258, his running afoul of British saints, 361-366; André-Yves Bourgѐs “Conmor entre le mythe et l’histoire prefil d’un <<chef>> Breton du Viet siècle,” Mémoires de la Société historique et archéologique de Bretagne, (Jan.1996), 419-427; Helaine Newstead, “King Mark of Cornwall,” Romance Philology Vol. 11, No. 3, (February, 1958), 240-253.
[38] The Chronicle of Saint Brieuc calls him “Comorus tyrannus, praefectus Francorum regis.” See Léon Fleuriot, Les Origines de la Bretagne, 189; more recently, André-Yves Bourgѐs “Conmor entre le mythe et l’histoire,” ibid, 423, 426.
[39] “Danes, Northmen and Frisians” by one account. The first two are anachronistic terms, but would have been accurate description of their ethnicity at the time the saint’s life was written; the term Frisian, however, fits with the sixth century context and hints at a contemporary sixth century source. See Morris, Age of Arthur, 257-58.
[40] Morris, Age of Arthur, ibid; Albert Le Grand, “St. Samson,” Les Vies des Saints de Bretagne-Armorique, (original edition 1636; reprinted, Brest & Paris: Annes, 1837), 409-427. Some accounts place the final battle near Monts d’Arée. While one version avers that Conomorus died in personal combat with Iudual (or Judwal), Le Grand provides the detail from another saint’s life that he was killed by an archer, who pierced a gap in his armor. His body was reported to have been returned to Castle Dore for burial, but to date his place of internment has not been found. According to Morris, much primary source material for Conomorus can still be found in miscellaneous religious texts relating to the period, but while a handful of experts have looked at some of them, they have yet to be systematically analyzed and published.
[41] For a general survey of maritime trade & shipping in the Mediterranean, see Andrew Wilson, “Developments in Mediterranean shipping and maritime trade from the Hellenistic period to AD 1000,” in Damian Robinson and Andrew Wilson Eds., Maritime Archaeology and Ancient Trade in the Mediterranean, Oxford Centre for Maritime Archaeology Monograph 6 (Oxford: Oxford Centre for Maritime Archaeology, 2011). 33-59; for shipping & trade between Britain and the Rhine in the Roman era, see Joan du Plat Taylor and Henry Cleere Eds., Roman Shipping and Trade: Britain and the Rhine Provinces, CBA Report 24 (London: Council for British Archaeology, 1978). More recently, see Maria Duggan, Mark Jackson and Sam Turner, Eds., Ceramics and Atlantic Connections: Late Roman and Early Medieval Imported Pottery on the Atlantic Seaboard, Roman and Late Antique Mediterranean Pottery 15, (Proceedings of an International Symposium at Newcastle University, March 2014), (Oxford: Archaeopress Archaeology, 2020); Maria Duggan, Links to Late Antiquity. Ceramic exchange and contacts on the Atlantic Seaboard in the 5th to 7th centuries AD. (BAR British Series 639), (London: BAR, 2018); K.A. Hemer J.A. Evans et al., “Evidence of early medieval trade and migration between Wales and the Mediterranean Sea region,” Journal of Archaeological Science, 40 (2013) 2352-2359.
Rex Quondam Futurusque 