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Chapter 2.3: The
Picts destroyed?
Fabio P.
Barbieri
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Historical though it is, the
Rescript is also a fundamental moment of A, the
triadic traditional history. It is the point at
which the British find themselves alone against
the Picts, who - in Gildas' view of things - have
gained their large foothold in north Britain, and
now launch into their third and final invasion.
Gildas' account is full of his
version of racial theory. Left to themselves, the
British will not be able to fight for their
country because their nature is neither noble nor
soldierly. From the moment the Romans depart,
leaving the defence of the Wall in unmilitary
British hands, he is clearly bent on exaggerating
matters as far as he can. Nobody can take
seriously his account of feeble and shiftless
British soldiery (19.2): he tells a single
anecdote of the horrible weapons used by sneaking
Pictish raiders - barbed spears designed to rip
down single soldiers, probably to kill sentinels
before they could sound the alarm - and enlarges
it absurdly into a description of wholesale
slaughter. The notion that this happened
continuously is nothing short of ludicrous: how
many barbed spears could have been thrown, how
many soldiers ripped off the walls, before this
sort of assault made any impact on the numbers of
a standing army? And wouldnt even
unmilitary individuals learn to defend
themselves, out of sheer self-preservation? Here,
Gildas' genius fails him, as it does even the
greatest writers, from Plato on down, when they
ride a hobby-horse too hard.
This incongruity can either
originate from A or be Gildas' own contribution,
coming from goodness knows what original anecdote
or memory. If it came from A, it would mean that
A took its final form in the minds of people who,
though aware of the Wall, no longer had any idea
of the kind of manpower and organization it
commanded, who saw the defence of the Wall in the
same light as that of an earthwork like South
Cadbury, with full-time defenders numbering in
the hundreds rather than in the thousands. If it
was his own, it would prove that the Saint had
fairly little understanding of war. He might even
have misunderstood some more credible account in
which Pictish attackers surprised some small
section of the Wall by such means as he
described, eliminating a few sentries before the
alarm could be given. Given Gildas' knowledge of
Roman army manuals, the latter is less likely,
but I see no way to decide. The point is that,
whatever the origin of this particular episode,
it is completely incredible as Gildas gives it.
He has blown it out of all proportion, and by the
same token I would not be surprised if he had
deliberately suppressed stories more creditable
to British courage and resource.
Whatever the Britons'
"unmilitary" nature, Gildas has to
admit that their war ended in a thunderous and
decisive victory (20.2). The Picts got a
trouncing that lasted them for years; Gildas says
clearly that, though they indulged in minor
plundering raids, their next big adventure was
the one that caused Vortigern to send for the
Saxons, and which can hardly be dated (as we will
see in the next book) before the 430s. This
victory is presented as the result of the
self-consecration of Britain: in their nearly
final despair, in the absence of any human help,
the British call on God - and take up weapons.
Human help, we remember, stands for the Romans;
and what this is saying is that, in their third
and final encounter against their ancient enemy,
God has taken the semantic space of the Romans,
as wielder of the royal role of military
protector and leader to victory.
I think this battle is the
concluding element of A. No triadic elements may
be found in Gildas' history after it, and the
next episode is the decidedly historical chapter
21. What is more, the Picts all but vanish from
the stage, though so far they had been the one,
only, dominant problem. Though Gildas knew the
Roman defences on the island's south shore
(18.3), he seems to know of no Saxon threat to
Britain until Vortigern's time; from his
narration, you would never know that 409-411 was
notorious to Roman annalists not for a Pictish
invasion but for Saxon raids.
This is the more significant
since, to Gildas himself, it is the Saxons, and
not the Picts, who are the Big Problem; after
their arrival, he never mentions any other kind
of barbarian; and it is against them, not against
the Picts or any other barbarian, that he urges
the Crusade. Now if he had been constructing this
legend for himself, one can hardly doubt that the
Saxon Shore forts, whose ruins are majestic to
this day, would play the kind of role that the
two Walls do; in fact, they have no part in the
narrative whatever. Gildas knew that they
existed, but had no story to tell about them. And
this cannot reflect his own mind, which was
turned to the Saxon issue as to a magnet: it must
come from A.
So: the final defeat of the Picts
is the end of the story of A. The ethical world
of A therefore hinges on the defence of Britain
against Picts and Scots. Indeed, the victory
stands not only for Britain's deliverance, but
also for the consecration of the British nation
to God, Who proves a more reliable royal defender
than the Romans, and probably far less demanding
("for His yoke is light, and His burden is
easy"). In Gildas, it is independent
Britain's last serious war for a generation,
putting an end to the Pictish threat until we are
fully within recorded history.
A cannot have been written close
in time to the Pictish defeat it claimed to
describe. It is unaware that the Romans had been
a permanent garrison on the Wall; it sees them as
auxiliares[1], helpers from overseas.
The legend imagines a continuity between the
defenders of the Wall before and after the
Rescript; all British, all defenders of Britain,
all enemies of the Picts, with no break or
change. Whether the Romans come or not, the Picts
must still be fought, and there is nothing to
indicate that it is anyone but the same groups,
who oppose them each time, in the name of
Britain, Roman or post-Roman. And though A
presents the Picts as defeated, the strength with
which their danger is felt suggests that it was
still a live issue when A was written: it is
describing the great battle of the past,
when the Great Enemy were given the greatest
pasting in memory.
A surprising question must
therefore be asked: did such a Pictish invasion
as Gildas describes take place at all, during or
shortly after the end of Roman rule? Except for
A, we have no evidence for it. Continental
documents, Zosimus and the Gallic Chronicles,
only mention Saxon raids; and A makes it the
final term of a wholly, you might say
outrageously legendary epic cycle, none of whose
other terms have any relationship with historical
fact.
However, that continental sources
never heard of a Pictish war does not mean much:
the continent could hardly be expected to be
precise about what was happening in
Britains north after the Rescript, and even
the Saxon raid is mentioned at least as much for
what it did to Gaul. And the dominance of the
Pictish threat in Britain before the Rescript
makes it extremely unlikely that it should just
have vanished from the stage after 410. That a
Pictish invasion should have coincided with a
Saxon raid is not unlikely, especially supposing
that the news of the fall of Rome had gone around
the world and encouraged all the Empires
enemies. But the fact that Saxons are not even
mentioned - Gildas seems to imply that their
settlement in Britain under Vortigern had been
the first time they had ever been to the
island - shows, at least, that A originated in a
cultural reality in which conflict with the Picts
was the central issue, with the Scots/Irish as a
subsidiary but lively matter.
In other words, the legend of A
must have originated in northern Britain; it was
northern tribes who claimed to have inflicted the
third and last defeat, the defining defeat, on
the Picts, alone, against all odds; "and
plundered them in turn", says Gildas - a
form of behaviour that suggests northern marcher
chieftains rather than settled southern
gentlemen, to whom plunder as such would not be
nearly as important (let us remember that we are
still talking about an essentially late-Roman
Britain, a few years at most after the Rescript),
as part of a mentality in which ferocious
cross-border raids were justified by the memory
of enemy assaults of the same kind.
The legend incorporates one surely
historical event, the Roman refusal of help to
Britain (the Rescript of Honorius), which
precedes and motivates the third Pictish
invasion. There are suggestions of credible
history in such details as Gildas' description of
defeated British forces taking refuge from the
triumphant enemy in ipsis montibus, speluncis
ac saltibus ("those same mountains,
caves and woodland heaths"; a northern
rather than southern landscape, 20.2), or the
famine that accompanied the invasion - famines
are regular concomitants of major wars, and if
the Pictish invasion was on a large scale, mass
starvation seems inevitable[2]. This is the more
convincing since Gildas does not seem to see the
connection, and mentions the famine as something
that happened independently of the war: Interea
famis dira ac famosissima uagis ac nutabundis
haeret - "meanwhile a dreadful
and celebrated hunger clings to those who wander
and totter..". This is, alas, an all too
familiar picture: great crowds of houseless
refugees wandering blindly, starving to death
with nowhere to go. The adjective famosissima,
"celebrated, most famous", is as
interesting as the adverb interea,
"meanwhile"; for while interea
tells us that the "hunger" appeared to
Gildas (and, presumably, to his sources) as
something that happened alongside the war rather
than a direct result of it, the famosissima
- a superlative adjective, indicating something
altogether unique of its kind - indicates that
this was remembered as the famine, the
greatest, the most hideous anyone had ever heard
of.
What Gildas describes is a
prolonged war in which, while refugees were
driven in enormous numbers to starve without
help, British forces, defeated and driven from
the Wall, had at first to take refuge in
"mountains, caves, heaths and thorny
thickets" (this describes several separate
forces), until they were able to counter-attack
and inflict a "massacre" on the Picts.
This was a defeat so decisive that it took a
generation for the Pictish kingdom to mount
another major attack, suggesting that a large
part of the males able to bear arms had been
massacred or enslaved, and that the enemy had to
wait for the next generation. The ferocity of the
clash described seems to justify its lingering
long in the memory, and even becoming the
centrepiece of an epic tradition; and the
savagery with which the eventual victors appear
to have handled the defeated hillmen seems
justified by the losses suffered at their hands.
We are not, it seems to me,
talking about a legend, but about the memory of
actual facts, the effects and final result of a
war, such as we often see on the evening news.
With the third and last war against the Picts, I
mean, the triadic pseudo-history of A comes to
earth. It hinges on the Rescript, and the
Rescript is a historical fact[3]. And Gildas' bizarre
account of Pictish barbed spear has nothing of
the legendary about it, coming across, rather, as
an inflated anecdote. Lovers of paradox might
like to consider that, if Gildas distorted the
barbed-spears episode, this means that there was
something to be distorted.
There are a few thin, wispy
strands of evidence which also point to a major
Pictish defeat in the 410s. First, Gildas clearly
states that no major Pictish invasions were
attempted or even thought of until the one that
brought about the call to the Saxons; and this in
spite of the fact that he regarded it as their more
solito, their usual habit, to try and conquer
Britain. This is a credible statement, since
nothing we hear about Vortigern's period, as we
will see, suggests major Pictish efforts: the
British could even afford the luxury of
overthrowing a king and indulging in religious
division without fear of harm. Now, the Picts had
been a thorn in the flesh of Roman Britain
throughout the fourth century; if we find their
ambitions suddenly silenced for as long as a
generation, there must be a reason - and a defeat
as catastrophic as that of A seems the likeliest.
Second, St.Patrick twice
associates the words "Picts" and
"apostates", suggesting that the
northern kingdom had been at least nominally
Christian for a while, but had thrown the new
religion off again. If the Picts had suffered
such a shattering defeat as that of A, they might
well have been forced to accept Baptism
afterwards; only to throw it off as soon as their
strength began to recover. Patrick wrote, by any
reckoning, long after the Pictish defeat of A.
And we do hear of a conversion of
the Picts about this time, though the context is
quite obscure. Bede and later writers claim that
St.Ninian, first bishop of Whithorn, said to have
died in 428, had converted "the southern
Picts". Bede, our first surviving witness
(about three centuries too late), said that
Columba, from Iona, completed the work by
evangelizing their northern section. This is an
improbable story: Columba comes almost two full
centuries after Ninian, and the Picts being a
cohesive people ruled by kings, it is highly
unlikely that they should have remained divided
by religion for so long. This sounds like another
of Bede's attempts to reconcile irreconcilable
accounts, as in the case of Gildas' account of
the Wall; apparently Iona and Whithorn had two
separate traditions of the evangelization of the
Picts, both backed by documentary evidence (for
what that was worth). Bede had good contacts with
both, especially Whithorn, whose bishop Peohthelm
was a friend and source of information. Had he
come across two completely contrasting accounts
from two such venerable places, he would have
been bound to take them both seriously.
I am disposed to believe that
Bishop Ninian was involved in the forced
conversion of what was left of the Picts after
the defeat. The brief account of his mission in
Ailred's Life of St.Ninian (written three
more centuries after Bede, and quoting him) is
full of militant, not to say military imagery -
the Saint as God's athlete or armoured warrior,
going out to do battle with Satan[4] and expel him from the
furthest bonds of Britain. Also, Ailred gives a
most extraordinary description of Ninian's
"missionary" efforts: in one single
mission, his hero "began to ordain
presbyters, consecrate bishops, distribute the
other dignities of the ecclesiastical ranks, and
divide the whole land into parishes"! All
this in one journey? The whole land? If
there is any truth in Ailred's account, Ninian
cannot have been a missionary in the St.Patrick
sense of the word; this is not a mission building
up a Church of converts, but the construction and
imposition of a Church structure from above, a
political act such as might have been forced on a
subdued nation in the aftermath of an
overwhelming defeat. Of course, as soon as
Pictish strength recovered, such a church would
fare no better than such forced constructs
normally do fare; and Patrick would then have
reason to call the Picts "apostates".
It would then be left to the Irish coming in from
the West to evangelize the northern nation from
top to bottom again. But the evidence remains
terribly thin, and I do not propose it as more
than an idea worth thinking about.
The arguments for an overwhelming
Pictish defeat in the early 410s, however, seem
to me rather stronger. The prosperity which, as
Gildas claims, followed their massacre, is
confirmed (as we will see) both by other written
sources and by archaeology; it would be hard to
imagine unless the stubborn northern enemy who
had given Roman Britain so much trouble had been
silenced for good - or at least for decades.
Gildas' own account has many credible features,
and the legendary nature of the rest of A does
nothing to deny the possibility that its final
episode was historical. Quite to the contrary, if
the various episodes of the war - defeat,
atrocious famine, regrouping of defeated British
forces, final victory - had dominated relatively
recent history, to the point of becoming the
war, the famine, then it would be natural
to see it projected across time to a great
mythological past. It is a natural instinct of
historians, and even more of journalists, to see
the past as the necessary, inevitable and
exclusive preparation to the present; like those
Italian writers castigated by the historian
Gioacchino Volpe for casting the whole of Italian
history "as if teleologically orientated
towards Caporetto" in the aftermath of the
great but temporary 1917 defeat; or the still
unbroken dynasty of writers and historians who
insist on seeing the whole history of Germany as
leading inevitably to Nazism - a forma mentis
pushed to its extremes in the otherwise excellent
work of William Shirer, who saw even Kant as a
precursor. Great events create their own
pre-histories in people's minds; and if even
the resources of the twentieth-century historian,
with their wealth of evidence for the strangeness
and frequent aimlessness of life, cannot cure us
of the habit of thinking as though our own great
events were foreshadowed and foredoomed from all
time, then a fortiori must that have been
the case for a British writer seeking to
reconstruct his nation's past in an almost
complete void of evidence. The great event that
conditioned the early years of independent
Britain cast its own enormous shadow over the
earlier past, and became the defining shape of
relationships, past and future, with Picts and
Romans.
In this historical defeat, the
last great war before the Saxon catastrophe, the
northern tribes of post-Roman Britain must have
been able to claim a share; and thereafter it
became to them an epic, defining, paradigmatic
event. They looked back to it as to the episode
that defined their role in the world, and built
upon it a whole epic mythology in which the
Romans, though awesome and terrible, are not as
effective in ridding the country of the Pictish
threat as the north Britons from their caves and
mountains and woods. Also, A has a definite
Christian colouring. The Britons finally win
because they put their trust in God; which
implies that the difference between them and the
Picts is that between the servants and the
enemies of God.
It is worth underlining the fact
that A shows no trace of any pagan background
such as we find in so many Celtic stories. It was
Christian from the beginning, though it is an
ethnic, a racist, and a very warlike
Christianity, more like the party allegiance of a
border people seeking to distinguish itself from
hated neighbours (a forma mentis not
unknown in Scotland and Ireland
later on) than any real understanding of the
worship of He in Whom there is no Jew or Greek,
slave or freeman. But, in view of all the
attempts to prove from pure
supposition that post-Roman Britain
must have had a strong surviving
Pagan component, it is important to show that the
evidence of A is that, as the legend was taking
form, the people who formed it had an absolute,
if rather bigoted, allegiance to Christianity.
Notes
History
of Britain, 407-597 is copyright © 2002, Fabio
P. Barbieri. Used with permission.
Comments
to: Fabio P.
Barbieri
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