Gordopolis

Thanks to the 8th Augusta legion for letting me shoot their ballista last weekend at Vindolanda. Check out the clean hole the bolt punched through the armour strip that was attached to the target board - and that was just at quarter strength! I often write of ballista bolts wrecking their way through one, two, three or more men on the battlefield, and the tests show they were indeed that devastating

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-london-60466187 This beautiful Roman mosaic has been uncovered in London, near the Shard. It appears to have been the floor of a 2nd or 3rd century AD dining room (known as a "triclimium" in Latin). It reminds me of 2001, when I headed down to the 'big smoke' to start my IT career. One of the first things I encountered was a Roman archaeological dig right in the heart of the capital. I was spellbound by the sight - the earth laid bare, the towering glass and steel skyscrapers crowding around the edges of the dig like me and the other spectators, the sound of scraping trowels and the smell of millennia old soil. Absolutely magical. Best thing is there is an almost limitless number of things like this still to discover! #history #roman

That's one of the big plusses of living in Scotland - apart from when you are in the two major cities, you are always with mountains and countryside close to hand 😃 Thanks for the tip - I'll post to the arch group for this kind of thing in future!

After collecting "Vandalf" (our grey campervan) from the garage after a wee upgrade, I decided to sneak in a wee bit of research reading... and a cheeky visit to Chesters Hill Fort, near North Berwick! What a place... and bloody freezing too! The site was probably a Votadini tribal stronghold during the era of #Roman occupation. It is a typical iron age hill fort or 'oppidum' - consisting of several maze-like rings of ditches and troughs, each successively higher, surrounding and protecting a high plateau where the village would have stood. The name "Chesters" derives from the Latin term "Castrum", meaning fortification. P.S. I wasn't sure whether to post this here or in the Archaeology forum - mods feel free to move it if it doesn't fit here

Late reply, but yes, Aetius named his son Gaudentius in honour of his father

Beat me to it - great post! 😊

Badger leads archaeologists to hoard of Roman coins in Asturias, Spain, dating to 200-400 AD. https://edition.cnn.com/style/article/badger-roman-coins-spain-scli-intl-scn/index.html This corresponds with the Late Roman period, when barbarians such as the Suebi arrived in the Iberian peninsula. Dig director Alfonso Fanjul believes the coins were hidden by refugees sheltering in the area, saying: "We think it's a reflection of the social and political instability which came along with the fall of Rome and the arrival of groups of barbarians to northern Spain."

Hope this is okay as it's kind of a plug, but for a free thing! "Eagles in the Desert" is a short story prequel to my Late Roman "Legionary" series. It's a tale of desert warfare ⚔️🏝️- Rome vs Sassanid Persia And, as mentioned above, you can download it for FREE, here 😀 https://www.gordondoherty.co.uk/eaglesinthedesertgetmycopy.html "Eagles in the Desert was intense and ominous - a fast paced, gory battle tale centred around fathers and sons." - HWA Magazine

A special edition of one of my books "Legionary: Land of the Sacred Fire" (Late Roman/Byzantine) is up for auction this week - with all proceeds going to charity. If anyone fancies finding out more, you can do so over here: https://www.facebook.com/GordonDohertyAuthor/posts/4526611877387141 Thanks & good luck 🙂 ! And to whet the appetite, here's a wee excerpt from the tale: "The empire’s legions fled. They thundered westwards across the baking plain, the noon sun glaring down upon them like a Persian spy. Legionaries, Syrian archers, Armenian slingers and ironclad riders – more than thirty thousand men all told, gaunt and bathed in sweat, armour battered and caked in dust. Their staggered and untidy formation betrayed great anguish. Each of them shot fearful glances over their shoulders as they jogged, parched tongues darting out over cracked and bleeding lips. Near the front of the retreat, Comes Domesticorum Jovian led the Imperial Guard. He cut an impressive figure, broad and tall, his face ruddy and well-weathered. But his heavy brow shaded the fear in his eyes. It was a fiery terror that needled at his guts as he thought of those who pursued them. Don’t look back, he mouthed, fixing his gaze on the west. It offered only golden dust and azure sky, but soon they would be back at the eastern banks of the Tigris. Soon they would be reunited with the Roman fleet. Soon he would be safely aboard a bireme and then back in Roman Mesopotamia on the western banks of the river. At that moment, an image flashed through his mind; of the thousands of legionaries who had been slain on this wretched campaign, their grey, lifeless eyes fixed on him. In these last weeks they had fought and died in some of the most ferocious battles he had ever witnessed. They would never again feel the sun on their skin or the caress of their loved ones. Jovian, however, had barely sullied his sword on this journey. Yet here he was, dreaming only of his own wellbeing. He scowled at his timorous thoughts as self-loathing clutched and twisted his heart. He bit into his bottom lip until he tasted blood, then looked up to the figure riding just ahead. Emperor Julian sat astride a white stallion, wearing a wreath that hugged his flaxen curls like a crown. He wore no armour – only pure-white robes and a sword belt. This epitomised the man. The one who had renounced the Christian God and revitalised the old pagan ways. The strident and fearless leader who had led the army into this burning land, intent on ending the centuries-old Persian threat. The legions loved him, hailing him for his seemingly endless courage. Julian was everything Jovian longed to be. From where . . . from where do you draw your courage? Jovian mouthed. But his envy faded when he saw something up ahead; the shimmering golden infinity now offered a faint, sparkling thread of turquoise. The Tigris! His heart soared momentarily, then he frowned, noticing something else; a dark smudge by the banks. The heat haze sharpened to reveal the last wisps of black smoke spiralling from the incinerated Roman fleet. Charred timbers, torn sails and smouldering masts jutting at all angles. Hundreds of vessels. Utterly ruined. Jovian slowed. The rest of the column slowed, jaws dropping as the tang of wood smoke danced in the stifling air. He shot glances around his imperial guardsmen, cooking alive in their scale vests. They gawped at the fleet, then twisted to behold the still and silent horizons behind them in terror. A chorus of panicked murmurs broke out all along the vast column. Eyes darted around the sweltering land, then all looked to the Emperor. ‘Emperor?’ Jovian gasped, failing to disguise the tremor in his voice. ‘The Persians did this?’ Emperor Julian stared solemnly at the ruined fleet, then gave the faintest shake of his head. ‘No, not the Persians.’ Horror shuddered through Jovian’s chest as he realised what had happened. Emperor Julian continued; ‘I had no choice. When we set off from these banks, I gave the order to burn the fleet lest it fell into Persian hands.’ ‘But how will we . . . ’ Jovian’s eyes darted to the far banks of the river. Safety lay in sight but out of reach, across the tumbling waters of the Tigris. This was not bravery, this was madness! The emperor’s hubris would be the death of them all. ‘The fleet is gone. But the riverbank will protect our rear and our flanks,’ Emperor Julian said as he heeled his mount round to look over his bedraggled army then off to the east. He winked, straining to see through the heat haze that lay out there. Suddenly he sat up straighter in the saddle, a confident rictus spreading across his face. ‘Yes . . . it seems that either death or glory will grace us today.’ Jovian’s flesh crept as he turned to follow the emperor’s gaze. The eastern horizon offered nothing but a blur where golden dust met azure sky. Then a thunderous boom burst across the land. Then another. ‘Persian war drums!’ one panicked voice wailed. ‘They’re coming for us again!’ The heat haze flickered and a silvery dot appeared, slowly expanding to fill the eastern horizon like the horns of an iron bull. Now the war drums throbbed in an eager rhythm. Jovian gawped at the sight. The Savaran cavalry, the Persian war machine, Shahanshah Shapur II’s finest. They seemed to rise from the sands like demons. A sea of spear tips, iron helms and riders. Each gund of one thousand men was segmented into ten drafshs of one hundred, and each hundred carried a banner of fluttering fabric – vibrant reds, greens, golds and blues depicting bears, deer, asps and lions. And these endless ranks were punctuated by great, fierce and all-too-real creatures, the likes of which Jovian had never before set eyes upon; beasts with swishing, armour-plated trunks, bronze-coated tusks and archer-packed cabins strapped to their broad backs. The Savaran were here to annihilate the Roman war machine that had pierced into the heart of Persian lands, the legions that had only days ago dared to attempt a siege of the Sassanid capital of Ctesiphon. A clutch of dark-robed magi walked before this army, holding aloft gemmed, gilt torches, the flames flickering and lurching like serpents’ tongues. The magi carried this, the Zoroastrian Sacred Fire, as a testament to their great god, Ahura Mazda, and to inspire the masses who marched behind. Jovian felt his throat clenching and the familiar trembling in his limbs. A skinful of wine in the mornings had become a loathsome habit, but one he had been unable to break as he tried to cope with the demands of his lofty post as the emperor’s protector. He looked to his guardsmen, desperately trying to summon the words to rally them. He licked his lips to give an order. ‘For – form up, f-face . . . ’ the staccato uttering died in his throat and drew only confused frowns from his men. Self-loathing now strangled his heart. But his shame was short-lived as, once more, Emperor Julian led the way. ‘Form up, face your enemy!’ Julian cried, kicking his white stallion until the beast reared up and whinnied. Buccinae were raised to lips, the horns wailing across the ranks as standards waved frantically. Like a silver asp, the staggered mass of the Roman retreat came together and turned to form a broad and deep line facing east. They presented a wall of battered shields and a nest of spears. On each flank, an ala of some five hundred equites sagittarii shuffled on their saddles, nocking arrows to their bows, winking under the rim of their helms as they sighted their targets. These Roman horse archers were well armoured in scale and armed with the finest composite bows, but they would meet their match today. The rally cry of Emperor Julian had been enough to strike the fear from many thousands of Roman hearts. But not from Jovian’s. Forming part of the Roman right, he and his imperial guardsmen were on the front rank. His tongue was shrivelled and utterly dry, his bladder seemingly full to bursting. There would be no escaping battle today. White lights flashed in his eyes and he felt his guts melt as he beheld the Savaran riders facing them. A solid wall of clibanarii; iron-masked horsemen who betrayed not a glimpse of humanity, armour in every place there should have been flesh and tall, pointed helms with plumes whipping behind them. Thousands of them. Sharpened lances held two-handed. Lithe mounts clad in iron plate-armour and scale aprons. The riders sighted their targets, then kicked their gnashing, frothing mounts forward at a trot with an ululating war cry. Jovian roared, not in defiance like the imperial guardsmen around him, but in utter terror. He screwed his eyes shut in disgust at his craven heart. In this coward’s darkness, he felt the blistering heat fall away momentarily. He cracked open one eye and saw that the sky had blackened, the azure masked by a thundercloud of Persian arrows, hovering momentarily before darting down like a brood of iron raptors. Jovian’s legs seemed numb and unable to respond to his primal urge to run. He gawped as those around him scattered, some splitting their ranks and others falling back to avoid the incoming hail. They were oblivious to Emperor Julian’s cry to hold their lines. The arrows hammered down into backs, necks and limbs. A fine crimson mist puffed into the air all across the panicked Roman lines and many hundreds fell. Jovian trembled in disbelief; arrows quivered in the earth and in corpses all around him – yet he was unharmed. Then he heard the Persian war horns blare once again, and saw the glint of thousands of enemy lances falling level like outstretched and accusing fingers, the clibanarii riders now lying flat in the saddle and coming forward at a gallop. The Persian arrows had tenderised the Roman ranks, now their lances would cut the legions to pieces. Jovian met the inhuman eye slits of the masked rider coming for him, clutched the Christian Chi-Rho amulet around his neck – the one thing that gave him courage – and roared his last as the Savaran charge smashed into the Roman ranks. In a flash of steel it was over. A blow wrenched Jovian’s spear from his grasp and threw him from his feet. Sky and ground swapped places, hooves and boots thundering past him, dust and blood filling his throat and blinding him. Then he felt the earth shake fiercely. The trumpeting of the great, tusked creatures filled the air. Then came a terrible chorus of snapping bone, tearing flesh and screaming men. Finally, like an ebb tide, it all died away, and he was numb. He presumed the long blackness that followed was death. But he still felt something. A crushing pain in his head. Next, a distant, dull cry cut through the blackness. ‘Emperor Julian has been slain! Throw down your weapons and they may spare us!’ In his confusion, Jovian wondered if these voices were those of the dead accompanying him to the afterlife. Perhaps his devotion to the Christian God had been prudent. Then he realised he was floating, or perhaps being carried. He put everything into an attempt at reaching out, but heard only a pained groan topple from his lips. ‘The Comes Domesticorum – he’s alive,’ a voice said. ‘Then there is no doubt about what must happen,’ another added. At last, Jovian’s eyes cracked open. He was in a torn, smoke-stained Roman command tent, reclined upon a cot. His guardsmen stared back at him; a circle of filthy, bloodied and sullen faces. The nearest of them stepped forward and thrust a white robe and a wreath into his hands. He stared at the dark-red stain on the midriff of the robe; Emperor Julian’s blood. Then, as one, the guards raised their hands in salute and cried; ‘Imperator!’ He looked up at them. A terror like never before gripped his heart."

https://www.dailysabah.com/life/history/storytime-istanbul-and-cats-bound-together-since-byzantine-times?fbclid=IwAR1xnoxWvCoehw1X7EI1N0VxEcvFE9bDa9gTCrgN-hiE6vtNjIvK-V8qbKU Hope this is suitable - wasn't sure where to post it, but thought it too interesting/profound not to put it somewhere: In the 13th c AD, Pope Gregory IX declared cats as hell's earthly representatives* & urged their extermination across Europe. Thus, the rat population thrived, bringing with them the Black Death and triggering multiple generations of untold suffering. What's Latin for 'oops'? Fortunately, cats found a safehaven in parts of Byzantium - as the article discusses. *This part, I don't disagree with, given the number of claw marks I bear from our mogs The extermination part, however, is simply horrific. EDIT: in the interests of debate, chats on other forums argue against the above, stating that a) the plague raged in later ages when the cat population had recovered and b) the plague hit cat-friendly Muslim lands just as hard

https://www.dailysabah.com/arts/1898-year-old-bronze-military-diploma-found-in-turkeys-perre/news “The inscription includes information about Calcilius Antiquus, who served in the military during the reign of Roman Emperor Hadrian. This person in question was given an award after serving in the military for 20 years. He was given the right to marry and gained Roman citizenship.”

Aye, the amount of finds here is painting a really rich picture of the Roman era. As for the 'abandonment', I can partly sympathise with the Romans, as things were turning sharply towards chaos over on the continent. Equally though, they were complicit in creating much of this turmoil!

Massive hoard of Roman era (3rd c AD) silver coins unearthed in Germany "The hoard was buried in the early 3rd century outside the Roman city of Augusta Vindelicum, near the Via Claudia Augusta [an imperial road] running there." https://www.livescience.com/massive-silver-coin-hoard-germany

Late Roman mosaic and villa complex found in Rutland farmer's field: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-leicestershire-59391650

Thanks, @guy that's some really helpful additional info!

Cracking little video about the Theodosian Walls of Constantinople: #History #Roman

https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/fre-friday-roman-britain-tickets-191804912657 "Roman Frontiers of Britain" In fact there's a series of sessions, all free Could use this thread to discuss after each session?

Nice article looking at the Roman armies stationed in Pannonia. https://www.worldhistory.org/article/1868/legions-of-pannonia/

Here's my new blog article having a look at the plausible and less plausible realities behind the Trojan Horse legend: The Mystery of the Trojan Horse (as usual, note that there is a book ad at the foot of the article. If you disagree with this in principle, then don't click the link.) In summary, I look at whether the horse metaphor could have been: An actual wooden horse An earthquake Helen A siege engine A chariot charge A ship A distortion of the bloodless coup by the rogue, Piyamaradu 4 seems most likely to me. What do you guys think? 1-7? Or A.N. Other?

Could the Trojan War - a legendary event that some claim led to the founding of Rome - have turned out very differently? This blog searches for a missing piece of the Trojan War jigsaw - the whereabouts of the Hittite Empire, at the time of the war Troy's supposed overlords and protectors: https://www.gordondoherty.co.uk/writeblog/troys-absent-saviours (Note, there is a book ad at the foot of the article - just so you know up front) Those are my thoughts on the matter. I'd be keen to hear on the thoughts of others? Obviously, this is all predicated on the assumption that there is some historical kernel to the stories of Homer et al.

I went for a research donder (Scottish for walk/excursion) down to the site of Trimontium, where once Roman and tribal forts stood proud. Here's a short docuvid of my findings:

As twilight descends on the 3rd century AD, the Roman Empire is but a shadow of its former self. Decades of usurping emperors, splinter kingdoms and savage wars have left the people beleaguered, the armies weary and the future uncertain. And into this chaos Emperor Diocletian steps, reforming the succession to allow for not one emperor to rule the world, but four. Meanwhile, two boys share a chance meeting in the great city of Treverorum as Diocletian's dream is announced to the imperial court. Throughout the years that follow, they share heartbreak and glory as that dream sours and the empire endures an era of tyranny and dread. Their lives are inextricably linked, their destinies ever-converging as they rise through Rome's savage stations, to the zenith of empire. For Constantine and Maxentius, the purple robes beckon... Sons of Rome, book 1 of the brand new 'Rise of Emperors' series by Gordon Doherty & Simon Turney Grab a copy here: http://getbook.at/rise1

What hope has one forgotten soldier of bringing an emperor to justice?Winter, 382 AD. The Gothic War is over. After years of bloodshed, the Eastern Roman Empire and the Goths have struck a deal for peace. Imperial heralds crow about the treaty as if it were a triumph. Feasts and celebrations take place across the Eastern provinces. Every hero of the war is honoured and acclaimed... except one.Tribunus Pavo languishes in exile, haunted by a dark truth: that it was Gratian, Emperor of the West – the most powerful man alive – who caused the war and manipulated its every turn. Tormented by memories of loved ones lost during the great conflict, one word tolls endlessly through Pavo’s mind: Justice!But in this great game of empire, justice rarely comes without a grave cost… Sound good? You can pick up a copy for a couple of quid here

Free stuff! Legionary 7 goodie bag up for grabs. I'm running a prize draw for a signed copy of The Blood Road plus a bundle of collectables: signed artwork, music score and more! Enter here by 10th Sept: www.gordondoherty.co.uk/writeblog/legionarygoodiebag

'Cry "Havoc!", and let slip...' http://www.gordondoherty.co.uk/writeblog/thedogsofwar A look at the use of Molossian hounds in the Roman army.