THE CENTURY OF SUSPENSE.
The second invasion of Britain by Cæsar took place, according to Roman
reckoning, in the year 700 from the foundation of the City. The next,
the successful invasion which was ordered by his collateral descendant
in the fourth generation, the Emperor Claudius, took place in the year
797 of the same reckoning. There was thus all but a century between the
two events; that century which more powerfully than any other, before
or after, has influenced the course of human history; yet which for
that very reason, because in our chronology the years change from B.C.
to A.D., the historical student sometimes finds it hard to recognise in
its true perspective.
As far as the work of the literary historian goes, Britain is almost a
blank page during the whole of this century. It may be said that to the
eyes of the Romans, her own mists closed round her when Cæsar left her
shores, B.C. 54, and did not rise till Aulus Plautius approached them,
A.D. 43. But the patient toil of the numismatist[5] has discovered the
names of some British kings and enabled us to say something as to their
mutual relations; a few brief notices of Roman historians have faintly
illumined the scene; and it is now just possible to discern the actual
lineaments of one who is not entirely a creature of romance--the royal
Cymbeline.
As has been already mentioned, a certain Commius, king of the
continental Atrebates, was sent on an unsuccessful mission to Britain
before Cæsar’s first invasion. In the mighty refluent wave of the
Gaulish revolt against Rome, Commius either was actually swept away
from his former fidelity or was suspected of being thus disloyal.
However this might be, a foul attempt at his assassination, planned by
Cæsar’s lieutenant, Labienus, converted him into an embittered enemy of
Rome. He took part in the great campaigns of Vercingetorix; when they
failed he sought succour from the other side of the Rhine; as captain
of a band of freebooters he preyed on the subjects of Rome. At length
(B.C. 51), seeing that further resistance was hopeless, he made his
submission to Mark Antony, his only stipulation being that he might
be allowed to go and dwell in some land where he would never again be
offended by the sight of a Roman. With these words he vanishes from the
pages of the historian of the Gallic war. As we find about the same
time, or a little later, a certain Commius coining money in Britain, it
is, at least, a tempting theory that the Roman-hating Gaulish refugee
came to our island and reigned here over his kindred Atrebates and
other tribes besides.
Actual coins of Commius are, it must be admitted, not too certainly
extant, but the large number of coins struck by three British kings who
are proud to proclaim themselves his sons, clearly attest his existence
and justify us in attributing to him considerable importance. These
three British kings were Tincommius, Verica and Eppillus, and their
dominions stretched from Hampshire to Kent. Their reigns probably
occupied the last thirty years before the Christian era, and their
coins exhibit an increasing tendency towards Roman manners and Roman
art. The old barbaric survivals of the Macedonian effigies gradually
disappear; classical profiles are introduced and the cornucopiæ, the
eagle and the lion sometimes make their appearance.
A British prince who was apparently a contemporary and a neighbour,
possibly a rival of the family of Commius, was named Dubnovellaunus.
The obverse of his coins shows a remarkable similarity to some of
those of the just-mentioned King Eppillus. But the interesting fact
in connexion with this otherwise unknown British chieftain is that a
monument in the heart of Asia Minor preserves his name and records
his dealings with the Roman Imperator. In the Turkish town of Angora
on the side of a desolate Galatian hill stand the ruins of the marble
temple of Augustus and Rome: and on the walls of the porch of that
temple is a long bilingual inscription, recording in Latin and Greek
the most memorable events of the fifty-eight years’ reign of the
fortunate Augustus. Towards the end we find this passage: “To me fled
as suppliant the Kings of the Parthians Tiridates and afterwards
Phraates, Artaxares, son of Phraates, King of the Medes: the Kings of
the Britons Dumnobellaunus and Tim ...” (the end of the last name being
obliterated). It is not likely that if there had been many similar
instances of British princes imploring the protection of Augustus they
would have been left unrecorded in the monument of Angora; and it is
therefore probably with some little courtly exaggeration that the
contemporary geographer Strabo says: “Certain of the rulers of that
country [Britain] by embassies and flattering attentions have gained
the friendship of Cæsar Augustus and made votive offerings in the
capital and have now rendered almost the whole island subject to the
Romans”. This is certainly untrue. “The taxes which they bear are in no
wise heavy and are levied on imports and exports between Britain and
Gaul. The articles of this commerce are ivory rings and necklaces, and
amber and vessels of glass and all such trumpery. It is not therefore
desirable to put a garrison in the island, for it would require at
least one legion and some cavalry in order to ensure the collection of
the tribute, and the expense of keeping up such a force would equal the
revenue received, since it would be necessary to lessen the customs
duties if you were also levying tribute and there would be always a
certain amount of danger attending the employment of force.” A very
clear and sensible statement surely of the reasons which induced the
cautious Augustus finally to abandon his thrice contemplated[6] scheme
for the conquest of Britain.
The British kings whom we have lately been describing reigned chiefly
south of the Thames. North of that river in Middlesex, Herts and
Essex (the district occupied by Cassivellaunus at the time of Cæsar’s
invasion) there was reigning, probably from about B.C. 35 to A.D. 5,
a chief named Tasciovanus, practically unknown in literary history
but abundantly made known to us by his coins, which, though still
for the most part barbarous, show some signs of Roman influence. His
capital was Verulamium, the little Hertfordshire town which now bears
the name of the martyred Saint Alban. On his death, which probably
occurred about A.D. 5, he was succeeded by his two sons, one of whom,
Cunobelinus, reigned at Camulodunum (the modern Colchester) over the
Trinobantes and probably other tribes. Of him not only are the coins
numerous and well known, but as the Cymbeline of Shakespeare’s drama,
his name will be in the mouths of men as long as English literature
endures. Of course the Cymbeline of the play has very little in common
with the faintly outlined Cunobelinus of history. The lovely Imogen,
faithful to her husband unto seeming death; the clownish Cloten,
the wicked queen, the selfish boaster Leonatus; all these are mere
creatures of the poet’s brain, of whom neither the romancer Geoffrey
of Monmouth nor his copyist Holinshed had ever spoken. Yet in the
conception of Cymbeline’s character, as an old king who rules his
family and his court with little wisdom, there is nothing which clashes
with historic truth; and the way in which Shakespeare has described the
attitude of these little British princes towards the great, distant,
dreadful power of Rome is surely one of the many evidences of his power
of realising by instinct rather than by reason the political condition
of a by-gone age. It may be noted in passing that Geoffrey of Monmouth
informs us, whatever his information may be worth, that Kymbelinus, as
he calls this king, “was a great soldier and had been brought up by
Augustus Cæsar. He had contracted so great a friendship with the Romans
that he freely paid them tribute when he might very well have refused
it. In his days our Lord Jesus Christ was born.”
A certain Adminius, who seems to have been a son of Cunobelinus, being
expelled by his father, fled to the Roman camp in Germany with a small
band of followers, and their humble supplications to the Emperor
Caligula (37–41) caused that insane egotist to vaunt himself as the
conqueror of Britain. A pompous epistle conveyed to the Senate the news
of this great triumph, and the bearers thereof were especially charged
to enter the city in a state-chariot and to deliver their important
communication only in the Temple of Mars and to a crowded assembly. But
the buffoonery of the nephew was to be followed by the serious labour
of the uncle. The conquest of Britain was now nigh at hand.