Tuesday, June 9, 2026

After the Eagles Left: The Last Romans at the Edge of Empire

by Mary Harrsch © 2026

I was listening to The Ancients podcast on Amazon Music and Dr. Rob Collins, Newcastle University, stated that not all the Roman armies left with Constantine III in 405-407 CE as evidence by a lack of coinage with his image beyond southern England. The traditional narrative holds that Constantine III took all of the mobile troops from Britain when he crossed to Gaul to confront Germanic invaders who had crossed the Rhine. However, I learned this is increasingly seen as an oversimplification.

A late Roman frontier officer in scale armor at a northern British fort, c. 5th century CE. The ridge helmet, mail armor, and absence of stirrups reflect equipment of the late Imperial period. AI-generated illustration created with Adobe Firefly. I had to change the helmet type, the armor type then remove stirrups, the horse's breast band and change the soldier's caligae to the enclosed boots more prevalent among frontier troops during that period to improve historical accuracy.

The distribution of Constantine III's coins is indeed geographically telling. The majority of late Roman silver siliquae are found in southern Britain, in the lowland zone to the south and east of the Fosse Way, with finds in Devon and Cornwall, Wales, the west Midlands, and the north-west and north-east being rare. Notable examples of later issues of Constantine III come specifically from Richborough and the Patching hoard in West Sussex. This southern concentration suggests that his monetary authority — and by extension his military presence — was felt primarily in the south, consistent with the theory that troops further north were not his to take.

Archaeological evidence supports the idea that not all Roman military presence ended in 407. The British-based units of the Field Army eventually left and are evidenced on the Continent, effectively "hollowing out" the province — but the northern frontier units were left largely untouched, as were tribal militia and foederati. The northern garrisons remained in place with their units and Roman commanders, eventually becoming the core of warbands in the 5th century.

This is further supported by earlier precedent: coins dated later than 383 have been excavated along Hadrian's Wall, suggesting that troops were not stripped from it during Magnus Maximus's earlier usurpation, or if they were, they were quickly returned.

The crucial nuance that Dr. Cottrell appears to be drawing on is the difference between the comitatenses — the mobile field army — and the limitanei, the static frontier garrison troops. What Constantine took was the Field Army led by the Comes Britanniarum, while the Saxon Shore was stripped to a skeleton staff and the northern frontier units were left largely in place. These latter troops, cut off from imperial pay after 409/410, didn't simply vanish — they evolved into the post-Roman military structures of sub-Roman Britain, which some scholars connect to the legendary traditions surrounding figures like Arthur.

So Dr. Cottrell's coinage argument is part of a broader and well-supported revisionist picture: the end of Roman Britain was not a single dramatic event in 407 but a gradual, geographically uneven process of disintegration.

The Physical Evidence: Birdoswald and the Transformation of the Forts

The most compelling archaeological case study is Birdoswald on Hadrian's Wall. At Birdoswald, the only change in the early 5th century appears to have been that the troops of the fort were no longer paid or supplied by central authority — the unit was still there. The old system of official coercion may have been replaced by a symbiosis, whereby the territory from which supplies had been drawn as part of the Roman tax system continued to sustain the fort in return for the assurance of protection in troubled times. The kind of commander-patronus attested by the large commanders' houses in the late forts may have continued to be an important figure as the 5th century went on — men who became imperceptibly more like chieftains in control of warbands than Roman commanders.

This interpretation is supported by excavation. Recent excavations at Birdoswald, led by director Tony Wilmott, suggest that a warband descended from the later Roman garrison may have continued to occupy the fort, supported by the discovery of a large timber hall which may have served as a gathering place for the post-Roman community. The timber hall is significant — it is a classic marker of early medieval chieftainly power, suggesting a direct architectural evolution from Roman fort headquarters to early medieval great hall.

Unlike the elite mobile field army, many of the static frontier troops — the limitanei — with their local loyalties didn't leave after direct Roman rule ended, and there is evidence that several forts were occupied for centuries after.

The transformation from Roman garrison commander to post-Roman warband leader was apparently gradual and organic rather than a sudden rupture. There is no evidence of any kind that the infantry of British leaders could be classed as "regular" after the middle or third quarter of the 5th century at the very latest. In other words, within a generation or two of 407, the disciplined Roman military structure had given way to something more characteristic of early medieval warfare — smaller, more personal warbands loyal to an individual leader rather than to an imperial institution.

The most tantalizing figure in this transition is Coel Hen — "Coel the Old" — who appears to straddle the Roman and post-Roman worlds. The senior military commander in the northern part of Roman Britain in the late Empire was the Dux Britanniarum and Prefect of the Sixth Legion, probably based at York, who commanded the garrisons of the forts on Hadrian's Wall. Some scholars have proposed that Coel Hen held, or inherited, precisely this role.

Historian John Morris in The Age of Arthur suggested that Coel may have been the last of the Roman Duces Britanniarum who commanded the Roman army in northern Britain, and split his lands among his heirs after his death. It must be noted, however, that Morris's broader thesis has been widely criticized by scholars, and Coel Hen himself is a semi-legendary figure whose historicity cannot be fully verified.

What is less disputed is that Coel Hen appears in the Harleian genealogies and the later pedigrees known as the Bonedd Gwลทr y Gogledd (The Descent of the Men of the North) at the head of several post-Roman royal families of the Hen Ogledd. His line, the Coeling, included such noted figures as Urien, king of Rheged; Gwallog, perhaps king of Elmet; the brothers Gwrgi and Peredur; and Clydno Eiddin, king of Edinburgh.

These figures represent the political legacy of whatever military structures survived in the north after 407. The Hen Ogledd — the "Old North" — covered modern northern England and southern Scotland, encompassing the kingdoms of Rheged, Elmet, Bryneich, the Gododdin territory extending well into Scotland, and other kingdoms in the Pennines. Rheged, one of the most celebrated of these kingdoms, was a Brittonic-speaking realm of the post-Roman era whose capital was likely Carlisle — itself a major Roman administrative and military centre.

The post-Roman kingdoms of the north map almost precisely onto the Roman military and administrative geography of the region, strongly suggesting that their rulers were indeed the descendants — biological or institutional — of the Roman garrison commanders who simply never left.

It is worth noting that this entire world of post-Roman northern warbands forms one of the primary historical contexts proposed for the Arthurian legends. The warrior culture of the Hen Ogledd, with its Roman military heritage, its Brittonic language, and its desperate resistance to Anglo-Saxon encroachment, is precisely the milieu that produced poems like Y Gododdin — one of the earliest texts to mention Arthur by name — and the bardic celebration of warrior heroes that would eventually crystallize into the Arthurian tradition.


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Diana's Curse, Meleager's Glory: The Boar as Elite Symbol in Imperial Rome

by Mary Harrsch © 2026


Exploring more of my images from the Dallas Museum of Art icame across this exquisite little bronze spout in the form of a boar's head, a testament to the extraordinary artistry that Roman craftsmen brought even to functional domestic objects. The carefully rendered bristle crest, alert ears, open mouth, and prominent tusks speak to a workshop of considerable skill, and the quality of execution points firmly to an elite household.

A bronze spout in the forma of a boar, Roman, 1st century CE
 ๐Ÿ“ Dallas Museum of Art | Loan from the David T. Owsley Collection | Accession no. 156.1994.45



My research revealed the boar was one of the most richly layered animals in the Graeco-Roman symbolic imagination. The great mythological touchstone was the Calydonian Boar Hunt: King Oeneus of Calydon had failed to honor Diana in his annual harvest sacrifices, and the goddess, refusing to overlook the insult, dispatched a monstrous boar to destroy crops and terrorize the land. Meleager then assembled a band of heroes to hunt it and eventually killed it himself, though a quarrel over the spoils led to war and ultimately to his own death. This myth, told memorably by Ovid in the Metamorphoses, was enormously popular in 1st-century Rome and appears across sarcophagi, mosaics, and the decorative arts.

Hunting wild boar was a privilege reserved for the nobility, and representations of heroic hunts from the mythic past served to validate and glorify aristocratic hunting culture in the eyes of contemporaries. The wild boar held a special place in Roman culture as a symbol of strength, courage, and martial virtue — an association that extended to the emperors themselves. The emperor Hadrian is depicted on horseback about to strike a boar with a spear in the famous Hadrianic tondi on the Arch of Constantine, and his passion for the hunt was so celebrated that he founded a town in ancient Mysia — Hadrianotherae, meaning "Hadrian's Hunt" — to commemorate a particularly successful expedition in the neighborhood. For a wealthy Roman household, a boar-headed spout was thus simultaneously a mythological allusion, a celebration of the hunt, and a quiet assertion of aristocratic identity.

The Hercules connection would have added further resonance for any educated Roman viewer. The capture of the Erymanthian Boar was one of the Twelve Labors, and the 1st-century writer Heraclitus the Grammarian interpreted the myth allegorically, arguing that the boar represents human lack of self-restraint — making its conquest a symbol of heroic virtue and rational self-mastery.

As a spout, this piece would most plausibly have served on a fountain fitting in a domestic garden or atrium — Romans were famously fond of elaborate water features — or on a bronze ewer or mixing vessel used in a triclinium (dining room), where the boar imagery would have resonated perfectly with the culture of aristocratic feasting and the hunt. Liquid emerging from the open mouth, especially red wine, would have made the mythological reference delightfully literal.


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Power, Prestige, and Bronze: Elite Horsemanship in Pre-Etruscan Italy

by Mary Harrsch © 2026


This morning I was reviewing images I took at the Dallas Museum of Art back in 2006 and came across this ornate Villanovan bronze horse bit dating between the 8th and 7th centuries BCE. My research revealed this extraordinary bronze horse bit exmplifies the remarkable technical virtuosity and artistic ambition of Villanovan craftsmen working at the dawn of Etruscan civilization in central Italy.

Cast bronze Villanovan horse bit 
๐Ÿ“ Dallas Museum of Art | Gift of Mrs. John Leddy Jones | Accession no. 1969.6


Rather than simple functional forms, the Villanovan smith has populated every surface with cascading openwork zoomorphic figures — small stylized animals clambering over one another in interlocking composition — topped by elegantly curved arms terminating in distinctive disc-headed finials. Below the mouthpiece, pendant elements hang in layered chains, themselves decorated with miniature figural forms that would have caught light and produced subtle movement and sound when the horse was in action.

In 8th–7th century BCE Villanovan and Etruscan society, horses carried enormous prestige as markers of elite status, and this social weight translated directly into the elaboration of the bits themselves — objects that functioned simultaneously as practical tack and as public declarations of wealth and power. The significance of horses is underscored by the frequency with which bronze bits appear as grave goods in the large Villanovan cemeteries situated just outside major settlements.

Technically, the bit displays the hallmark Villanovan snaffle construction with a jointed cannon and large, architecturally complex cheekpieces rendered through sophisticated lost-wax casting. The density of figural decoration — with what appear to be horse, bird, and possibly anthropomorphic motifs woven together — aligns closely with the Geometric artistic vocabulary shared across the central Mediterranean during this period, while remaining distinctly Italic in character.

The Villanovans didn't acquire bronze casting from any one culture, but rather inherited and developed the tradition through several overlapping channels:

Central Italy saw continuous development from the Bronze Age through the Villanovan period (900–700 BCE) into the Etruscan era — local evolution rather than foreign migration or wholesale cultural replacement. However, Bronze-working knowledge was already present in the Italian peninsula before the Villanovan period properly began.

Trans-Alpine and Balkan connections were significant early on. Bronzeworks indicate contact with Sardinia, central Europe, and the Balkans, and these links brought about a more advanced metallurgy.

Greek contact then accelerated sophistication. The culture came into contact with the wider Mediterranean via the arrival of Greek settlers, especially Euboeans, in the mid-8th century BCE, who were eager to exploit the mineral-rich region that would become Etruria.

Elite demand drove innovation. The great variability of formal features and techniques in Villanovan bronze production — from cast fibulae and weapons to hammered sheet bronze armor and vessels — is closely connected to the display expressions of new elites within proto-urban communities. In other words, the social ambitions of a rising aristocratic class pushed craftsmen to ever greater levels of elaboration

This piece represents a cultural threshold: by around 750 BCE the Villanovan culture had transitioned into the Etruscan culture proper, making objects like this living witnesses to that transformation. It is simultaneously a functional tool, a status object, and one of the finest examples of small-scale sculpture produced in pre-Roman Italy

๐Ÿ“ Dallas Museum of Art | Gift of Mrs. John Leddy Jones | Accession no. 1969.6
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