In September 1666, the Great Fire devastated London. In a desperate
scramble, the authorities at the Tower of London set about destroying buildings
to create a fire block between the city and the Tower of London.
Diarist and man about town Samuel Pepys ran from the flames
towards the tower. He stopped off at the church of All Hallows by the Tower,
and climbed its steeple. From it, he watched the world burn. He wrote in his
diary:
“So I made myself ready presently, and walked to the Tower, and there got up upon one of the high places, Sir J. Robinson’s little son going up with me; and there I did see the houses at that end of the bridge all on fire, and an infinite great fire on this and the other side the end of the bridge; which, among other people, did trouble me for poor little Michell and our Sarah on the bridge.”
Most of the medieval and early modern city passed away on a single day. But the actions of the men at the tower meant that a little pocket of the medieval and early modern city survived in the very east corner of the London.
Today I want to look at All Hallows by the Tower, one of
London’s great survivors. Today this little church is a time capsule for two
thousand years of London’s history.
Above: All Hallows by the Tower in 1955. The tower, built in 1658, is the same one that Pepys would have climbed. Commons license
The earliest architecture on the site can be found in the
basement, where a Roman pavement peeks through the floor. It is thought to be
the floor from a second century house.
The roman pavement. Taken from trip advisor, see here
The church was built on top of this Roman layer. Its origins can be dated as far back as 675, when it was founded by the nun and saint, Ethelburgh (Aethelburh) of Barking. On this blog we have met Ethelburgh and her brother Erkenwald bishop of London in other posts.
It was long thought that there were no traces left of this
early Anglo-Saxon church. However, in 1940 the church was hit by a falling
German bomb. Amid the tumbling masonry some fascinating discoveries were made.
Within the walls was hiding an old Anglo-Saxon arch.
Above: The Anglo-Saxon arch of All Hallows by the tower. Taken from the parish website, here.
We can’t date this arch precisely, but one interesting feature is that the top of the arch is made up mostly from recycled Roman bricks and tiles – this probably suggests that it was put up at a time when Roman ruins were still visible and accessible. It probably argues for an early date.
A little later in the Anglo-Saxon period, a crypt was built.
This is now the under-croft chapel. There are still some Anglo-Saxon burials
here.
The Undercroft chapel. Taken from the parish website, here.
Several other Anglo-Saxon and medieval artifacts can be seen in the church’s museum, including an Anglo-Saxon stone cross with an inscription that states that it was made by Thelvar.
The church also has numerous medieval and Tudor tombs.
Perhaps the most remarkable survival is this Tate panel, a late fifteenth
century Flemish altarpiece
The Tate alterpiece, from the Parish website, here
All Hallows by the Tower is a building with so many layers
of history buried within it. People sometimes think that all of Old London
passed away with the great fire. In All Hallows by the tower we can get a
little window onto Anglo-Saxon and medieval London.
The main aisle of All Hallows by the Tower. Commons licence.
If you liked this blog post then why not check out the virtual tour of All Hallows by the Tower on the parish website; or maybe listen to this podcast by London Undone.
Some people suggest that typos are not a big deal, and that
we should all relax about spelling and grammar. Today’s blog is a cautionary
tale.
Ancient Roman authors tell us that the ancient British tribe that lived in the London area was called the Trinobantes. (If you want to learn more about the real history of early London, I have blogged about it here).
It only took a small typo in medieval manuscript tradition
for that to become Troinovantes, which happens to mean ‘New Trojans’.
The first known person to make this spelling mistake was a Welsh monk and historian, Nennius, who was writing in about 830 A.D. He stated that the Britons were New Trojans, but was a bit hazy on the actual details. How exactly had these Trojans got here?
The British Isles was crying out for a historian with enough guts, enough storytelling verve and enough of a disregard for basic facts to tell us more about these Trojans. Finally, around the year 1140, one Geoffrey of Monmouth answered the call.
Merlin dictates his prophecies to a clergyman, who might be a representative of Geoffrey of Monmouth. Public domain.
Geoffrey of Monmouth was a historian who never met a tale he considered too tall. Only Geoffrey of Monmouth could take a small spelling mistake and spin it into a national epic.
His History of the Kings of Britain is best known
today for giving us Arthur and his wizard Merlin in some of their earliest
recognizable forms. But the earlier parts of his chronicle are, if anything,
even more exciting and even more action packed.
Today I want to retell the story of Brutus of Troy,
the geographically confused Trojan who allegedly founded London. Throughout the
middle ages, London was very proud of its Trojan legend – apparently there was
even a proposal in the 1380s to rename the city ‘Little Troy’.
The Beginning
It all began with the Trojan war. So many great storytellers
have already covered this topic, and I really can’t claim to do it justice here.
The Greeks went to war with the Trojans and fought for ten long years outside
the city walls. It was a war so epic that the Greek poet Homer literally wrote an
epic about it (The Illiad).
Facing a stalemate, the Greeks gave the Trojans a peace
offering of a gigantic wooden horse. The Trojans were happy to accept it:
little did they know that Greek soldiers were hiding in its belly. That night,
the soldiers escaped and sacked the city. Most of the Trojans were either
slaughtered or enslaved
The very same night, visions of the dead appeared to Aeneas, prince of Troy. Get out, they warned him, while you still can! Aeneas and his family scrambled to the harbour, which was lit by the fire of the burning city. They took a small boat and sailed sadly onwards. They would go on to have a journey so epic that Roman poet Virgil literally wrote an epic about it (The Aeneid).
They found a new home in Italy. There Aeneas married a princess and founded a dynasty of Kings. Decades later, these Italian Trojans would go on to found the city of Rome.
Brutus, the cursed child
We pick up the story with Aeneas’s grandson, Prince Silvius.
Silvius had just knocked up a woman, out of wedlock. The royal soothsayers were
asked: would it be a boy or a girl.
The reply came: the child would be a boy. But that boy had a
terrible fate awaiting him. He would slay both of his parents and live a life
of exile. (The royal soothsayers were apparently happy to answer questions that
no one had asked).
Silvius didn’t like this message. But the pregnancy proved
long and complicated. A boy was born, but his mother perished. The first part
of the prophecy had come true.
A medallion of Brutus of Troy, of 1553. Public domain.
He named the boy Brutus. There were whispers in the court about the curse carried by this child. But Silvius ignored them. It had to be a coincidence? Silvius raised Brutus to be a prince and taught him all of the arts of war and princely behaviour.
When Brutus was fifteen years old, his father took him
hunting in the woods. The two became separated. Brutus sent an arrow whistling
through the undergrowth to strike his pray. Unwittingly, he struck his own father
dead.
There was no one in Italy now to protect young Brutus. He
was driven out, exiled and forced to seek out his fortune and livelihood alone.
Trojan
Knights, Trojan Slaves
Brutus was a prince no more. But he still has his training
in war, hunting and princely manners. He became a knight errant and wandered
the world.
His travels took him to Greece, where he served under the mighty King Pandrasus. Brutus performed great feats of honour and fought in many battles. He built up riches in spoils of war, but then gave them away to the fighting men, ensuring his popularity. He met with wise sages and learned from them. In some ways he was living a charmed life. But there was something troubling him.
A tournament. This is the sort of thing that Knights errant usually do. Public domain.
Wherever he went, slaves flocked to his side. They were the
decedents of the Trojans, the once might people brought low by war. The slaves
were excited to see one of their own, living life as a prince. They begged him
to free them. But he could do nothing.
A squabble erupted at the court of King Pandrasus. One of
the nobles, Assacarus, was half Trojan. His enemies argued that Assacarus had no
right to be a noble or hold castles and property. Assacarus was being pushed to
the edge. He appealed to Brutus for help. This squabble would lead to out and
out war.
The
Battle for Freedom
Brutus and Assacarus rallied the slaves. Seven thousand
flocked to them. They had to turn this rag-tag bunch into a functioning army.
They took up station in the woods near Assacarus’s castle and adopted guerrilla
tactics.
Brutus delivered a letter to Pandrasus: To Pandrasus, king of the Greeks, I Brutus leader of the Trojans send greetings. Although we are an ancient and noble people, we have chosen to live as if primitive people in the woods. This is because is better to live simply and to be free than to live in palaces as a slave. If this offends your power then please forgive us; but freedom and dignity is what every slave desires. If you can accept this, then let us live out our lives in peace in the secluded glades of the forest; or else let us leave your country. If not, then prepare for war.
Pandrasus gathered his army and marched towards Assacarus’s castle.
The Greeks had the siege engines, the wealth and more men. Brutus knew that in
a conventional war, the Trojans didn’t have a chance. He had to find a way to even
the odds.
Instead the Trojans melted into the woods. They pounced when the Greeks least expected it and pinned them against a river. Some drowned, many were killed. The Trojans took many prisoners, including the king’s own brother, Antigonus.
Archers on the cliff over a river fire arrows on unsuspecting soldiers beneath them. Credit to Biblotheque Nationale de France, here.
The war was now personal for King Pandrasus. He pressed on his
remaining forces and besieged the fortress of Assacarus. The Greeks settled in for
a siege.
A few days later, something unexpected happened. A Greek
noble who had been captured by Trojans showed up. ‘We escaped’, he said. ‘But
Antigonus is injured. Come and help me move him’. The noble led the best of the
King’s guard into the dark of the wood. And there, Brutus fell on them.
The Greeks were badly weakened. Brutus calculated: one
last push and we can win this. In the dead of the night, the Trojans
attacked the royal camp from three directions at once. The Greeks were sleeping
and barely had time to find their weapons. The king was captured. Victory
belonged to the Trojans.
Brutus’s
Odyssey
Brutus was now in possession both of the King and of his
brother. With these two valuable lives he could buy the freedom of an entire
people.
The Trojans had to work out what they wanted to ask for.
Some suggested that they should demand a half or a third of the kingdom. Brutus
however was sceptical: Trojans and Greeks have fought together so often. If
we stay here, won’t we just end up fighting this war again?
Brutus proposed a more radical scheme: the Greeks would give treasure and ships to the Trojans. The Trojans would agree to leave and to seek their fortunes elsewhere. Their agreement with the Greeks was to be sealed with a marriage between Brutus and Pandrasus’ daughter, Innogene.
The deal was signed, and Brutus led the Trojans into exile. Poor
Innogene was led away from her people and the land she knew. Geoffrey tells us
that she climbed to the highest part of the ship and stared at the horizon.
Once Greece passed out of site, she swooned with grief into Brutus’s arms.
A few days later the landed on Lefkada. In ancient times there had been a city here, but now the buildings were fading into the forest. Poking out of the forest was a temple to the Goddess Diana. Brutus made offerings there, and asked the goddess the most important question: where should we Trojans settle? By the magic of the place, the goddess’s image replied. Diana said that there was a place at the ends of the world, the island of Albion, which would be perfect place to build a new Troy.
A medieval image of Diana, being painted by the female artist Timarete. Taken from this website.
Back on the high seas, the crew passed many obstacles – so
many that I won’t describe them all. They landed Africa, had a run in with some
Sirens, and fought in a civil war in Aquitaine in the South of France.
Only one of these adventures is important to the plot. In somewhere around Italy (Geoffrey’s geography is a bit hazy on geography) they came across a lost colony of Trojans. They were led by Corineus, a man of huge strength and remarkable skill at war. He was in every way Brutus’s equal, and joined the crew as deputy leader.
The figurine of Corineus in the Guildhall. Public domain.
The Trojans sailed on towards the lands on the edge of the
known world. In the year 1136 B.C. they finally reached the shores of the
island of Albion. They landed, according to tradition, on the site of the modern
town of Totness.
This stone in Totness marks the supposed spot at which Brutus first landed in Britain. Creative Commons licence.
The
Giants of Albion
To understand what happened next, we need to backtrack about
two and a half centuries and re-locate to Syria. There was a mighty king in
that country named Diocletian. He tried very hard to have a male heir. He had
thirty daughters instead. Of these thirty daughters, we only know the name of
the eldest: Albina.
Diocletian married off his daughters to the greatest and most ambitious men. He hoped to find his male heir amongst the in laws. These princes ended up spending more time trying to curry favour with their father in law than the did trying to impress their own wives.
Above: Diocletian introduces some bearded men to his many daughters. Below, Albina leads her sisters onto the shores of Albion, whilst two hairy sex daemons look on. Bodleian Library
Understandably, the thirty daughters were quite annoyed with their men. Less understandably, they decided to mass murder their husbands all in one night.
Diocletian was revolted. He cursed his daughters and had
them imprisoned on a boat. He had the rudder and sails cut so that they could
not steer, and then set them adrift. They drifted for days until they were
wrecked on the shores of an uninhabited island. Albina leapt off the boat first
and claimed the land as her own. Henceforth it would always be known as Albion,
in her honour.
At first the women lived off gathering nuts, vegetables and fruits. However, after a while they learned to hunt. In medieval thought, meat was closely associated with lust. These thirty women were stranded without the company of men, and were cursed by all mankind. The women took a desperate step: they summoned daemons and had sex with them. Nine month later, this resulted in half-daemon babies. These cursed children became the race of Giants.
In the foreground: Albina and her crew land. In the background: 250 years later Brutus and his crew land, whilst two giants look on. Public domain.
This story has really been a long way of telling you that
Albion was not abandoned. It was the home of a fearsome race of giants, born of
the union between cursed murderesses and spooky sex daemons.
Making
Britain, Founding London
The Trojans landed at Totness. Brutus was the first to touch
the land. He named in Britain, after himself. They set ashore and drove the
shocked giants into retreat. Corineus proved to be a masterful giant slayer.
Brutus lands and battles giants
On the left, Brutus and his party land. On the right, giants are attacked by the Trojans on horseback. Public domain.
The giants were not yet vanquished. They gathered together
under the leadership of the greatest and most terrifying of the giants, named
Gogmagog. He was so huge and so strong that he could pluck up an oak tree as
though it were a stick.
One day, when the Trojans were holding festivities for the
Gods, Gogmagog led a part of twenty giants in a sneak attack. At first the Trojans
were slaughtered. But Brutus then rallied his men and they turned the tide.
Eventually, every giant lay dead save Gogmagog.
Gogmagog would have a different ending. Brutus set up a
grand gladiator tournament. Corineus and Gogmagog would wrestle, to the death.
If Corineus won, he would become Duke of a province.
The fight was fearsome. At first Gogmagog had the upper hand. He squeezed Corineus so hard that three of his ribs shattered. Corineus bellowed in pain and hoisted up the Giant. Gogmagog was tossed high in the air, over the cliff and was dashed on the rocks in the sea.
Corineus throws Gogmagog into the sea. Original image from Bodleain Laud Misc 733, sourced from here.
The death of the King of the Giants was a momentous occasion. The Trojans were now in charge of the whole island. They could make their new Troy.
Brutus scoured the island for the perfect location. He found
it on the Thames river. There he erected a mighty city with a grand palace,
which would later (some say) become the London Guildhall. He erected a temple
to Diana, which would later be turned into St Paul’s Cathedral. He also raised
up the first walls and towers around the city. He endowed the city with all of
the rights, liberties and governing structures associated with old Troy.
He named it Troy Novant, or new Troy. But we call it London. By this reckoning, London was founded a little before Rome!
On he left, King Brutus points to where he wants to build the city. Bottom: two masons work on stone. Top right: the new city of Troynovant rises. Public domain.
There, King Brutus and Queen Innogene became the first King
and Queen of Britain. They founded a long line of Kings who would rule through
to the time of King Arthur.
And I hope, if you’ve reached the end of this blog, that you
begin to understand why Londoners though it was worth claiming to have
been founded by Brutus of Troy. He was high born, but was rejected by his family.
Brutus was a chivalric hero, but one who fought dirty. He was privileged, yet
he fought for slaves. He was a sort of valiant mash up of Spartacus, Odysseus,
King Arthur and the Mayflower pilgrims.
About this series: In the period I work on – fifteenth century London – Londoners had developed all sorts of legends and myths and had lots of ways of retelling their past. These histories fascinate me and are my main topic of research. However, in this series I am investigating the truth or fiction behind some of those myths.
This post continues a four-part miniseries where I investigate London’s early history, pre 800 A.D.
The year 296 might
not mean a lot to you. It does however mark a milestone in the history of
London: the oldest surviving image of London was made in this year. Constantius
I, the Caesar (junior co-emperor) of Rome struck a golden medal which has a
picture of the city on it.
The way that the Romans represented London is very far from how we would today. The city is represented by a submissive and kneeling woman, Londinia (labelled ‘Lon’), who shrinks before the awesome majesty of the Emperor. Behind her are two towers and a wall, representing the London walls and fortifications.
Bearing down on
Londinia the mighty and warlike Constantius, on the back of his war horse and clutching
a spear. Next to him floats a ship, representing his mighty navy. Londinia has
been conquered and laid low by a fearsome military force.
Constantinius had
won a victory at the battle of London, and he wanted everyone to know it. He
also had a panegyric (praise poem) written in which a sycophantic poet praised
him for his glorious deeds. Between the medal, the panegyric and a few other
wources, we actually know quite a lot about this battle. In this post I am
going to run through the story of the Battle of London, 296.
Britannia, the troubled province
The year 296
represented for Britons a sort of season finale to a much longer period of
disturbance which had lasted on and off for about a century. The two biggest recurring
problems were revolts by generals and invasions by foreign barbarians. Britain
was a frontier province, which meant that when invaders came knocking, Britain
was often the first to answer. Because of this, Britain also had a massive
garrison of soldiers. A large garrison situated far from Rome’s watchful eye
meant that Britain was particularly prone to revolts by discontented generals
and their soldiers.
The German soldiers
serving in Britain revolted in 286 and declared a ‘Britannic Empire’ of Britain
and Gaul. Rome was unhappy about this but had its own troubles. The Romans
retook Gaul in 293, but the rebels still held out across the narrow sea.
The British soldiers
deposed their emperor and put up Allectus in his place, a German of the
Menapian tribe. Allectus tried desperately to negotiate with the Romans, and to
preserve some of his independence. They were having none of it. It was conquest
or nothing.
The Caesar (junior
sub-emperor of Rome) Constantius Chlorus amassed ships and men and by 296 he
was finally ready to launch an invasion. Constantius sent much of his navy
ahead of him. The plan was probably to destroy the British navy at the Solent
by the Isle of White and so clear the path for a land invasion. Constantius
waited in Gaul, ready to man the land invasion.
The Battles of the Solent, and London
The fleet set off
in September 296 but met with an unforeseen problem: a massive bank of fog.
Most of the fleet made it to the right destination and won a major victory. However,
some of the ships became separated and lost in the fog. They must have been
stuck for quite some time, because they ended up accidentally arriving in
London.
They arrived on a
chaotic scene: after Allectus had lost his battle in the Solent, his Frankish German
mercenaries had seen the writing on the wall. The Britannic empire was not
going to be around long enough to pay their wages! They had turned heel and
gone to London where they were pillaging the city. The Roman fleet landed, beat
the Franks and claimed London again for Rome.
The Panegyric is
not the clearest of documents, but here is how it describes events:
Invincible Caesar, with such accord have the immortal gods granted you destruction of all the enemies you assailed, and especially the Franks, that those troops of yours who had lost their way through fog at sea, became detached…and made their way to London. There through all the city they destroyed the remnants of the barbarous horde that had survived the battle, just as they were taking thought for flight after pillaging the place, and thus afforded your provincials not only safety by slaughter of the foe, but also the pleasure of beholding it. What a manifold victory, one marked by countless triumphs!
Stanley Ireland, Roman Britain: A sourcebook, 3rd edition, (London, 2008), p. 132]
Roman Triumph
Constantius had sat
out these battles, and it is possible that he did not expect victory to come so
quickly or easily. He sped across the channel. The Panegyric tells us that his
next move was to hold a Triumphal entry, a traditional rite whereby a conqueror
enters a city and is acclaimed by the people. Our text doesn’t specifically say
that this was at London, but it appears to be the logical choice.
Our author describes
it as follows:
‘Deserved, therefore, was the triumphal gathering that streamed forth to greet your majesty the moment that you landed on the shore, the longed-for avenger and liberator. Beside themselves with joy, the Britons met you with their wives and children. With veneration they regard not only you yourself, on whom they looked as one from heaven descended, but even the sails and oars of that vessel that brought your divine person, and they were ready on their prostrate bodies your tread to feel.
No wonder it is if they were borne along by such great joy after so many years of most wretched captivity, the violation of their wives, their children’s shameful servitude. At last they were free, at last Romans, at last restored afresh by the true light of the empire!’
Stanley Ireland, Roman Britain: A sourcebook, (London, 2008), p. 133
Now look again at the medal. It has lots of the same elements that the panegyric gives to the triumph. It has the ship, the triumphal lord, and the women prostrating themselves.
The medal and the poem are two of the lasting legacies of this battle. However, they aren’t the only one. The revolt of 286-296 was also a great inspiration to the twelfth century writer and forger Geoffrey of Monmouth who respun it into a British war of independence. Expect me to revisit this in the future!
About this series: In the period I work on – fifteenth century London – Londoners had developed all sorts of legends and myths and had lots of ways of retelling their past. These histories fascinate me and are my main topic of research. However, in this series I am investigating the truth or fiction behind some of those myths.
This post begins a four-part miniseries where I investigate London’s early history, pre 800 A.D.
London goes back a long way. Historians and archaeologists
have speculated that London could be older than the Romans – in Celtic
languages ‘-don’ means a fort or fortified palace. However, if there was ever a
British chieftain’s palace, fort or village at London, then archaeologists
still haven’t found it.
The Romans
thundered into Britain in 43AD. They didn’t just want to conquer Britain: they
wanted to remake it in a Roman style. A key part of this was to introduce city
living. The Romans built planned settlements with all of the cultured features
that Romans would expect: from grand government buildings down to everyday
things such as under floor heating in houses. These showy little propaganda
projects declared to the Britons exactly what they could expect if they got on
board with the Roman project. The Romans also built a series of forts, military
walls and army bases to show the Britons what would happen if they didn’t get on board with the Roman project.
London was not
originally one of these showcase towns. Roman military engineers spotted that
London was a good site for a bridge. They build a fort to defend the bridge,
and a port to provision the fort.
London was a great
place for a port because the river at London is tidal. This means that at some
times of the day, the flow of the river reverses: ships can ride the tide in to
the port, wait a while and then ride the river currents out. London is also far
enough from the sea that the river water is not salty.
Combine that with
an important bridge, a prominent place in the road network and a site of
military importance, and it is easy to see why the town grew so fast. They
christened their new settlement ‘Londinium’, and it grew up as a grubby little
port city.
And yet it all could have ended so easily. In 60 AD a serious revolt spread through the Britons. Queen Boadicea of the Iceni led her chariot-riding armies down Watling street and burned London to the ground. Soon her rebellion was crushed.
But London’s site was too good to waste, and the Romans
rebuilt. Out of the ashes, Rome started to build Londinium again. This time it
was not to be a ramshackle, unplanned little military port: it was to be one of
the biggest and best planned cities north of the Alps.
London was set out, like most Roman towns, as a great grid. Londinium had all of the mod cons: a forum, which was the centre of political and commercial life; a bustling port; steamy bathhouses; large and grand temples; and an amphitheatre. It wasn’t just a political capital though – it was a busy port, a thriving commercial city and in the second century it established itself as the largest city north of the Alps at about 60,000 strong.
One fun way to learn more about the city at its height is from this interactive map of archaeological sites and finds in the city, (here).
The second century was the city’s peak. The peace of the
early Roman period began to give way after around 200 AD and the British
provinces suffered from invasions from the Picts, Germans and others. It was
also the site of a number of soldier revolts, in which the garrisons of Britain
declared their generals to be Emperor. The empire fractured and split into
pieces.
The greatest and most lasting symbol of this period was
London Wall: the Romans constructed huge stone walls around London which
enclose an area of around one square mile. Parts of these walls are still
standing today, and they mark the historic divide of the old town (‘the Square
mile’) and the rest of London.
The empire reunified gradually in the late 200s and was ruled as a whole by Emperor Constantine the Great (306-337). While the empire was successfully stuck back together, the province of Britain did not quite return to how it had been. It had been ravaged by invaders repeatedly and lost much of its prosperity. The Romans were also very suspicious of its loyalty on account of the revolts, and maintained a heavy military presence.
Londinium was rebuilt as a political and military centre, and for a while was renamed ‘Augusta’, a title which suggests that it was a city favoured by the Emperors. However, it never quite recovered as a commercial centre. Dominic Perring suggests that in the early 300s the city might have consisted of as little as 100 houses (D. Perring, Roman London p. 127): hardly a thriving imperial capital! Roman Britain was a fundamentally rural place. The Roman experiment with cities had never quite taken.
Troubles returned to haunt the Empire and in around 410 the Romans withdrew their last garrisons. The Britons seem to have fragmented quickly into lots of little states. Mercenaries who had been invited over from Germany – from the Angle and Saxon tribes – quickly became important to the military and began to dominate. Our picture of exactly what was going on in London in this period is hazy. The archaeology suggests that very few people were living in the city after the year 400, but a few may have held on as late as about 450. But by the mid-400s at the latest, the site of London within the walls was abandoned.
Lundenwic
We used to think that there was a big gap in London’s story
here: there is simply no archaeology within the walls of London between about
450 and about 800 AD. And yet, in Anglo-Saxon chronicles and charters there are
occasional references to something called ‘Lundenwic’. ‘Wic’ means market: what
exactly was Londonmarket?
It wasn’t until the 1980s that archaeologists figured this
puzzle out. In a part of town called ‘Aldwych’ (a name which probably comes
from ‘Old Wic’) they found the remains of an Anglo-Saxon town. This is around Covent
Garden, lying between the modern-day Westminster and the Square Mile. This is a
very sought-after area with many historic buildings – as such archaeologists
haven’t been able to do as much digging as they would like. Our picture of Lundenwic
is therefore still developing.
Below: I’ve found this map on the internet of Anglo-Saxon find-sites, but haven’t been able to verify its original source. Sourced:
In Anglo-Saxon times this site would have been a rural area
outside of the walls of the Roman town. It appears that it may have begun as a
small fishing port and import market, but grew steadily as Anglo-Saxon England
began to gain some stability. At its peak size, around 800 A.D., it may have
housed 10,000 people. This is small by today’s standards, but large for the
early middle ages.
Early Anglo-Saxon England was a violent and chaotic place,
full of petty kings and Kingdoms. Every King in England wanted a piece of
London. Just for example, consider the length of the Thames. London’s area was
settled by the Middle Saxons, or the men of ‘Middle Sex’. They were wedged
between the East Saxons (Essex), South Saxons (Sussex), and the Kingdom of
Kent. If we follow the Thames further in land, it would have flowed through the
territories of two other powerful kingdoms, Wessex in the West of England and
Mercia in the middle.
Rather staggeringly, every single kingdom that I just named
had a go at taking over London at some point. First Essex gobbled up London and
Middlesex. Next Essex was bullied and dominated by Sussex and Kent, with Kent
as the main winner by about 600AD. This couldn’t last: Mercia stormed down to
beat Kent, and took London as a prize. Mercia squabbled with Wessex but mostly held
its own until England was invaded by Vikings from Scandinavia. The Vikings humbled
Mercia and took over London in 886. London was burned at least once in this
period. Finally, Wessex drove out the Vikings by about 900AD. In the process it
renamed itself England and took over the whole country, including London.
It wasn’t just politics that was in flux: different religions were in a battle for souls. London bounced back and forth between pagan religions and Christianity.
London was clearly a place of struggle and strife. It often
found itself on the frontiers between kingdoms and between religions. What did
this mean for the average Londoner? This is the question that I hope, at least
in part, to answer in the rest of this miniseries.
Chronicle of London 
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