Something Old

 Not everything worth reading is hot off the press. In this section, we recommend "something old" that is still well worth reading. "Something Old" can mean anything from a venerable and antique classic to a good book first published four or more years ago.   

THREE NOVELS SET IN ROMAN BRITAIN by Rosemary Sutcliff (“The Eagle of the Ninth” first published in 1954, “The Silver Branch” first published in 1957 and “The Lantern Bearers” first published in 1959)

 

            On this blog, back in 2016, I introduced comments on C.S.Lewis’s Narnia Books by listing many of the titles of books for children and adolescents which I had read to my larger-than-average family when they were growing up. Among these books, I mentioned in passing those of Rosemary Sutcliff (1920-1992).

From the 1950s to the 1980s, Sutcliff was regarded in Britain as the best writer of historical fiction for adolescents, much admired and winning a number of literary awards.  She was prolific in her chosen genre, pouring out something more than a novel a year over 40 years. She did write some non-fiction and a few novels for adults, including Sword at Sunset, one of the more plausible reconstructions of the man who might have been the model for the tales that grew into the legends of King Arthur. I recall reading Sword at Sunset for my own pleasure some years back. But her forte was books for adolescents, with historical settings. Although she did write sometimes about other eras, she was most interested in Roman Britain and the early Middle Ages. Rosemary Sutcliff had some literary rivals. Henry Treece was probably her equal in his tales of vikings and saga-heroes. Geoffrey Trease (of a slightly earlier generation) was pretty good, but a little plodding in his narratives and inclined to be preachy. Far below her level was Ronald Welch, whose juvenile historical novels tended to be exercises in English jingoism concerning the patriotic Carey family  (how the Black Prince beat the Froggies at Crecy; how Marlborough beat the Froggies at Blenheim etc. etc.). To my chagrin, one of my sons – when he was a kid, of course – thought Ronald Welch was great, and I wasn’t going to argue with him.

But Rosemary Sutcliff reigned supreme.

In the days when I read to my children, I remember reading such Rosemary Sutcliff books as Warrior Scarlet (set in the Bronze Age) and Knight’s Fee (set in Norman England). But the book that stayed most in my mind was the book that is still her best-known, even if it was produced quite early in her literary career. This was The Eagle of the Ninth, first published in 1954. The Eagle of the Ninth is now known as the first part of what is billed as a “trilogy”, but it is a very loose trilogy and the two novels which followed, The Silver Branch and The Lantern Bearers, are set in different historical times and have different casts of characters. They can each be read as a self-contained narrative. What they have in common is their setting in Roman Britain.

As it happens, I did not read these two “sequels” to my bairns in the days when we squeezed together onto the couch for the evening’s reading. So recently I decided to read all three of them.

The Eagle of the Ninth lived up to my memory of it. It is set in Britain in about 130 AD. Marcus Flavius Aquila is an idealistic young military officer. He is obsessed with the memory of his father, who was an officer in the Ninth Legion, which, thirteen or fourteen years earlier, marched off to fight the barbarous Caledonians and was never seen again. The legion was apparently wiped out and ceased to exist.  The eagle standard borne before the legion was a symbol of the legion’s honour, but it too was lost. After being wounded and lamed in a battle with barbaric Britons, young Marcus is discharged from the army. He hears rumours that somewhere in wild Caledonia, a tribe has taken the lost eagle and worships it as a sort of fetish. Marcus believes that if he can retrieve the eagle, the Ninth Legion might be reconstructed and its lost honour atoned. So he sets out on a mission to recapture the eagle.

The Eagle of the Ninth is, in effect, a simple quest story, all the better for its simplicity. To an adult reader Marcus’s adventures in the wild north, accompanied by his faithful Briton ex-gladiator “body slave” Esca, are a little too easy. Marcus’s “cover” for inquisitive northern barbarians is that he is a healer, bearing salves for the sick. Very conveniently for the plot, he has the skill to act as a sort of doctor. Sutcliff glosses over such matters as how Marcus and his companion provision themselves in their long journey, and the wearisomeness of the whole dangerous trek. There are fortuitous encounters with friendly people who help them on their way, such as the huntsman who was once in the lost legion. How Marcus and Esca repossess the battered eagle (essentially an episode of robbing it from a barbarian sanctuary) is, at best, very implausible. But the dash back to the safety of the recently-constructed Hadrian’s Wall, with angry, robbed barabarians on their tail, makes for some rousing chapters.

I could be a spoilsport about this novel, pointing out its improbabilities and its unhistorical premise. (Few historians now believe the real Ninth Legion was wiped out in a disastrous battle in Caledonia; it was probably just transferred to another part of the Roman Empire, leaving Britons to wonder where it had gone.) But then I recall that The Eagle of the Ninth was, like most of Rosemary Sutcliff’s output, written for teenagers and in that genre it works very well. There are those lush descriptions of the landscape and countryside that were among Sutcliff’s trademarks. There is a romantic story woven into the quest narrative – Marcus’s chaste love for the Briton girl Cottia, from the Iceni people, who is being brought up in the Roman fashion under a different name. This could signal nothing but a happy ending – except that Sutcliff has the skill to bring in a mildly downbeat element. After his heroic quest, the (battered) remnants of the retrieved eagle do not lead to a renewal of the Ninth Legion, and Marcus realises that heroic endeavours do not necessarily lead to wished-for outcomes.

I admire the way Sutcliff expects her adolescent readers to be patient as the novel’s premise is set up slowly in the opening chapters. Indeed I do wonder if today’s adolescent readers would stay the course, in an age when there has to be much action from the very opening to keep them reading – especially in current fantasy novels which do not pretend to have an historical basis. I admire, too, the way Sutcliff brings into the story Marcus’s’ adherence to the military cult of Mithras, popular with Roman soldiers at this time, suggesting that honourable actions can arise from belief systems that are now defunct. The Eagle of the Ninth stands up very well, with Marcus’ journey having the freshness and optimism of David Balfour setting out for the House of Shaws. 

The second novel of this loose “trilogy”, The Silver Branch (first published in 1957) is set in the late third century, approximately the decade between 286 and 296 AD and therefore nearly two hundred years after the events of The Eagle of the Ninth. However the main character is a descendant of Marcus and his kin, signalled by his possession of a signet ring with an emerald inlay, which has been passed down as a family heirloom. There is also, late in The Silver Branch, the brief appearance of the battered eagle of the Ninth Legion, used as a rallying standard for patriotic Romanised Britons.

The events of The Silver Branch take place specifically at the time when there is the brief existence of a separate “empire” which had broken away from Rome, even if its leaders were of Roman culture. The commander of one Roman fleet, Carausius, had set himself up as “emperor” of the breakaway Gaulish Empire, consisting of northern Gaul and Britain. This empire lasted for a short time. The Roman general Constantius (who was junior “Caesar” to the Roman emperor) rapidly took over northern Gaul and restored it to Rome. For some years Carausius held on to Britain alone, of which he styled himself “emperor”. But he was assassinated by one of his chief officials, Allectus, who took over as “emperor” of Britain. And then at last, with some help from local Romanised Britons, Constantius invaded Britain, overthrew Allectus, and the separate “empire” ceased to exist as Roman power was restored.

This is the factual historical context into which Rosemary Sutcliff inserts her story. Reading The Silver Branch after reading The Eagle of the Ninth I felt a little let down, and still regard it as the weakest novel in the “trilogy”. In the first place, there is much more labororious scene-setting and explanation of the historical situation than there is in the earlier novel. And in the second place, there is what seems to be the repetition of a formula. Once again, like Marcus and Esca in The Eagle of the Ninth, there are two sworn companions on a quest. Tiberius Lucianus Justinius, known as Justin, is a medical officer in the army of Carausius. He speaks with a stutter. His cousin Flavius is a centurion. Most improbably, Justin and Flavius overhear dastardly plans being hatched against Carausius, whom they admire. Even more improbably, they become friends with Britain’s “emperor” and pass on their news to him. To protect them from any conspiracy, Carausius sends them both out of the way to work at Hadrian’s Wall. But Carausius is murdered and now Justin and Flavius are wanted men as Allectus takes over.

Throughout this novel, Rosemary Sutcliff’s characterisation presents Carausius as a true British patriot. Indeed, when Carausius speaks of the importance of “sea power” to protect his British “empire” from both Rome and Saxon “Sea Wolf” raiders, we can’t help feeling that Sutcliff is projecting onto these ancient times a patriotic image of a much later British Empire. Allectus, the poisoner, is presented as a totally untrustworthy villain, in league with the barbarous raiding Saxons who plague the Saxon Shore. The raw facts of history do not really let us know what sort of personalities Carausius and Allectus had, so these characterisations are very much Sutcliff’s invention. In the event, Justin and Flavius, after much ducking and hiding from Allectus’s villainous and homicidal partisans, throw in their lot with Constantius as one who can restore order and just governorship to Britain. Justin and Flavius lead a tatterdemalion “legion” of their own, recruited from Romanised Britons, to support Constantius’s professional legions and all ends well.

Surprisingly, however, I found the third novel of the “trilogy”, The Lantern Bearers (first published in 1959) to be a great return to form. Indeed, of the three, it is the one that comes closest to being a novel for adults (even if it did win the Carnegie Medal for best children’s book on a British subject). I am inclined to call it the best novel by Sutcliff that I have read. Part of its strength is the very complexity of its story – which has a large cast of characters – and Sutcliff’s clever dramatisation of the blending of many different peoples and cultures. There is also a slightly more honest presentation of adult relationships than appears in the first two novels.

The time is now the early fifth century, a little after Rome has been sacked (in 410 AD) and the Western Roman Empire is imploding. Rome finally abandons Britain, withdrawing its legions and leaving Roman civilians in Britain and Romanised Britons to fend for themselves. In short The Lantern Bearers, is set in the period that historians now call “Sub-Roman” Britain. Protagonist is the decurion (master of cavalry) Aquila, who has disobeyed orders and remained behind as he watches the last of the legions sail away. Of course he bears the emerald signet ring and is a descendant of the main characters in the earlier novels.

Aquila wants to protect and preserve Roman civilisation in Britain, but the barbarians are knocking at the gate. The (historical) Briton cheftain Vortigern – depicted by Sutcliff as spineless and gullible – has given in to the Saxon invaders led by Hengest and Horsa, and granted them great swathes of land in east and south Britannia (the origins of Norfolk, Suffolk and Wessex). Vortigern has abandoned his Briton wife and married Rowena, the bewitching and deceptive Saxon princess (so characterised by Sutcliff). But of course the Saxons have no intention of remaining confined to the lands Vortigern has granted them. They raid deeper and deeper into British territory. The Picts and Caledonian barbarians are ever threatening the north as what remains of Hadrian’s Wall decays and is unmanned. In the west, Scots raiders (i.e. Irish Celts from Hibernia) threaten the coasts of Cymru (i.e. Wales). How then can civilised Roman society survive in Britain? Please note that Sutcliff does assume that Roman culture is the superior brand, and (as in The Silver Branch), there is an undertone suggesting that she is really thinking in terms of patriotic Britishers of her own age.

In one Saxon raid, our hero Aquila’s sister Flavia is abducted by the Saxons and Aquila himself is enslaved by the Saxons’ allies the Jutes. He is taken to Jutland and labours for some years with a “thrall-ring” (a heavy collar) around his neck, signifying his slave status. After he manages to escape from this, he becomes one of those who bring together Romanised Britons and the Britons of Cymru to push back the Saxons, under the leadership of the civilised warrior Ambrosius. The climax is a great and bloody battle with the Saxons. Hengest’s Saxon warriors are defeated, but, as Aquila himself and others realise, the victory is not decisive. The Saxons will continue to advance. Into this, Rosemary Sutcliff inserts the minor character of a brash and brave young Celtic cavalry leader called Artorius (or Artor), who is obviously the origin and inspiration of Arthurian legend.

It shows great skill on Sutcliff’s part to so clearly delineate the different cultures involved in all this. As to the element which comes closest to an adult perspective we, for the first time in this “trilogy”, are given some consideration of the interaction of the sexes. Aquila meets with his abducted sister Flavia after many years. She is now married to the Saxon warrior who (in effect, although it is not spelled out) raped her and she is raising their child. When Aquila suggests she abandon barbarian husband and child and escape with him, she turns him down. By abduction (and implied rape), peoples and cultures blend. Roman Aquila himself marries Ness, a Briton woman, purely with the political aim of consolidating his diverse forces. Ness despises Aquila and Aquila despises Ness – until they realise that they are bound to stay together. By political manoeuvres, peoples and cultures blend. Incidentally, note that the Celts of Cymru and the Romans and Romanised Britons are, in this novel, beginning to be Christians, represented most by a hermit with whom Aquila at one stage takes refuge – but their Christianity still has a place for many pre-Christian beliefs and customs.

I am in danger of “talking up” The Lantern Bearers too much. It is certainly more sophisticated than the two earlier novels and more “adult”, but is is still essentially written for adolescents. In that genre, however, it is a very fine piece of work.

A Couple of Footnotes:

(A.) As all detailed references to Rosemary Sutcliff make clear, the author was stricken with a debilitating disease when she was a child, and spent most of her life in a wheelchair. She never married, had no children and no “significant other”. It would be debased Freudianism to suggest that she wrote about far off times and peoples as an escape from her constricted life – after all, there have been plenty of other very good writers of historical novels who faced no such physical limitations. Look up, for example, my posting on The Historical Fiction of Alfred Duggan, who was writing [for adults] at the same time as Sutcliff. Nevertheless, I do notice how Sutcliff has the tendency to have heroes who are somehow stricken – the lamed Marcus in The Eagle of the Ninth; the stuttering Justin in The Silver Branch and (stretching a point) the collared and enslaved Aquila in The Lantern Bearers. Maybe, just maybe,  they are conscious echoes of her own physical limitations.

            (B.) The Eagle of the Ninth is undoubtedly Rosemary Sutcliff’s best-known novel. It has twice been dramatised for British television, in both cases following Sutcliff’s plot closely and in the awareness that this was a story written for teenagers, not an adult story. However in 2011, there was a film adaptation given the title The Eagle. While more-or-less following Sutcliff’s plot, it introduced scenes of extreme violence quite out of keeping with Sutcliff’s general tone. On the whole, the critics roasted it – with good reason.