If we leave Shrewsbury by its long eastern suburb, known, from the important monastic house which formerly stood at its commencement, as the Abbey Foregate, passing the more modern monument erected at its extremity, Lord Hill’s Column, our way lies for about two miles along the London road, bounded on each side by rich and fertile fields. At the distance just mentioned, this road approaches close to the river Severn, and continues to run along its banks, to the great improvement of the scenery, until we arrive at the prettily-situated village of Atcham, with Atcham Church in face of us, and the river winding under its stone bridge in the foreground. Atcham is three miles from Shrewsbury. Crossing the bridge, we leave the river, which here takes a long sweep to the southward, and follow the road, which skirts for more than half a mile the extensive park of Attingham. We here approach another river, the Tern, which at this point spreads into a fair expanse of water, and forms, with the mansion of Attingham to the left, and the copses which skirt it, a scene of striking beauty, while to the right it divides into two branches which empty themselves into the Severn, a little lower down. Crossing Tern Bridge, and proceeding a short distance, still skirting the park, we reach a point where, opposite the entrance to Attingham Park, a branch road turns off to the right from the old London road. We must take this branch road, which will lead us to the village of Wroxeter. We soon cross a small stream, which is known by the name of the Bell Brook, and after we have passed this brook, the visitor will hardly fail to remark, wherever his eye rests upon ploughed ground, the extraordinary blackness of the soil in comparison with that of the land over which he has previously passed.
In fact he has now entered upon the site of an ancient Roman city, which is known, from the circumstance of its being mentioned by the geographer Ptolemy, to have been standing here as early as the beginning of the second century, when it was called Viroconium,—a name which appears to have been changed in the later Romano-British period to Uriconium; at least this is the form under which the name occurs in the later geographers, and which has been generally adopted by modern antiquaries. From the point at which we have now arrived, the line of the ancient town-wall may be traced by a continuous low mound, which runs southward towards the Severn, the banks of which it follows for some distance, and, after passing between the river and the modern village of Wroxeter, turns eastwardly behind the vicarage-house, and makes a long sweep till it reaches the hamlet of Norton to the north, whence it turns to the westward again, and reaches the point from which we started, forming an irregular oval, rather more than three miles in circumference. A portion of the Bell Brook runs through the Roman city. After crossing this brook, we approach ground which rises gently, and nearly at the highest point we see to the left a smith’s shop. At this spot, which is rather more than five miles from Shrewsbury, the road which has brought us from that town crosses another road, which turns down to the right, to the village of Wroxeter, not quite half a mile distant. Wroxeter is an Anglo-Saxon name, the first part of which is probably corrupted from that of the ancient Roman city of the site of which it occupies the southern extremity. The road which has led us to it is called the Watling Street road, and there is every reason for believing that it occupies in a part of its course the line of one of the principal streets of Uriconium. It crosses the river Severn immediately below the village, where there was doubtless a bridge in Roman times, for it is in the highest degree improbable that in approaching a town of such importance, the Romans would cross a river like the Severn only by a ford.
On arriving at the smith’s shop just alluded to, the attention of the visitor will be attracted by a solid mass of masonry, which forms a very imposing object, and presents those unmistakable characteristics of Roman work,—the long string-courses of large flat red bricks. This mass of masonry, the only portion of the buildings of Uriconium which remains standing above ground, is upwards of twenty feet high, and seventy-two feet long, with a uniform thickness of three feet, and has been long known by the name of “The Old Wall.” It stands nearly in the centre of the ancient city, which occupied the highest ground within the walls,—a commanding position, with the bold isolated form of the Wrekin in the rear, and in front a panorama of mountains formed by the Wenlock and Stretton Hills, Caer Caradoc, the Longmynd, the Breidden, and the still more distant mountains of Wales. With the exception of this wall, all that remained of the Roman city, if as some people might perhaps have doubted, anything did remain,—has been long buried beneath the soil. At the close of the year 1858, however, it was resolved to ascertain what these remains were, and an Excavation Committee was formed at Shrewsbury, for the purpose of carrying this design into effect by means of a public subscription. Excavations were, accordingly, commenced on the 3rd of February, 1859, and they have already led to results of the most satisfactory description. But, perhaps, before we proceed to describe the ruins which have thus been uncovered, it would be well to tell our readers something of the general character of the Roman towns in this island, and to explain how some of them were destroyed, and from what cases and by what circumstances their remains present themselves in the conditions in which we now find them.
Fifteen hundred years ago, this island, with the exception of the highlands of Scotland, was covered with flourishing towns, many of them known to have been of considerable magnitude, situated on numerous public roads,—these latter of such excellent construction, that they have remained to the present day the foundation of most of our great English high roads. These towns, like those in other parts of the empire, enjoyed free municipal institutions (from which our own mediæval municipal institutions are derived), and in all but certain duties towards the imperial government, formed in themselves so many little republics, possessing all the ambitions and rivalries which seem inseparable from republican institutions. Among the slight notices of this island in ancient writers we learn that the towns of Britain were remarkable for their turbulence, which was encouraged, no doubt, by the distance of this province from Rome, and by the peculiar character of the population of the towns, which consisted of blood that was foreign to the soil, and which was not uniform in character in the different towns. We know further that, during the fourth century, these towns often confederated together, threw off the imperial yoke, and raised emperors of their own; and we have every reason for supposing that, when the restraint imposed by the central power became slackened, the towns confederated against one another, and that domestic dissensions and contests troubled the peace of the island. Such dissensions left the island exposed to the invasions of its foreign enemies, which had become very frequent and very formidable during the fourth century. The eastern coasts were often visited by the Teutonic rovers, Saxons, and Franks; the barbarous Caledonians, then called Picts, from the north rushed across the borders, and carried devastation through the land, in which they were assisted by the Irish, or, as they were then called, Scots, and probably by the Armorican Celts, or Britons from Gaul. The towns of Britain united would, no doubt, have presented a force sufficient to meet any of these invasions, but their very constitution rendered such a union difficult, except for a short period. Besides their independence of each other, the towns had only been expected to defend themselves, while the defence of the province was more especially the duty of the legions, and on their withdrawal, the towns seem to have followed their old practice in case of invasion, and shut themselves within their walls, or, at most, opposed the invaders without any union, thus leaving the open country to easy destruction.
The history of the conquest of the Roman provinces by the barbarians is, in general, simply the successive reduction of one town after another. Such was eminently the case in Britain, and the traditionary annals of the early Saxon period present little more than a list of conquered towns. Sometimes a town was taken by stratagem or force, and then it was plundered or destroyed, but in the far greater number of cases the town was too strong for the assailants and only submitted by composition, by which it paid a tribute to the conqueror and retained its old independent municipal institutions. We all know how many of our old cities and early municipal towns are thus the representatives of the cities of the Romans. In some parts of the island the destruction was greater than in others, and on the Welsh border, through the whole space between Chester (called by the Romans Deva), and Gloucester (which the Romans called Glevum), the towns seem to have been all ruined. One of the largest of these towns was no doubt that of Uriconium. We can only judge by implication, and by a comparison of what occurred in other places, of the manner in which a town like Uriconium was treated, when it was overcome by the barbarians. We know that these invaders were influenced by a love of plunder, but a love of destruction—we may perhaps call it an impulse of destruction—was still greater; and it is probable that the plundering of a town like Uriconium was a hasty and imperfect operation, and that the plunderers carried off chiefly objects made of the precious metals, or articles of dress and arms, or other objects on which they set considerable value, as they moved about rapidly, and could not be provided very extensively with the means of conveyance. (We are here speaking of the earlier plundering invasions of the barbarians, such as the Picts and Scots, in which perhaps Uriconium perished, towards the middle of the fifth century, for it is hardly probable that the Angles or Saxons could have reached this part of the island at so early a period.) The first impulse of the plunderers was to apply fire to the buildings, and the progress of the conflagration would hasten their departure. Where the inhabitants of the conquered town had not made their escape and abandoned it before it was taken—which was perhaps the case in some of the smaller towns—there would no doubt be a dreadful massacre, and the survivors would be dragged away into captivity, for the various peoples who preyed upon the carcass of the mighty empire of Rome, whether German or Celt, or Tartar or Arab, ambitioned, almost above other plunder, the possession of numerous slaves. Thus the plundered town was left without inhabitants, and in flames, of which the latter, as may be judged on the spot from the massive character of the walls of the houses, were probably partial in their effect, destroying chiefly the timber and roofs.
Thus the town was left an extensive mass of blackened walls; and such was the condition in which the ruined Roman towns remained during several centuries. Roman walls, we all know, were too strongly built to fall down, and various circumstances combined for their preservation. In the first place, the population of the country must have been greatly reduced, and this part of the island especially was probably very thinly inhabited after it had been ravaged by the invaders. The ruins themselves would in time be overgrown with plants and trees and would become the haunt of wild beasts, which were then abundant, thus offering very little encouragement to anybody to enter them. But they were protected in a still greater degree by the strong superstitious feelings with which such ruins were regarded by the people who now occupied the land. The Teutonic invaders had not only a prejudice against towns in general, but they believed that all the deserted buildings of the previous lords of the soil were taken possession of by powerful evil spirits, on whose limits it was in the highest degree dangerous to trespass. They imagined, moreover, that the Romans had the power of casting spells over buildings, which were no less dangerous than the evil spirits themselves. It will be remembered how, when Augustine and his brother missionaries came to convert the Anglo-Saxons to Christianity, the Kentish king and his court gave them their first audience in the open air; because, as we are told, the Anglo-Saxons were afraid that, should they be received in a covered chamber in the palace, the strangers from Rome would be able to cast a spell upon them. It is a remarkable proof of the strength of this superstitious feeling, that all the Benedictionals of the Anglo-Saxon period contain forms for blessing the vessels of metal or earthenware found in ancient sites, and relieving them from the spells which had been cast upon them by the “pagans,” in order that the finders might be enabled to make use of these vessels without any personal danger. When the people of the middle ages, whether Christians or not, found the beautiful bronze figures on which we set so much store, they were in the greatest apprehension of personal danger until they had mutilated them so as to break the charm or spell which they believed to be laid upon them, for they looked upon these images as the more general instruments of the ancient magicians. When thus mutilated they usually threw them into the nearest river. The numerous bronzes dredged up from the bed of the Thames at London are almost all mutilated in this manner. This was the case also with the inscriptions, for the successors of the Romans had no other notion of an ancient inscription than that it was a magical charm. This superstition has continued to exist until very recent times, for it appears that, within the memory of man, the peasantry of Northumberland, on the line of the great wall of Hadrian, were accustomed, when they found an inscribed stone—and inscribed stones are there very abundant—to hew out at least a part of the letters of the inscription with a pick or axe, in order to destroy the charm.
We thus understand how a ruined city—like that at Wroxeter—was allowed to remain untouched for centuries. Many of these ruined towns became the subject of romantic legends. One of these legends relating to an ancient ruined city in this neighbourhood, is told in the curious history of the Fitz-Warines, composed in the thirteenth century, in Anglo-Norman, no doubt by a border writer. This writer is describing a visit supposed to have been made by William the Conqueror to the Welsh border in order to distribute the land to his followers.
“When King William approached the hills and valleys of Wales he saw a very large town, formerly enclosed with high walls, which was all burnt and ruined, and in a plain below the town he caused his tents to be raised, and there he said he would remain that night. Then the king inquired of a Briton what was the name of the town, and how it came to be so ruined. ‘Sire,’ said the Briton, ‘I will tell you. The Castle was formerly called Castle Bran, but now it is called the Old March. Formerly there came into this country Brutus, a very valiant knight, and Corineus, from whom Cornwall still retains its name, and many others derived from the lineage of Troy, and none inhabited these parts except very foul people, great giants, whose king was called Geomagog. These heard of the arrival of Brutus, and sent out to encounter him, and at last all the giants were killed except Geomagog, who was marvellously great. Corineus, the valiant, said that he would willingly wrestle with Geomagog, to try Geomagog’s strength. The giant, on the first onset, embraced Corineus so tightly, that he broke three of his ribs. Corineus became angry, and struck Geomagog with his foot that he fell from a great rock into the sea, and Geomagog was drowned. And a spirit of the devil now entered into the body of Geomagog, and came into these parts, and held possession of the country long, that never Briton dared to inhabit it. And long afterwards, King Bran the son of Donwal, caused the city to be rebuilt, repaired the walls, and strengthened the great fosses, and he made Burgh and Great March. And the devil came by night and took away every thing that was therein, since which time nobody has ever inhabited there.’ The king marvelled much at this story, and Payn Peverel, the proud and courageous knight, the king’s cousin, heard it all, and declared that that night he would essay the marvel. Payn Peverel armed himself very richly, and took his shield, shining with gold, with a cross of azure indented, and fifteen knights and other attendants, and went into the highest palace, and took up his lodging there. And when it was night the weather became so foul, black, dark, and such a tempest of lightning and thunder, that all those who were there became so terrified that they could not for fear move hand or foot, but lay on the ground like dead men. The proud Payn was very much frightened but he put his trust in God, whose sign of the cross he carried with him, and saw that he could have no help but from God. He lay upon the ground, and with good devotion prayed God and his mother Mary that they would defend him that night from the power of the devil. Hardly had he finished his prayer, when the fiend came in the semblance of Geomagog, and he carried a great club in his hand, and from his mouth cast fire and smoke, with which the whole town was illuminated. Payn had a good hope in God, and signed himself with a cross, and boldly attacked the fiend. The fiend raised his club and would have struck Payn, but he avoided the blow. The devil, by virtue of the cross, was all struck with fear, and lost his strength, for he could not approach the cross. Payn pursued him till he struck him with his sword; then he began to cry out, and fell flat on the ground, and yielded himself vanquished. ‘Knight,’ said he, ‘you have conquered me, not by your own strength, but by virtue of the cross which you carry.’ ‘Tell me,’ said Payn, ‘you foul creature, who you are and what you do in this town, I conjure you, in the name of God and of the Holy Cross.’ The fiend began to relate from word to word as the Briton had said before; and told how, when Geomagog was dead, he immediately rendered his soul to Beelzebub, their prince, and he entered the body of Geomagog, and came in his semblance into these parts, and kept the great treasure which Geomagog had collected and put into a house he had made underground in that town. Payn demanded of him, ‘What kind of creature he was?’ and he said, ‘He was formerly an angel, but now is, by his forfeit, a diabolical spirit.’ ‘What treasure,’ said Payn, ‘had Geomagog?’ ‘Oxen, cows, swans, peacocks, horses, and all other animals, made of fine gold; and there was a golden bull, which, through me, was his prophet, and in him was all his belief; and he told him the events that were to come; and twice a year the giants used to honour their god, the golden bull, whereby so much gold is collected that all this country was called ‘The White Land.’ And I and my companion inclosed the land with a high wall and deep fosse, so that there was no entrance except through this town, which was full of evil spirits.’ ‘Now, you shall tell me,’ said Payn, ‘where is the treasure of which you have spoken?’ ‘Vassal,’ said he, ‘speak no more of that, for it is destined for others; but you shall be lord of all this honour.’”
And so the vanquished fiend goes on to tell him the future fortunes of his house; and after King William had been duly informed of this adventure, and they had thrown the body of Geomagog into a great pit, they proceeded on their way to Oswestry.
In my edition of this history of the Fitz-Warines I have offered some conjectures on the spot to which this legend refers; but on comparing all the circumstances connected with it, I have since been led to the conclusion that the “burnt and ruined” city which had thus been taken possession of by the evil spirits was no other than the ruins of the ancient Uriconium. This story implies that the walls of the town and houses of Uriconium were still standing above ground as late as the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and very likely a great portion of them remained thus standing at the time when the author of the History of the Fitz-Warines wrote. But during the centuries which had passed since the city of the Romans became a ruin, it had been undergoing a gradual but continual change from the accumulation of earth. This rising of the level of the ground is always found to have taken place under such circumstances, and may be explained by several causes. In the first place, the floors must have been covered by a mass of rubbish formed by the falling in of the roofs and more perishable parts of the buildings. Vegetation, too, would in the course of years arise, and the walls would stop and cause to be deposited the dust and earthy particles carried about in the atmosphere. This deposit we know by experience to be considerable. It is now little more than three centuries since the dissolution of the monasteries, and we have all had opportunities of observing the depth of earth under which the floors of the monastic ruins now lie, sometimes amounting to as much as three or four feet. What, then, must it have been on an extensive ruin like that of Uriconium, which had stood in that ruined and deserted condition from the middle of the fifth century to the middle of the twelfth?