Subscribe now for full access and no adverts
‘At my signal, unleash hell.’ So growls the fictional Roman general Maximus Decimus Meridius before leading his troops to victory against hordes of Germanic warriors in the explosive opening scene of Ridley Scott’s 2000 epic Gladiator. While the film undeniably uses some dramatic licence, the conflict that it depicts – and the threat faced by Rome in the later 2nd century – was all too real. Between AD 166 and 182, the Marcomannic Wars (see below) saw Roman military might deployed across the Danube to defend the Empire’s north-eastern frontier against the Germanic Quadi and Marcomanni peoples, as well as the Iazyges, a branch of the Sarmatians who lived around the Black Sea.
After the emperor Marcus Aurelius defeated this latter group in AD 175, the contemporary historian Cassius Dio tells us, the Sarmatians were compelled to contribute 8,000 skilled cavalrymen to the Roman army, the majority of whom were deployed to Britain. We do not know exactly where these 5,500 soldiers were sent, although fleeting archaeological echoes hint at links with the north of England, in particular Ribchester in Lancashire (see below). No physical trace of an individual from Sarmatia had ever been identified in Britain, however – until now.
From the late 2nd century, our story leaps to 2017, when MOLA Headland Infrastructure were midway through excavations associated with National Highways’ A14 Road Improvement Scheme in Cambridgeshire. Between 2016 and 2018, this initiative involved more than 40 individual excavations investigating 234ha (see CA 339 for more on its wider findings), one of which took place at Offord Cluny, near Godmanchester. There, the archaeologists uncovered the remains of a Roman farmstead and, in a backfilled ditch that had once run alongside one of its trackways, they found a burial.
Although the A14 investigations had identified a number of formal Roman roadside cemeteries in the immediate area, this grave was striking in its isolation. Its occupant was a young adult, aged around 18-25 at the time of their death, and subsequent analysis revealed that this individual was male, and that he had died c.AD 126-228. With no obvious cause of death preserved on his bones, and with no grave goods accompanying him, the man’s burial held few clues to tell us more about him. That picture has now completely changed, however, thanks to scientific analysis carried out by Durham University and the Francis Crick Institute. Their findings, recently published in Current Biology (see ‘Further reading’ below), tell a vivid story of a migrant childhood, intrepid journeys across Europe, and a new life forged thousands of miles from home.
The Marcomannic Wars
In AD 166, Rome was riding high after a successful end to years of war with the Parthian Empire in what is now Iran. Together with the spoils of victory, though, the returning legions brought something rather more unwelcome back to their homeland: a virulent disease that is today known as the Antonine Plague. This epidemic (probably measles or smallpox) ravaged the populations of Roman territories, weakening the empire’s defences just as a new threat was emerging to the east. Large-scale migrations among some of the Germanic nomads were putting pressure on their neighbours, prompting these groups to move west and make raids across Rome’s north-eastern border. Such incursions had previously been easily repelled – but the scale of movement seen in the mid-2nd century was unprecedented.
Above & below: The Column of Marcus Aurelius was erected to celebrate his military successes against Germanic and Sarmatian warriors across the Danube. Its imagery vividly recreates these campaigns. Image: Marco Assini CC BY-SA 2.0/Barosaurus Lentus CC BY 3.0
Matters reached crisis point when, in 170, a huge confederation of Germanic tribes (led by Ballomar of the Marcomanni) crossed the Danube and surged west into Italy, laying siege to Aquileia. The shock to the Roman psyche must have been dramatic, as this was the first time in almost 300 years that hostile forces had entered Italy and threatened the Roman heartland, but this Marcomannic momentum was not to last. Within a year, the warriors had been pushed back out of Roman territories, and Marcus Aurelius hit back with a punitive expedition of his own, crossing the Danube with his army.
His campaigns met with early success – in just 172, Aurelius claimed the victor’s title ‘Germanicus’ – but it was another three years until the emperor had defeated the Sarmatians, after which he adopted another new epithet, ‘Sarmaticus’, and the reparative resettlement of cavalrymen described above took place. While rebellions in Syria distracted Aurelius from pushing home his advantage, by 176 he was back in Rome, staging a joint triumph with his son Commodus, and commissioning a grand column adorned with scenes of his martial conquests. Yet this was not the end of hostilities, with further skirmishes occurring almost immediately, first under Aurelius and, after his death in 180, under Commodus. Relatively little is known about these latter engagements, though Commodus evidently felt that his efforts merited his adopting the title ‘Germanicus Maximus’ before the third and final Marcomannic War came to an end in 182.
Grains of truth
The first insights into the man’s identity came thanks to research by the Francis Crick Institute, where his aDNA was analysed as part of a wider Wellcome Trust project investigating ancient genomes in Britain. The resulting data were compared to those from other Roman-period individuals, notably from the Driffield Terrace cemetery in York (excavated by York Archaeological Trust in 2004-2005; see CA 397), at which point it was revealed that the Offord Cluny man’s genetic make-up was very different. His ancestors were not from Britannia; in fact, they had lived thousands of miles to the east, in the traditional lands of the Sarmatians.
It was the first time that an individual with this genetic profile had been identified in Roman Britain, but DNA alone could not confirm whether this man had been born abroad, or if he was the son of an immigrant family – so Durham University carried out isotope analysis, examining chemical signatures preserved in his teeth that reflect what the local geology and climate were like, and the make-up of his diet, at the time that particular teeth formed at different life stages. This process confirmed that it was indeed the Offord Cluny individual who had made the ambitious journey from the east. Until the age of around five years old, he had lived in a very different environment to rural Cambridgeshire: an arid region in the east of continental Europe. His home may have been some way inland, as his diet at that time contained very little marine protein; instead, it was based mostly on what we classify as ‘C4’ plants – crops like millet and sorghum – which are not native to Western Europe.
Later in his childhood, however, we can see the point at which this individual moved further to the west, as these plants began to fade out of his diet – presumably as they became less available. We can see two dramatic shifts in his diet as he began to incorporate C3 plants (a category including major food crops like wheat and barley) but, as well as new foods, this child also met with hardship on the road – linear markings on the Offord Cluny man’s teeth, known as enamel hypoplasia, which had formed during this period of his life, speak of physiological stress, perhaps illness or malnutrition. While it is not clear exactly when he made the crossing to Britain, by the age of 13 he was eating only C3 plants.
Long-distance travel was not uncommon during the Roman period, whether driven by economic migration, trade, postings associated with administration of the empire or military service, or the transportation of enslaved people. As a result, individual provinces could have inhabitants drawn or descended from places all over the empire. In Britain, inscriptions from major towns and military sites testify to a diverse population with, for example, soldiers from modern Libya, Tunisia, Algeria, and Morocco stationed on Hadrian’s Wall, and civilians also travelling from far afield (see CA 383 and 388 for more detailed explorations).
Scientific analysis (whether of aDNA, isotopes, or skeletal characteristics) of excavated human remains can add to this picture, revealing the presence of foreign-born individuals or the descendants of immigrants who might otherwise be invisible in a cemetery population. Take, for example, the ‘Ivory Bangle Lady’, named after the expensive grave goods that she was buried with in 4th-century York: analysis of her skull and of isotopes by the University of Reading revealed that she may have had North African ancestry, but grew up in southern Britain or Continental Europe. Also in the 4th century, a woman whose remains preserve features suggesting Sub-Saharan African heritage was laid to rest in the Lant Street cemetery in Southwark, London. The same burial ground (excavated by Pre-Construct Archaeology in 2002) yielded what may be the first known evidence of people with Asian ancestry in Roman Britain (CA 321 ‘News’). Meanwhile, York’s Driffield Terrace cemetery included a man with genetic similarities to modern Palestine, Jordan, and Syria.
All these examples were discovered in major Roman towns that also had a significant military presence; the discovery of an individual like the Offord Cluny man in a rural setting is rather more unusual, though this may be in part because rural burials have historically seen much less scientific analysis than those found in urban environments. He nevertheless represents a significant addition to our understanding of the wider impact of empire on the provinces, as it has traditionally been assumed that ‘Romanisation’ was less keenly felt in the countryside. The farmstead was not exactly in the sticks, lying just 2.5 miles from Godmanchester – a prosperous town on Ermine Street, the main Roman road linking York and London – but it was a far cry from those bustling international trade hubs.
Searching for Sarmatians
Artefacts reflecting a Sarmatian presence in Britain are few and far between, though in his 1970 book The Sarmatians, the late Tadeusz Sulimirski (a pioneer of the archaeology of Steppe nomads) makes a tantalisingly brief mention of ‘a number of beads typical of the Hungarian Sarmatians’ that he says were found at the Roman cavalry fort of Chesters on Hadrian’s Wall. Sulimirski provides no further detail about these beads, but Dr Frances McIntosh, English Heritage Collections Curator for Hadrian’s Wall and the North-east, studied the Clayton Collection (which is on display at Chesters) as part of her doctoral research and notes that gold in-glass beads like those described by Sulimirski are disproportionately found in Britain compared to the rest of the western provinces, even though they should have been equally available in these regions through trade.
As one possible explanation for this unusual distribution, Frances highlights an article by George C Boon (published in vol.8 of Britannia, 1977) where he suggests that the beads may have arrived in Britain with redeployed Sarmatian cavalrymen – but Frances adds that the items could have originally come to Britain with these troops and then spread across the province through trade, rather than their presence at a specific site indicating that Sarmatians were based there. Corroborating this picture, she points to Hilary Cool’s 2004 report of the excavation of a Roman cemetery at Brougham Fort, near Penrith in Cumbria, where more such beads were found in the 1960s. In The Roman Cemetery at Brougham, Cumbria, Hilary notes that glass-in-gold beads are known from other military locations such as the fortress baths at Caerleon, and at Catterick (where, as discussed below, a possible link to the Sarmatians has been suggested), but they are also found at sites with no overt martial connections.
Arguments for a Sarmatian presence in the frontier zone, then, remain inconclusive, but further to the south in Chester, itself the site of an important fortress, another clue is housed by the Grosvenor Museum. This is a distinctive gravestone depicting an equestrian figure (right) that has been interpreted as possibly representing a Sarmatian rider.
Our best evidence, however, comes from Ribchester in Lancashire. This was the location of Bremetennacum, a Roman cavalry fort best-known for the remarkable Ribchester Helmet. Less famous but no less significant is another discovery from the site: an early 3rd-century inscription dedicated to Apollo Maponus (below). It is #583 in Roman Inscriptions of Britain (https://romaninscriptionsofbritain.org/inscriptions/583), and its text includes the words ‘Gordian’s Own Unit of Sarmatian cavalry of Bremetennacum’: a solid reference to a regiment in a specific location in Britain. Two gravestones, RIB 594 and 595, which were found at Ribchester but are now lost, support this – one reportedly bore an image of a cavalryman, while the other was commissioned by ‘Julius Maximus of the Cavalry Regiment of Sarmatians’. It is possible that the Ribchester regiment was also sent to carry out repairs at Catterick in North Yorkshire, where tiles (RIB 2479; now lost) stamped with the letters ‘BSAR’ have been interpreted as possibly standing for ‘Bremetennacum Sarmati’.
A burial in context
Can the farmstead where the Offord Cluny man was buried provide any clues as to why he was there? Its origins lie long before his arrival, with significant permanent occupation on the site from the middle Iron Age, in the form of a cluster of at least two connected areas of occupation, and hints of a third just outside the excavated area. By the early Roman period, this had evolved into a more coherent farmstead, though the quantity and type of artefacts associated with this phase suggest it was of relatively modest status.
This all changed in the 2nd to early 3rd century, though, when significant investment in, and expansion of, the site saw dramatic changes to its layout. While some of these changes have been masked by further reorganisation of the site in the later Roman period, we can still see that this landscape was busy with trackways, pits, structures, and ditched enclosures – mostly probably used for agricultural and/or industrial purposes – that covered an area of at least 400m by 250m, probably extending beyond the area uncovered during the investigation. This is the version of the farmstead that the Offord Cluny man would have known, and it appears to have been moderately prosperous, with at least three fairly substantial buildings and evidence of small-scale industries including pottery production, smithing, bone-working, and malting to complement its inhabitants’ mixed farming activities.
The farmstead continued to prosper after the Offord Cluny man had died, and in the late Roman period the site rose in status to surpass most of the contemporary settlements identified along the A14 scheme. It was significantly redeveloped at this time, becoming defined by a substantial double-ditched enclosure measuring over 300m by 230m, and while only the periphery of its interior was examined, its extent and the quality of artefacts from this part of the site (including hints of literacy in the form of two styli) have led the team to interpret it as a possible villa, owned or managed by someone of significant local standing.
While the main villa building is presumed to lie within the unexcavated central part of the enclosure, there were a range of peripheral structures associated with the complex, including a smithy building, two late Roman kilns, and diverse evidence of other industries including lead-, iron-, copper-alloy-, bone-, jet-, wood-, and textile-working. A large coin assemblage testifies to the longevity of this evidently flourishing residence, running up to and possibly into the 5th century, although pottery finds cease slightly earlier.
Initial interpretations
What, then, might have brought the Offord Cluny man to this spot? His ancestry and radiocarbon dates tantalisingly suggest a link to the Marcomannic Wars – and while he would have been rather young to have participated himself, he might have moved westwards during this conflict as part of a military family, perhaps even arriving in Britain as the son of a redeployed cavalryman.
The man’s grave contained no military items to suggest that he had taken on a similar profession in adulthood, and his grave is admittedly a long way from the known or suggested hints of Sarmatian soldiers described above. Offord Cluny is a good 130 miles from Chester as the crow flies, over 140 miles from Ribchester, over 150 miles from Catterick, and more than 200 miles from Chesters. The farmstead, too, was undoubtedly a civilian site, with no evidence of a permanent military presence – though it has yielded hints that soldiers visited the area at least periodically. Its late Roman phase has produced a crossbow brooch– a kind of clothes-fastening strongly associated with the Roman army and civilian officials linked to the empire’s military administration – post-dating the 4th century, as well as other items of martial dress including buckles, belt-mounts, and strap-ends.
Military artefacts from the site are not limited to the later Roman period, however. There are also finds potentially placing us within the lifetime of the Offord Cluny man: a belt-mount thought to date to the 2nd-3rd century, and an early Roman harness pendant suggesting the presence of cavalry. The only example of actual weaponry recovered was a fragmentary spear which, while it could have been used for hunting, more likely belonged to a soldier given its association with other contemporary military finds.
It should be noted, though, that these items make up barely 1% of the Roman finds from the site, and are not enough to suggest a military function for the site itself – however, it does indicate that the community had some kind of connection to the Roman army, whether through the adoption of military fashions, the presence of veterans, or even sporadic visits by soldiers.
In this light, perhaps we might envisage a scenario where the Offord Cluny individual came to Britain as a child, perhaps accompanying redeployed relatives, and then settled into civilian life at a site that was not unfamiliar with soldierly ways, living and working on the estate. We cannot be certain, however, that he had been a permanent fixture of the farmstead community: it is also possible that he was buried there after taking ill and dying while travelling along the nearby road. Alternatively, he could have been brought to Britain as a slave taken from defeated Danubian lands.
What about the way this man was laid to rest? Ditch burials are not uncommon on farmsteads and villa sites, though their meaning is unclear. Such people seem to have been singled out for ‘special’ treatment, in that they have been inhumed rather than cremated or excarnated, thought to be more common practices at this time – but whether this ‘specialness’ was positive or negative, we cannot know. It is possible, though, that the Offord Cluny man’s ‘exotic’ origins may have influenced the way he was treated in death.
Further reading
Marina Silva et al. (2023) ‘An individual with Sarmatian-related ancestry in Roman Britain’, Current Biology 34 (1): https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cub.2023.11.049 (Open Access).
