This year marks 1,900 years since the beginning of the construction of Hadrian’s Wall. We know a lot about how it was built and who built, lived and worked on the wall, Douglas Jackson says. But what we can’t be sure is why it was built. Douglas, author of The Wall, wonders: was it just a vanity project, or did it have a more lasting legacy for the Romans who went to so much effort building, repairing and defending it?
Hadrian’s Wall is the most visible symbol of 300 years of Roman rule over southern Britain – the province of Britannia; a marvel of construction and ingenuity which has endured for almost 2,000 years. There’s little doubt I could have set my novel, The Wall, at any point in its history or any location along its length, and always found a compelling story to tell.
We know that the remains of this iconic structure are unique in Britain, but we sometimes forget that the wall, built in around four years from AD122, is also unique in terms of the entire Roman empire.
Hadrian ordered physical frontiers to be constructed in Germany and Africa, but none were made of stone and none has survived to awe and puzzle in the way the northern wall does.
The physical remains of the wall have been investigated, examined, discussed and debated since the 17th century and probably before. Yet, as a writer, once you start invading the lives of those who lived along its length and whose existences were divided by its presence, it becomes increasingly obvious that, though we know a vast amount about this iconic structure, there is a great deal more we do not understand.
We know how it was built, using the labour of three different Roman legions; we know that there were unforeseen complications, resulting in different widths of foundation; we know that it was originally part-stone and part-turf, and that a decision was later made that it should be entirely in stone.
We can visit the remains of many of the forts that garrisoned it: Segedunum (Wallsend), Cilurnum (Chesters), Borcovicium (Housesteads) and Banna (Birdoswald). We even know, thanks to the many hundreds of inscriptions discovered along its 80-mile length, the names of those who built it and manned it, the units they served in, the names of some of their wives and children, and the gods they worshipped; Fortuna, Mithras, Minerva and Coventina to name but four.
But for all this information, for all these facts and names and dates, we still cannot be entirely certain why it was built. Most experts agree, if experts can be said to agree about anything, that this wasn’t a decision driven by fear of some immediate, direct threat from the north.
There’s little evidence that a powerful tribal federation existed in what is now Scotland before Agricola’s victories in Britain of AD80. The Vindolanda Tablets, those fascinating slivers of wood that give us such a revealing insight into Roman life on the frontier and the mindset of a fortress garrison, provide remarkably few references to conflict and no single direct reference to any outright fighting.
Hadrian may have believed he needed some great physical manifestation of his power and the power of the Empire, but another great temple in Rome would have been a much less daunting project, and arguably more effective in impressing those he sought to impress.
By ordering the construction of an 80-mile barrier that effectively divided the island of Britain in two, he announced very clearly that he had no interest in further conquest beyond the Tyne-Solway isthmus. By the same token, Hadrian’s decision to build the wall and its forts went against every tactical doctrine of the Roman army.
Agricola had already proven that Rome’s legions were perfectly capable of conquering the length and breadth of the island of Britain. A legion didn’t fight from behind walls. Its strength was in its manoeuvrability, its discipline and its ability to get its swords into the very vitals of the enemy.
Hadrian had effectively trapped between 5,000 and 10,000 specialist light infantry – Batavians, Tungrians, Gauls, Thracians, Hamians and Asturians – behind stone walls, more or less permanently on the defensive, walking parapets and limited to localised patrols.
So what other reason, apart from self-aggrandisement and an illusory security, could have driven Hadrian to build his wall? The answer may lie in the 80 gates that punctuated the original length.
Those gates were not built for the passage of armies. They signify a recognition that, despite the wall, north-south commerce, business and trade had to continue, and that all of it should be controlled, recorded and taxed. In effect, the wall would be expected to pay for itself, and perhaps even turn a profit.
By the time the wall was abandoned, at some point after AD410, 66 of the 80 gates had been bricked up, indicating that the function of the wall could change dramatically depending on the political will and attitude to the frontier of successive emperors. By that time the wall had endured for 290 years, effectively dictating Rome’s policy for Britannia’s defence by its mere existence.
The fortress garrisons remained, though by the end they were markedly shrunken. Their unit names survived, but the Batavians, Tungrians and the rest would have long since been replaced by native Britons.
Of the four-score or so emperors who followed Hadrian, up until the point Honorius washed his hands of Britannia, only one would have the nerve to abandon the wall entirely, Antoninus Pius, and that for only a few decades while he extended the frontier north to the turf wall that still bears his name.
Many of the others must have puzzled over the decision, but they alternately ended up letting it crumble or, very occasionally, invested resources in its refurbishment.
In the end, the question we have to ask is: Did Hadrian’s Wall do its job? We know of only a handful of occasions when the northern tribes breached it in force, so perhaps it did, though it was overrun at least twice.
Did it do that job any more effectively or economically than a northern-based legion and its associated auxiliary units? The jury’s out on that one.
The Wall by Douglas Jackson is published on June 9, 2022. Doug has written 11 other novels set in ancient Roman times.
Celebrations marking 1,900 years of Hadrian’s Wall are taking place throughout this year. Find out more from English Heritage.
To find out more about Agricola and his campaigns, read Agricola’s victories in Britain, a feature by Simon Turney. Simon is the author of the recently-published biography Agricola: Architect of Roman Britain.
You may also enjoy Jacquie Rogers‘s feature, How Roman was Roman Britain?
Hadrian was the Emperor who the Jewish leader Bar Kokhba rebelled against in AD132, as Lindsay Powell tells in his 2021 biography, Bar Kokhba: The Jew Who Defied Hadrian and Challenged the Might of Rome. Lindsay writes about this legendary figure, too little remembered in the West, in his Historia feature, On the trail of an emperor, a rebel, and a lion.
Images:
- A stretch of Hadrian’s Wall about one mile west of the Roman fort near Housesteads by Steven Fruitsmaak: Wikimedia (public domain)
- Bust of Emperor Hadrian (Termini type), Uffizi, AD117–21 by Egisto Sani: Flickr (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)
- Bas-relief of triple Coventina from Woodcut published in The Legendary Lore of the Holy Wells Of England, including Rivers, Lakes, Fountains and Springs. Copiously Illustrated By Curious Original Woodcuts by Robert Charles Hope (1893), scanned by NantonosAedui: Wikimedia (public domain)
- Wood writing tablet with a party invitation written in ink, in two hands, from Claudia Severa to Lepidina (Vindolanda tablet 291), photo by Fæ: Wikimedia (CC BY-SA 3.0)
- The baths located outside Chesters Roman fort (Cilurnum), considered the best-preserved Roman military building in Britain, by Carole Raddato: Wikimedia (CC BY-SA 2.0)
- Gatehouse at Chesters Roman fort by CyclicalCore: Deviant Art (CC BY-SA 3.0)
- North gate arch of Milecastle 37, Hadrian’s Wall, ©Phil Champion: Geograph (CC BY-SA 2.0)
