Isca: The Fall of Roman Exeter - Derek Gore

There is something great about reading books set in your home town. It makes you feel like you live at the centre of the universe. For that reason, I may be very slightly biased towards Isca. Bias may be increased by the fact that the author works in the Archaeology department of Exeter University, my alma mater*.

Slightly disappointingly, Isca does not really fall so much as slowly fade away. The Roman governor is taking less and less interest in the south west, and the whole area has started to go a bit Mad Max. The local people are being pushed into choosing which of the local warlords they will work for in return for protection from the other local warlords and Irish raiders (confusingly called Scotts).

Against this backdrop our hero, the young Victoricus runs away from his feudal lord, Cynan and goes to Exeter to seek his fortune (slaps thigh). In the process he finds love, befriends an old man, and gets captured a hell of a lot. In fact, he could give any of Dr Who’s companions a run for their money in the getting captured stakes.

If I had to sum this book up in one word I would chose “sweet”. Nothing really horrible happens to any of the main characters, although the potential is definitely there in Dark Ages Britain. When some minor characters are cruelly done in by the villains, it all takes place off camera. At the end, events seem to be building up for a big, set-piece battle – then the bad guy’s troops mutiny and everyone goes home for tea instead. If I sound disparaging, I don’t really mean to; I actually find this innocent “Bumper Book of Stories for Boys” approach kind of charming. It makes me think that Derek is a gentleman.

Not only is the story very sweet, but as the author is an actual archaeologist, all the details of daily life and the construction of the fort and towns are accurate, thus enabling me to painlessly educate myself. Like an episode of "In Our Time" with a plot.



*Latin for “Place where you fret about grades, maths and problems classes while a bunch of rich kids drink themselves senseless”. Not that I’m bitter. If I was, a rugby tosser would have drunk me.