Read A History of Ancient Britain for Free Online Page A

bones collected from Goat’sHole just before
Buckland arrived – undoubtedly parts of the same skull he featured in his excavation plan – and during the filming of A History of Ancient Britain the young man and his mammoth
were reunited for the very first time.
    Now those red-hued bones and blackening ivory suggest a story more moving by far than the good Reverend’s harlot. Instead they speak of tragedy and grief – and an attempt by
thoughtful, imaginative people to move beyond loss. Perhaps a hunting party tracked a lone mammoth across terrain they knew well . . .
    They had wounded it already, many times, with stone-tipped spears. And there was dark blood in its tracks, from someplace deep. Patience was what mattered now – that and the stamina to
stay close, bring it to bay and finish it. This was land their fathers and mothers had roamed before them, in endless pursuit of the herds – and its contours and landmarks, its scents and
sounds were as familiar as each other’s faces. It was also unforgiving. It had been cold for longer than memory and they sensed rather than saw the towering mass of the cliff face high above
them, pitted with caves and all but invisible through the snow-laden wind. It was here in its familiar shadow they hoped to corner the beast once and for all. Perhaps the storm should have warned
them – persuaded them to call off the hunt until the weather eased just a little. But the folk of the tribe were hungry and the kill was close – a kill that would bring warmth to all
souls. Then all at once the ground shook and their would-be prey was among them, weakened and in agony but raging and deadly dangerous nonetheless. Taken by surprise, the hunters briefly scattered
like snowflakes, all but one. Before they could make sense of the chaos, the favourite was felled. He was the one they loved best of all their number and now he was dead at the feet of the beast.
Enraged, they surrounded the monster as it stood over their fallen son and brother, and buried their spears in its sides again and again – finally reaching vital organs and dropping it to its
knees. It was over quickly then. Two deaths separated by moments, moments that made all the difference. Later, with the favourite cold and their anguish still warm, they climbed with his body to
the cave mouth. Others bore a separate burden and they huffed and panted under its weight. In times past the tear-shaped cave had sheltered them for nights and days and now it would be his
sanctuary for all eternity. Inside, away from the wind and snow, they dug his grave. They laid him gently down and placed the head of the one that had killed him close by. Let any who passed this
way remember what had happened – know that there was eternal rest here for the man and the beast together. Two spiritsunited in a shared death. Then, on this furthest
outreach of Europe, the Red Laddie’s family and companions bade him a final farewell and left him behind for ever . . .
    Fanciful? Certainly. But fantasy? Not necessarily. Three hundred centuries ago a young man was buried in a cave at Paviland and a mammoth skull was laid nearby. Neither accident of Biblical
flood nor Romano-British morality brought those two together. Rather what was left behind in Goat’s Hole Cave all those years ago was some mother’s son; and those that buried him there,
safe from the wind and the world, were at pains to leave him with ivory tokens for his amusement and a mammoth skull for his headstone. The rods may have had some practical function but seem more
likely to have been ceremonial, worn or carried by someone special. The periwinkle necklace and other items of jewellery look like gifts too, from people who loved him in life as well as in death.
These were modern human beings – the same as us in every way. We are separated from them only by circumstances and time. We do them – and ourselves – a disservice if we do not see
the Red Laddie of Paviland,