Simple story of the man who gave his name to a city

When aligned to what we see around St Albans though; a thriving city steeped in history, centred around a breathtaking cathedral, we realise that his story is worth remembering and worth re-telling.

The facts of Alban's life and abrupt death make for compelling reading.

A Romano-British citizen (probably of Celtic Roman parentage) in what was then known as Verulamium, Alban may already have had leanings towards the then outlawed religion of Christianity when he is thought to have harboured a renegade priest. When his house was visited by those searching for the fugitive, Alban appeared wearing the priest's robes, thus buying valuable time for his guest to escape.

After refusing to recant his newfound Christian beliefs during a lengthy trial, Alban was taken to a hilltop close to where the Cathedral now stands, and beheaded.

Most Christians at the time were put to death in a more gruesome fashion but Alban's status as a citizen of the Empire meant he had the right to be decapitated, the logic being that an instant death was favourable to evisceration by lions.

The story of the priest and his robes is one account of how we came by England's earliest Christian martyr. The truth may be somewhat more mundane.

Alban's trial was presided over by Geta Caesar, the younger son of the Emperor Severus who was campaigning in Scotland with his elder son, Caracalla.

They were overseeing a systematic persecution of Christians and Jews while Geta remained here in Verulamium, Roman Britain's second city.

Determined to make his mark, the younger son ordered everyone in the city to make sacrifices to the Roman gods.

Alban, believed to have been a high status citizen of Verulamium, refused and, despite being offered plenty of opportunities to change his mind, he stuck fast to his belief in a single deity and was executed for his pains. The date has been variously estimated as June 22, AD 209 or 250, the date now credited by later scholars.

And there we have it. A lonely death on a hilltop, almost perfunctory in its commission.

Apparently Alban was given a drink of water before his death, a rare allowance for a condemned man - possibly because he was a high status local citizen, a man of some standing in the community.

Another fantastical account records that the executioner's eyes fell on the floor as he administered the fatal blow.

Such details, whether they are true or not, afford us a brief glimpse into the past. As yet, nobody has made a film about St Alban and so the pictures we have of this scene are all our own.

The haziness of the contemporary records and the reluctance of historians to speculate allows us to fill in the blanks as we like.

Perhaps the priest watched from afar as his benefactor was executed or maybe Alban died alone with only his faith to sustain him.

Marched swiftly to the top of a hill and beheaded beneath the boughs of a tree, would he have cast one look back at the site of our city? Or were his eyes closed to the world as he waited for the next one to arrive?

However he met his death, his deeds were legendary enough to sustain a cult to his martyrdom for the next 1800 years.

During Alban's lifetime, Christianity had been making slow inroads into Britain but was not to become the official religion until after 325AD.

However, the desperate purges of Severus and later of Diocletian reveal its inexorable progress and with Alban upheld as a great Christian martyr, his shrine quickly became a popular pilgrimage location. The next historical reference we have is that of Constantius who in 480AD wrote of St Germanus of Auxerre's visit to Britain in 429. He had come to subdue the theological activities of the wonderfully named Pelagians and stopped by Alban's shrine on his way home to give thanks for his safe passage.

Alban was already venerated abroad but Germanus helped to enhance the site's growing reputation for miracles of healing.

Verulamium, however, was in decline. As a 'chartered municipium', its population was comprised not of settlers but of Romanized citizens; friendly provincials in other words.

With the Roman empire rapidly shrinking, outlying territories such as Britain were deemed expendable. Without the protection of the Legions, Verulamium was left to fend for itself and it did not last long. Barbarian tribes overran the city, much as they did the rest of the empire. The Dark Ages ensued.

In his essay on Verulamium, the historian Professor Sheppard Frere writes that: "By 500 there can have been virtually no one left inside the walled city. It was a place of tumbled houses and thick bushes sprouting from the ruin; a place to be avoided."

And yet Alban's light refused to be extinguished.

Writing more than 200 years later in his Ecclesiastical History, Bede tells us of a church of 'wonderful workmanship' which was still in use despite the encroaching barbarianism. Rich people went to be healed at a place which was a 'worthy memorial to his martyrdom' and pilgrims came seeking the faith that had carried Alban to his death.

The picture that Bede paints is a poignant one. A well-tended martyrion bearing witness through the ages to an on-going tradition of Romano-British Christianity and, of course, to Alban himself.

Alban was officially canonized when King Offa successfully petitioned the Pope in the late Eighth century.

He was Britain's first Christian martyr but his sacrifice transcends denomination to include all the citizens of this historic city.

He gave his name to our city and we in turn should make our own sacrifices, however small, to keep it the vibrant and welcoming place it is today.

December 14, 2001 14:00