When AI first came out I was excited for all the possibilities it could bring. Planning my workload, creating images for blog posts and organising my trips. But, as it turns out, creating images of Henry VIII eating ice cream and Richard III surrounded by kittens was fun until I found out that each AI produced image uses up massive environmental resources. The United Nations University, the academic arm of the UN, estimates that each 'typical' AI produced image uses enough energy to power a 10-watt LED lightbulb for 17 minutes. Because all this electronic AI-brain power produces heat, it needs cooling down. In addition to the 17 minutes of a lightbulb being on, 2 tablespoons of water are used to cool down equipment that created that single image. For a more complicated AI produced video, however, you're looking at 4.1 litres of water used. Seems innocent enough? It is, until you realise that hundreds of millions of queries are being sent to the AI computers each day, as we ask it what we should wear to an event, how we should respond to an email and to show us what our garden would look like with a makeover. By 2030, the university warns (just over three years away!), AI's water footprint 'will equal the basic annual domestic water needs of all 1.3 billion people in Sub-Saharan Africa', and its centres will consume '945 terawatt hours of electricity... nearly triple the combined annual electricity use of Pakistan, Bangladesh, and Nigeria... home to more than 650 million people'. There's a very real concern that we simply won't have enough water, or that electricity will be diverted from other important tasks.

Photo by Andrea De Santis on Unsplash

In saying that, the history world is using AI for valuable things. Digitising difficult to read manuscripts, translating from lost languages and cleaning up damaged images and inscriptions all help us learn more about the past. Digital querying of 1,000 page volumes speeds up research. I have used it myself, for a short time. I have never and will never use AI to produce writing, which will be obvious from the odd grammatical error in my Facebook posts which tend to set off a flurry of pearl-clutching among eager-eyed followers. I'm too much of a control freak to hand over the words I want to tell you all to a computer to construct. Those come from the heart. But a historian friend suggested that AI could be used as a powerful search engine. I tried it out, asking it to find me a transcribed online version of a document by giving it a few paraphrased words. We have to deal with a lot of letters and records, we sometimes forget where to find them. Not only did it often find me the exact quotation I was looking for, but gave me the page number, the edition of book it could be found in and also where I could access the source digitally. As a cherry on top, it even offered to construct me a citation I could use. As exciting as this sounds, I always had to cross-check the information it gave me and found it was only right around 70% of the time. Even worse, I was getting grief from my teenage daughters about the environmental effects triggered each time they saw the ChatGPT logo flash up on my laptop.

Probably one of the more worrying aspects of AI use (if we pretend that we don't need water to live), is the fact that to create the images and text that the user asks for, it scours the internet to find similar work and merges it into something 'new'. I waded into a Facebook group recently after someone posted an AI-generated image of a half-naked, busty woman sitting on a beach, asked for praise and called themselves a digital artist. I pointed out, in just one short sentence, that AI only works by stealing other people's photographs and artwork, 'mass scraping' content and repurposing it, imagining maybe that the artist didn't know this. My comment was laughed at, and I was told to get over it because that's how artists have been inspired for hundreds of years. 'It's how we progress', I was told. The icing on the cake? I was told by the artist themselves to keep comments 'respectful'. Working as an artist as well as a writer, I like to think that we'd want to be more 'respectful' to the artists and their work being scraped by AI engines.

Pinsent Tailoring, a hugely successful tailor who creates eighteenth and early nineteenth-century costumes, has also recently taken to social media to share how images of his creations have been repurposed by AI and used in the wider media without credit. Authors have repeatedly expressed concern that asking AI to create a 600-word blog post about the Wars of the Roses is going to scan all the books online that have often taken years and money to research, and provide you with a condensed version without crediting the primary authors or compensating them for their work. I had to stop for a second myself when I saw an obviously-AI-generated photo-realistic portrait of a historical figure shared in a group, which looked suspiciously similar to a hand-drawn portrait I'd created a few years ago and, yep, eagerly posted on the internet. 

For me, there are definitely advantages to using AI, and honestly, it's everywhere so we have to find a way around it. We have progressed with technology, although I'd question some of its moral aspects. But instead of creating millions of images and videos for dopamine-inducing likes and views, asking it what we should eat for dinner that night and using up unthinkable quantities of life-providing resources, maybe we should just sip on it. Until we find a way to offset these valid environmental concerns and put in place legal structures that compensate and credit original creators for their work, how about we use it for research, use it sparingly and use our brains for the everyday things we can manage with. 

Now everyone, imagine Richard III on a throne petting fluffy kittens. Fun, right? 

Sources: 

United Nations University: Rising Emissions, Depleting Water and Vanishing Land. Accessed 17 September 2026.

Today, the settlement of Roman Silchester is a ruin - what remains are just fields, a small medieval church and stone walls in various states of height and structure. But once, this was a bustling, busy town with shops, places of worship, defensive walls and an amphitheatre. 

Although Silchester, in Hampshire, has been a place of fascination for centuries it was first seriously excavated in the nineteenth century, and is still giving up its secrets to archaeologists in modern times. Named by its Roman inhabitants Calleva Atrebatum, it is believed to have been established as a Roman settlement in around the first century AD. It was therefore in operation at the same time Boudicca unleashed her rebellion on London, in around 60-61 AD, as her Iceni tribe fought bitterly against Roman influence and control. Archaeology has revealed that its history may be even older, with skeletons found that date to the Iron Age, suggesting that the Roman community was founded on an existing name 'Atrebatum' certainly refers to the Atrebates tribe, who dominated this area during the Iron Age.

The gateway ruin at Silchester (Calleva Atrebatum)

The town's stone gateway - or its remains - still survive today, large and looming in the silent, rural landscape. As the point of entry to the town, it would have been guarded by military personnel to help maintain the security of its residents and officials. The road to Silchester led through Tadley and Aldermaston, built by Roman builders to make travel easier and safer. The new and spacious aspect of Roman roads built in straight lines reduced the potential of ambushes around corners or in leafy woodland, and encouraged economic movements between the other Roman towns in the area. Additionally, there was a settlement at the Vyne in Hampshire nearby called Vindomis, and another in Winchester named Venta Belgarum.

As you were waved through the large wooden gates fixed to the large stone gateway, you would have found huddles of buildings, a mixture of large and small, with smaller Iron Age style huts as well as grander, stone houses. Historians as early as the nineteenth century noted the presence of around 25 larger dwellings and 25 smaller ones, positioned around a main street that included homes, shops and workshops. Residents also had access to pagan temples, a Christian church, and a market place, as well as administrative buildings where town officials ran town business. Three mosaics from Silchester can be seen today at Reading Museum in the Town Hall, two of the larger ones from a grand town house, having once paved two separate rooms. The museum also has fragments of plaster on display, decorated with coloured paint, showing that walls would also have been brightly decorated. 

The community also had access to a public bath, similar to that at Bath in Somerset, where residents could go to soak in the warm waters provided by Roman central heating. Delivered by hypocausts, layers of brick or stone under the bathing sites that conveyed heat upwards to heat the bathing waters. There, townsfolk could scrub and moisturise with olive oil, catching up on the daily gossip of the town. The residents, archaeologists discovered, had access to piped water throughout the town, with timber pipes discovered, fitted with iron collars. 

One of the most famous and exciting sites in the now ruined town is the amphitheatre. Today, you can stand in its centre and look up at the many seats which circle the area, where residents and guests would have once looked down on the action. Was it used for gladiatorial combat? It is possible, although to my knowledge no definitive evidence for this has yet come forward. The town was established when gladiatorial entertainments elsewhere in the Roman Empire was popular, and the two alcoves either side of the centre have been suggested as somewhere for combatants to pause and catch their breath. However it is also possible that the amphitheatre staged plays or masques involving actors playing the parts of Roman gods for the entertainment of the crowds. It would also have been a perfect place to broadcast important business or news to residents quickly and efficiently. 

Entrance to the amphitheatre at Silchester

Estimates of Calleva's population hover at around 1,000-2,500 people, but it may have been an even larger settlement. The population was likely made up of those with Iron Age and Roman descent, perhaps travelling to live at the town from other parts of the Roman Empire. Reading Museum reported on their website on the analysis of a male Iron Age skeleton on the site with Spanish parentage, although he had been born in England. Silchester would have been linked through trading routes to areas all over Europe, and so the population was probably quite diverse. Paw prints pressed into pre-baked tiles (visible at Reading Museum) confirm that cats and dogs also roamed around the streets, and surviving artefacts document a number of different trades carried out in the town. 

A bronze statue of Tutela, a Roman goddess relied on for protection, was also found on site. The people of Calleva Atrebatum, whether Iron Age or not, had therefore adopted Roman deities and prayed to them to help ensure their safety. The historian J.E. Morpurgo noted that gods such as Mars and Hercules were also found at Silchester, along with older, Celtic gods. Perhaps, though, with Tutela's own emphasis on protection and security, its residents had heard about the rebellions of Boudicca and her tribe, and feared a similar outcome. 

Liked this? You might also like: The Lost Village of Wharram Percy and Visiting the Historic Church of Lewknor, Oxfordshire.

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https://www.readingmuseum.org.uk/your-visit/what-see/silchester-gallery

Visit to Reading Museum, August 2026

https://www.readingmuseum.org.uk/blog/people-silchester

A History of the Vyne in Hampshire, Chaloner W. Chute, Winchester, 1888.

Roman Britain, J.E. Morpurgo ed., Penguin Books, 1915. 

The name Blagrave is mentioned every day in the town of Reading in Berkshire, in one of its streets, on buses and even in the name of one of its pubs. But few people know where it originally came from and why it's remembered today. 

John Blagrave, one of the more famous of Reading's historic residents, was born to parents Anne and John Blagrave from Sonning. After taking the education expected of a wealthy young teenager, he developed a special curiosity for mathematics and mathematical instruments. At his home in Southcote Lodge he spent hours researching, experimenting and writing, publishing The Mathematical Jewel in 1585, with the wordy subtitle: 'shewing the making and most excellent use of a singuler instrument so called, in that it performeth with wonderfull dexteritie whatever is to be done either by Quadrant, Ship, Circle, Cylinder, Ring, Diall, Horoscope, Astrolabe, Sphere, Globe, or any such like heretofore devised’. In 1590 he published his Baculum Familliare Catholicon sive Generale. This book shared his new invention with the world: a 'familiar staffe', which could be carried along as you walked, and calculated 'geometrical mensurations of all altitudes'. By 1596, he was inspired by the long voyages carried out by Elizabeth I's sailors across the globe, titling his next work Astrolabium Uranicum Generale: a necessary and pleasaunt solace and recreation for Navigators in their long jorneying. After Elizabeth's death, he continued working into the reign of James VI and I, publishing The Art of Dyalling, in two parts, in 1609.

John Blagrave's memorial in St Laurence's Church, Reading (Jo Romero)

On his death in 1611, John left no children of his own, but bequeathed lands in Southcote to multiple family members, it being estimated that up to 80 people benefited from his generosity. He also left a sum of 20 nobles to be given to one woman in Reading each Easter, to help with her personal circumstances. He stipulated though, that she should be of good character and have already completed five years' service to a master of the town. John clearly preferred to help those who were hard-working and trustworthy. The women applied through a process like an election, where they would petition for their right to the cash, with the council considering each application. No doubt many seventeenth-century women benefited immensely from the funds that John left.

After more than 20 years of mathematical enquiry, John Blagrave died on 9 August 1611 and was buried in St Laurence's Church in the marketplace of Reading. His memorial effigy can be seen on the wall inside. It is very similar to that of William Shakespeare in Stratford Upon Avon in design. John is standing (or is seated?) upright, from the waist up, looking out at us and holding mathematical instruments in each hand. It is an early Renaissance-style English effigy memorial, crafted with flourishes, scrolls and painted with accents of gold. Two skulls hover on each side, warning us that death will come for us, too - while figures clad in classical togas hold geometric shapes and lounge on the pillars and structures around him.

The inscription reads: 

Here lyes his corpes which living had a spirit, Wherein all worthy knowledge did inherit, By which with zeal our God he did adore, Left for maidservants and to feed the poore, His virtuous mother came of worthie race, A Hungerford and buried neere this place, When God sent death their lives to call, They lived beloved and dyed bewayld of all. Deseased the 9th of August Anno Domino MDCXI.

John Blagrave was a Renaissance man who helped define his era. He was preoccupied with learning, dedicating hours to the study of new ideas in mathematics and the invention of mechanical instruments. He published works to help spread these ideas and allow people to build on them. Much in the same way too, that the early Medicis of Florence ploughed state money back into public buildings and art, John allocated funds of his own for the relief of the poor and divided up his estate so that many people could benefit from his accrued wealth rather than just one or two people. It is not clear whether he directed the design of his memorial in St Laurence's, but it has clear visual accents of the era: geometric shapes, figures resembling those of classical antiquity and features a number of different mathematical instruments he would have used, and even invented. Not to be forgotten, John Blagrave changed lives in Reading as well as further afield, and contributed to the study of one of the growing disciplines of the seventeenth century. 

Liked this? You might also like: The Cryptic Last Words of King Charles I, Reading's Regicide Daniel Blagrave and A Restoration Era Ghost Story of 1662.

My book,  Power Couples of the Renaissance, examines this era and explores the relationship dynamics that went against accepted norms of the period. There were also power-hungry couples who ruled, fought and spread the patronage of art, science and culture across the globe during one of the most tumultuous periods of history. Find it on the Pen and Sword Books website. 

Sources: 

Visit to St Laurence Church, Reading 2025

Dictionary of National Biography, Volume 2, George Smith, London 1908. 

Night took hold over the neighbourhood near the Tower of London as the Thames lapped gently onto the gravelly shore. It was 26 October 1276, a Sunday, and the Curfew Bell had rung, signalling for residents to return to the safety of their homes for the evening. But as the last few candles were extinguished in the huddle of thatched houses in this historic part of London, a scuffle, a round of loud voices and a shriek pierced the calm of the darkness. 

On Saturday 1st November the local Chamberlain and Sheriffs began their enquiries into the discovery of a dead body lying in the house of Roger le Chaloner in Mark Lane, a few minutes' walk from the looming pale turrets of the Tower. Calling in other local officials to investigate, they spoke to neighbours and began to piece together what had happened. 

After the ringing of the curfew bell, a man named Richard Moys was walking along the highway and came to the door of John le Chaloner near Fenchurch Street. John seems to have leased out the property, which at that time lodged Robert de Munceny and Arnulph his son, along with other members of their household. Richard tried to enter, making a noise and creating a disturbance. He was asked by Robert to 'cease making this noise, and go away', but refused. Again, after some more shouting from Richard Moys, Robert and his household told him a second time to go away, but he still continued. The dispute then spilled out into the street, with Robert, Arnulph and others deciding to send Richard away with force. The record in the Coroner's Roll of that year lists 'John de Munceny, son of Robert, John Fauntilun, Robert de la Rokele, Henry de Ginges, John Curtoys, John de Hakone, John le Wyte, Hugh de Hoddone, Hachard de Garbodesham, and Robert de le Lo', who approached Richard with 'swords, and some with other arms'. Robert, the householder, stood at his door, while Richard, suddenly panicked, fled to the house of a neighbour named Alice. 

The White Tower of the Tower of London, close to the events of October 1276

As Richard Moys burst in through the open wooden door, with the armed rabble following close behind, he disturbed a group of people drinking, all seated. Attempting to hide from Roger's men, Richard 'concealed himself between two wooden vessels', in the room of the house. One of the drinkers, called Richard de Parys, stood up and confronted Arnulph at the door, asking 'who are these people'? It was now that Arnulph turned violent, and lashed out at Richard de Parys 'with his drawn sword', with de Parys 'already stupefied as he was at the sight of the sword'. The statement of the report continues to describe how Arnulph ran into the house, wounding de Parys in the 'back, between the ribs of the body, two inches in breadth, and penetrating to the intestines'. This was clearly a deliberate and forceful blow, intended to seriously immobilise de Parys, who had only, according to the surviving evidence, entered the dispute to settle it down. De Parys also received another small wound 'under the left breast'. 

Arnulph and the other men fled the scene and returned to their lodgings, while Hachard de Gobodesham and Arnulph's brother John de Munceny ran away from the area. 

Richard de Parys was nursed by his neighbours and friends, but died from his injuries the following Thursday. Arnulph and the remaining men were questioned and imprisoned, although all their accounts agreed that Arnulph was the only one that attacked Richard de Parys on that chaotic and fateful night. 

The causes of the disagreement were not recorded in the Coroner's report. The Muncenys' running after Richard Moys into the street with weapons, and his loud banging on their door suggests that the two parties were known to one another and had perhaps a business or personal dispute that Richard had tried to tackle after dark. Robert Munceny was noted to have had items of some value, including six horses, three beds, a falcon and three greyhounds which were all assessed at twenty marks. In any case, it was a man apparently unconnected to the two parties who was mortally wounded in the course of that evening and later lost his life.

Like this? You might also like: The Medieval and Tudor Archers of Finsbury, London; The Medieval Brothels of Southwark in London and Moll King, Notorious Businesswoman of Georgian London.

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Source:

Coroner's Roll of Our Lord the King, 1276 in Memorials of London and London Life, in the 13th, 14th and 15th centuries. 1276-1419. Henry Thomas Riley. Longmans Green and Co., London. 1868.

The execution of King Charles I, in January 1649, was a groundbreaking and politically shocking event. It brought a bloody end to the whole concept of monarchy in England, and sent ripples of worry and fear throughout the rulers of Europe. But there is an often-forgotten link between Charles' trial and execution and the commercial, leafy town of Reading in Berkshire. 

Daniel Blagrave, born in 1603, was a nephew of John Blagrave of Reading, a famous and historically-important mathematician. As a boy, Daniel entered into legal training, and in 1645 was appointed a recorder of the town. He was elected MP for Reading on 8 May 1648 and appears often in the accounts of the Reading Corporation throughout most of 1648. 

Claude Du Bosc, c.1711–1740, The Trial of Charles I. 1648, Engraving, hand-colored, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection, B1977.14.17893.

In early 1649 Daniel played a central and visible role in the trial of his king, Charles I. This would have required him to lodge in London for most of that January, as one of the commissioners of the unprecedented trial. He attended the first meeting, seated with Oliver Cromwell and Henry Ireton in the Painted Chamber of the palace of Westminster on 6 January 1649. Here, they appointed Edward Dendy, Sergeant at Arms, to proclaim the proceedings of the trial. They next met on 10 January, with Daniel once again present, to hash out how the trial would take place and who would preside over it. John Bradshaw was chosen to oversee the proceedings as president, with other commissioners and messengers also appointed in various roles. At a meeting on 13th January, Daniel would have looked on as it was agreed that the trial would be held privately, and at Westminster. On the 15th, a Monday, the charges against Charles were read out at court. Daniel would have noted his neighbour at some of these gatherings, Edmund Ludlow from Tadley Place in nearby Hampshire, a relative of Sir Henry Ludlow of the village. 

Daniel was at another meeting on 17th January, but not at one held on the following day on the 19th. He was back in the Painted Chamber on 20 January, when Charles first appeared to hear the charges against him. The king lodged with Robert Cotton during his trial and was brought to the court room with 32 guards. Asked to sit, he took his place on a 'velvet crimson chair', although stood up to glare at the guards and onlookers who had assembled. Charles listened as he was told that 'the Commons of England Assembled in Parliament, being deeply sensible of the Evils and Calamities that had been brought upon this Nation, and of the innocent Blood that had been spilt in it, which was fixed upon him as the principal Author'. They resolved, they informed the king, to 'make Inquisition for this Blood, and according to the Debt they did owe to God, for Justice, the Kingdom, and themselves'. Charles was visibly angered by the trial, and was repeatedly asked by the commissioners to be silent. He regularly interrupted those who were speaking and when he was described as 'a Tyrant, Traitor, Murderer', he laughed out loud, later arguing that the court 'had no legal authority' to act against him.

The next few dates were no more promising. Daniel Blagrave was listed as present on the morning of 22 January and again, in a packed room with 70 commissioners present, in the afternoon. At this later gathering Charles continued to argue that the men assembled had no right to proceed against him and that he did not know 'how a King can be a Delinquent'. On 23 January, Daniel listened as the king was finally asked how he pleaded. Charles allowed a pause, and then argued once again, that as a king he could not be tried by the people and that the commissioners had no power. Daniel was listed at the commission on 24 January, but not specifically on the morning of the 25th. He might have been one of the 'divers others' present, not listed by name. On this day, members of the public were called as witnesses to Charles' many actions of war, telling the council how he had held his sword in his hand and fought in battle, with deaths caused on either side. Others told how he marched through the country with his armies, one William Brayne of Salop relating how he had seen the king 'while the standard was set up, and the flag flying'. That afternoon, Daniel Blagrave was present, when the court declared that they were 'resolved upon the whole matter, that this court will proceed with the sentence of condemnation against Charles Stuart, King of England' and that he would be condemned as a tyrant, traitor and a murderer. 

Print made by William Faithorne, ca. 1620–1691, Charles I, 1658, Line engraving on medium, slightly textured, cream laid paper, Yale Center for British Art, Gift of Edward B. Greene, transfer from the Yale University Art Gallery, B1994.4.943.

In the afternoon of 26 January Daniel was among those who drafted the sentence against the king. On the 27th, he looked on as Charles listened to his fate. He would be 'put to death, by the severing of his head from his body'. The king repeatedly argued with Bradshaw and tried to interrupt, but when asked to reply officially to the sentence, he refused to speak. However after the proceedings were over Charles insisted that he wanted to address him with arguments, Bradshaw tersely reminding him 'Sir, you are not to be heard after the sentence'. As Charles was taken out of the chamber by armed guards, an eyewitness claimed that the king was spat on and tobacco smoke blown on his face. On 29 January his children Elizabeth and Henry visited him, the king telling them that he loved their mother and that they should obey their brother Charles if he ever became king. However, he told Henry 'do not be made a king by them', referring to the Commons. Henry told his father that  he would 'be torn into pieces first'. 

On 29 January 1649, Daniel Blagrave, with others, signed Charles I's Death Warrant and affixed his seal to the document. The commissioners met the following day, when Charles was taken to the scaffold. Telling the executioner that he would give him a signal when he was ready to die - his hands held out in front of him - Charles knelt and placed his head on the wooden block, which had been draped in black cloth. After a brief moment of prayer, the king gave the signal and the executioner struck. Daniel was present at the meeting before the execution, and so it is likely that he would have stayed to observe the action he had helped put into place, as one of the Regicides of the now late king. 

With Charles' body still warm in its coffin in St George's Chapel, Windsor, the Protectorate government under Oliver Cromwell established itself, and England entered into the Puritan religion. Daniel Blagrave continued to play a role in the new regime. He appears in the Corporation Records of Reading as a steward and dealt regularly with business there in the summer and autumn of 1649. In 1650 he listened to a case involving the fencing and railing of land belonging to Thomas Harrison's father in Reading. In May, he considered selling the town's lands in Silchester but decided to ponder on the problem before coming to an agreement, making it clear that 'Parr's business be concluded on' first. He is marked is absent in many of the town meetings during 1652 and 1653, perhaps because he was now needed closer to the centre of government. He worked in the Court of Common Pleas, securing an income of £500 a year, and was parliamentary treasurer for the county of Berkshire. In 1654 he appears often in Reading's local business, and was a commissioner for the Protectorate government 'for the ejection of scandalous and inefficient ministers'. He was accused at the time of being heavy-handed with his power, as 'a vexatious persecutor of the clergy'. Daniel later purchased the fee-farm rent of the manor of Sonning in Berkshire along with other lands, and represented Reading as a Member of Parliament in 1656 and 1658. 

In May 1660, at the Restoration of the Monarchy, Charles' eldest son Charles II was crowned. One of his first actions as king was to seek out those who had signed the death warrant of his father and issue punishment. Oliver Cromwell's corpse was even dug up out of its grave and subjected to a traitor's 'death'. Wisely perhaps, Daniel Blagrave escaped out of the kingdom and settled in Aachen in Germany. It's likely that he never returned to England, and is believed to have died at his Aachen home in 1668.

Liked this? You might also like: The Cryptic Last Words of King Charles I, and A Restoration Era Ghost Story of 1662.

My book,  Power Couples of the Renaissance, features this era and explores the relationship dynamics that went against accepted norms of the period. There were also power-hungry couples who ruled, fought and spread the patronage of art, science and culture across the globe during one of the most tumultuous periods of history. Find it on the Pen and Sword Books website. 

 Sources:

A true copy of the journal of the High-Court of Justice for the tryal of King Charles I. As it was read in the House of Commons, ... Taken by J. Nalson, LL.D. Jan. 4. 1683. 1731

Reading Records: Diary of the Corporation of Reading, Volume 4. J. Parker, London. 1892.

Dictionary of National Biography, Leslie Stephen and Sidney Lee. Volume 2. Smith, Elder and Co., London. 1908.