In presenting this novel, I do not claim to offer historical fact, nor to dispute those who see the miracles surrounding Alban’s execution as divine intervention. This is my own reflection on the enduring legend of Saint Alban. I have tried to imagine him as a man—exploring the forces that shaped him and the convictions that guided his journey to conversion. I have tried to add some humour, but frankly, Roman rule was hardly a laughing matter, and let’s be honest, I stand little chance of outdoing Monty Python’s Life of Brian or Plebs, who have already captured the comedy of antiquity far better than I could ever hope to. 


Born and raised in St Albans, I grew up steeped & marinated in the stories of the city’s patron saint and its ancient Roman heritage in Verulamium. The historical record concerning Alban himself is scant. According to the early historian Bede, in his work Ecclesiastical History of the English People (731 AD), when Roman authorities sought a Christian priest, Alban bravely exchanged clothes with the fugitive and was arrested in his place. Even when offered the chance to renounce his newfound faith and preserve his life, he refused, embracing execution and, in doing so, becoming a martyr. This poignant act invites reflection on the meaning of his sacrifice and the resonance of his story through the centuries. 


The fugitive priest, traditionally named Amphibalus, though the name may not be original, was a highly esteemed early Christian figure remembered for converting Alban to Christianity. His reputation is almost as revered as that of Alban himself, with accounts recorded by Gildas, Bede, Geoffrey of Monmouth, and Matthew Paris. Seeking safety, he found refuge with Alban in the Roman city of Verulamium. Ultimately, the Romans captured and executed Amphibalus, binding the fates of priest and convert together in martyrdom. 


Following an edict by Emperor Constantine, the persecution of Christians ended in 313AD, and by 380 AD, Christianity was declared the official religion of the Roman Empire through the Edict of Thessalonica, issued by Emperor Theodosius I. This decree established Nicene Christianity as the state faith, representing a decisive turning point in Roman history.  


Alban’s veneration was acknowledged by early Christians, with the first written references dating to 396 AD. He is honoured as England’s first Christian martyr. His memory is celebrated annually on 22 June, or thereabouts, with a grand procession through St Albans, (the city now bears his name), following the traditional route from the site of the basilica, now the site of St Michael’s Church, to the site of his execution. Striking, oversized, towering puppets parade through the city, a vivid reminder of the vitality of his legend. 


The site of his execution was commemorated in the 8th century when King Offa of Mercia founded an abbey there, on the ground now occupied by St Albans Cathedral on Holywell Hill. Within the cathedral lies the shrine of Saint Alban, around which the city itself has grown, an enduring blend of historical legacy and spiritual reverence. 


The very landscape of St Albans bears the imprint of its ancient foundations. Beneath the city lies Cretaceous chalk, a formation prone to sinkholes. In October 2015, a dramatic sinkhole, approximately 20 metres in diameter and 10 metres deep, appeared in the gardens of Fontmell Close, attracting national attention. Another six-metre-wide hole appeared in Cedar Court in November 2018, and in May 2023, yet another significant sinkhole opened in Elm Drive. The gradual dissolution of this soluble chalk, often accelerated by heavy rainfall or surface flooding, makes such events an occasional yet striking feature of the local geology. It is conceivable, that this geological instability may have contributed to the river ceasing to flow at the time of Alban’s execution. 


Today, St Albans is home to approximately 148,000 residents (2021 census) and the cathedral, known locally as “the Abbey”, welcomes more than 600,000 visitors each year. Alongside the cathedral, the remains of the Roman city, including its ancient walls, gateway footings, hypocaust, and theatre, as well as the excellent Verulamium Museum, continue to attract many visitors. Hidden away in De Tany Court, just off Belmont Hill, lies the ancient Holy Well, from which Holywell Hill takes its name. 


Thus, St Albans endures not merely as a modern city but as a living testament to the legend of its first martyr and the centuries of faith, history, and a story that continue to shape it. 


My heartfelt thanks go to the Verulamium Museum, where I found such valuable insight into life in Verulamium around AD 300, and to my wife, Maggie, whose patience, wise advice, careful eye, “very honest” feedback and unfailing support have meant more than I can say. 


Ted