Forget emperors for a moment. Picture two people leaning over a board, one waiting for a lucky throw and the other insisting that the last roll looked suspicious. That scene is imagined, not an eyewitness account of Roman Kent. But finds from Richborough offer an irresistible starting point for thinking about the people who lived between the grand historical headlines.
When a monument became a game
English Heritage’s Richborough teaching guide describes a chequered gaming board scratched into Italian marble reused from the site’s monumental arch after its demolition around AD 275. Something once associated with an imposing public structure had become a surface for play. The guide also records several stone gaming boards from the site. See its leisure section and illustrated game-board entry.
That change of purpose is the detail worth lingering over. We often imagine an ancient object having one neat identity: architectural stone, ornament, tool. Here, a second use complicates the label. In your own finds notebook, try leaving space for “earlier life” and “later life”. Those headings are invitations to investigate, not permission to invent a story.
Did somebody distrust the dice?
The same guide describes bone plaques that might have belonged to a pyrgus, or dice tower. Such devices were used to roll dice and make cheating harder. The important phrase is “might have”: fragments support a possible identification, not the survival of a complete machine with its instruction manual.
It is tempting to supply the missing drama. A grumpy loser! A practised cheat! A fiercely competitive evening! Enjoy those possibilities, but keep them in the imagination column. The evidence does not identify the players or preserve their arguments. That gap is part of the fascination, and being honest about it does not make the story less engaging.
A detector cannot tell the whole story
For detectorists, this is a useful change of perspective. The objects discussed here are stone and bone, not metallic targets. A hobby built around signals can encourage us to picture the past as a collection of coins, buckles and brooches. Richborough’s games remind us how selective that picture can be.
Try a simple exercise before your next permitted outing: write down three kinds of evidence your detector would miss. Then ask how their absence could distort your interpretation of a field. This is a thinking exercise, not a recommendation to collect everything you see. Keep any fieldwalking within the agreed permissions and recording arrangements for the outing.
Describe first, name second
If you are studying a possible gaming piece, resist letting a familiar shape settle the identification. Start with what is visible: material, dimensions, markings, holes, broken edges and wear. Photograph different faces with a scale. Record the findspot carefully and keep your proposed identification separate from the description.
Next, ask what comparison would genuinely help. Does a museum example share the construction as well as the outline? Are the markings deliberate? Is the proposed date supported by more than a resemblance? Our finds photography guide can help you prepare clearer images before seeking an experienced opinion. “Unidentified” is a perfectly useful temporary label.
The ordinary moments are worth finding
Richborough is a place to visit and learn from, not a detecting permission. On a museum visit, set yourself a different treasure hunt: find one object that suggests what somebody did with spare time. Read its label, then separate the secure facts from your own imagined scene.
A game board cannot tell us who won. It can, however, shift our attention from rulers and armies to a smaller human moment. That is a satisfying thought to carry into the next field: history does not need to glitter to hold your attention. Sometimes the best question is simply, “What did people do when the day’s work was finished?”