King Arthur, page 14
Twelve years go by, meaning Arthur is now 27 in the story, and he invades Norway and Denmark before marching on Paris, defeating a Frollo in single combat, and subduing Gaul. It goes without saying there is no evidence for any of this. We know there were Britons fighting in the Loire valley in the 460s and of course Riothomus in 471, but whether these are from Britain or Brittany is impossible to say. Otherwise we have Frankish expansion into Brittany that might be the basis for a British leader fighting in France either side of 500. But there was certainly no conquest of Norway or Ireland at this time. It may well be that he has stolen the story of Maximus, or one of the other Roman leaders declared emperor from Britain who then invaded Gaul.
Nine years go by, making Arthur 36, and we then come to the main part of the narrative. One that is often forgotten in subsequent stories. While in court in Caerleon-on-Usk, messengers from the Roman Procurator, Lucius Hiberius arrive, demanding tribute and submission. This is said to be in the time of the Roman emperor Leo. In fact the eastern emperor, Leo I, reigned from 457–74 and Leo II in 474. There was a Pope Leo in 440–61, but that seems too early. There is no record of a Lucius Hiberius, although a western emperor Glycerus (473–4) was sometimes misspelled as Lucerius. If true, this would place Arthur’s birth around 438, which would not tie in with any of the other implied dates, or indeed fighting at Camlan aged 96. Arthur refuses on the basis that Brennius and Constantine the Great had defeated Rome and so Rome owed allegiance to Britain. This is quite important; Geoffrey is telling his audience that Britain has a glorious past that gives it authority over other nations. To push the point further he has Arthur take an army to Gaul to fight the Romans, leaving his nephew Mordred in charge of Britain. There is a short story of Arthur defeating a giant at Mont St Michel in which he remembers another giant-killing act. He describes in great detail a huge battle in the Saussy region between Langres and Autun, near Dijon in Eastern France. Needless to say, there is no such record of British or even Roman military activity in this area at this time. Arthur is, of course victorious, and prepares to invade Italy and take Rome.
At this point he learns that Mordred and Guinivere have betrayed him and have allied with Saxons led by Chelric. Arthur returns to Britain and defeats Mordred at the battles of Richborough and Winchester, possibly referring to Fort Guinnion. Mordred is finally killed at the battle of Camlann in Cornwall. Arthur is fatally wounded and taken to the Isle of Avalon so that ‘his wounds might be attended to’. Arthur orders that his cousin Constantine takes the crown. Nothing more is said and his death is not confirmed beyond the fatal wounding comment. So we see the legend we know today start taking shape. But you may notice the absence of Excalibur, the Round Table, Lancelot and the Grail. Geoffrey actually names the sword ‘Caliburn’, but these later concepts were added by other authors inspired by Geoffrey’s work.
Geoffrey states the battle of Camlann was in 542 and assuming this was a year after his Roman war, he died aged about 37. So, working backwards, we have a birth date around 505 and a battle of Badon after his crowning at 15, placing it after 520. Uther reigns at least fifteen years, suggesting the comet in 497 is the more likely one to be connected. This does put Ambrosius reigning in the 490s slightly at odds with Bede’s statement that it was in the time of Zeno, 474–91. It also pulls Vortigern right up towards the later part of the fifth century. While we can’t trust any of the narrative or dates, there is one glaring problem with the text. There simply was no British army victoriously rampaging across Roman Gaul in either the fifth or sixth centuries. We know there was a Romano-Saxon war in the 460s and the Romans later requested help from a British king, Riothamus. But his battle was against the Goths and he lost, never to be heard of again. The history of sixth-century Gaul is fairly well known and neither British or Roman armies featured. We will discuss the relationship between Bretons and Franks later, but we can be fairly certain this part is inaccurate.
After Camlann, Geoffrey then proceeds to list four of the five kings denounced by Gildas: Constantine is the first, followed by Aurelius Conanus, Vortiporus, and Malgo (Maelgwn). He misses out Cuneglasse. This is the king Gildas accuses of rejecting his wife and taking her sister from ‘holy orders’. He goes on to call him: ‘Bear; Driver of the chariot of the bear’s stronghold; Red butcher; and with arms special to yourself.’ Could it be because Geoffrey has already mentioned him? The Bear, ‘arth-’ in Welsh, being possibly an epitaph for Arthur? That, I’m afraid, is hugely speculative. Many have tried to suggest it, and he is one of the candidates that people have put forward, but he’s one among many. I would add also that Gildas appears to be delivering his sermon as all five kings are ruling. Geoffrey has them coming sequentially.
It is accepted that he had access to Gildas, Nennius, Annales Cambriae, Harleian Genealogies and a number of Welsh legends and poems. His account does not stop there though. He then describes a King Keredic and the invasion by Gormund, king of the Africans, with an army of 160,000 aided by Isembard nephew of Louis, king of the Franks. This does seem complete fabrication. He ends in 689 with the death of Cadwallader, the seventh-century King of Gwynedd and the last Welsh king to claim lordship over Britain. He finishes by berating the Welsh for their tendency to civil war and claiming the Saxons behaved more wisely and kept the peace among themselves.
The book as a whole does have a particular message: it is the first attempt at a full historical narrative for Britain. It shows a great and glorious past descended from the kings of Troy and equal to the Romans. Arthur is simply one of three main characters, Brutus, Brennius and Arthur. It shows that the Welsh and Bretons have a proud history and the prophecies are there to demonstrate they will rise again if they avoid the civil wars and discord. To help this narrative Geoffrey is quite happy to include fictitious characters and events alongside giants and magic. It also also provides a link between Britain, Brittany and France, at the same time demonstrating the dangers of discord and civil wars. The Saxons and the Romans provide a common enemy for the Welsh and the whole narrative would not offend his Norman sponsors. In fact, Arthur emerged as a popular character only after the Norman conquest.2 Prior to that Arthur is the more mystical and magical character of Welsh poems and legends that weren’t written down until much later.
It is quite possible that Geoffrey made the whole thing up. But it’s also possible he took that one reference in Nennius and added an elaborate tale using bits of other historical characters, myths and legends. The author of the translation I have been using does state ‘most of the material in the History is fictional and someone did invent it,’ yet ‘history keeps peeping through the fiction’.3 For example, Geoffrey describes the Venedoti decapitating a whole Roman legion in London and then throwing their heads into a stream called Nantgallum, or Galobroc in Saxon. In 1860 a large number of skulls were indeed found in the bed of the Walbrook in London.
Contemporary writers had something to say about Geoffrey. William of Newburgh writing around 1198 in History of English Affairs:
For the purpose of washing out those stains from the character of the Britons, a writer in our times has started up and invented the most ridiculous fictions concerning them, and with unblushing effrontery, extols them far above the Macedonians and Romans. He is called Geoffrey, surnamed Arthur, from having given, in a Latin version, the fabulous exploits of Arthur, drawn from the traditional fictions of the Britons, with additions of his own, and endeavored to dignify them with the name of authentic history.
Ranulf Higden of Chester writing in 1352:
Many men wonder about this Arthur, whom Geoffrey extols so much singly, how the things that are said of him could be true, for, as Geoffrey repeats, he conquered thirty realms. If he subdued the king of France to him, and did slay Lucius the Procurator of Rome, Italy, then it is astonishing that the chronicles of Rome, of France, and of the Saxons should not have spoken of so noble a prince in their stories, which mentioned little things about men of low degree. Geoffrey says that Arthur overcame Frollo, King of France, but there is no record of such a name among men of France. Also, he says that Arthur slew Lucius Hiberius, Procurator of the city of Rome in the time of Leo the Emperor, yet according to all the stories of the Romans Lucius did not govern, in that time nor was Arthur born, nor did he live then, but in the time of Justinian, who was the fifth emperor after Leo. Geoffrey says that he has marveled that Gildas and Bede make no mention of Arthur in their writings; however, I suppose it is rather to be marvelled why Geoffrey praises him so much, whom old authors, true and famous writers of stories, leave untouched. But perhaps it is the custom of every nation to extol some of their blood-relations excessively, as the Greeks great Alexander, the Romans Octavian, Englishmen King Richard, Frenchmen Charles; and so the Britons extolled Arthur. Which thing happens, as Josephus says, either for fairness of the story, or for the delectation of the readers, or for exaltation of their own blood.
We also have writers with the opposite view. William of Malmesbury in The Deeds of the kings of England (De Gestis Regum Anglorum) c.1125:
…the strength of the Britons diminished and all hope left them. They would soon have been altogether destroyed if Ambrosius, the sole survivor of the Romans who became king after Vortigern, had not defeated the presumptuous barbarians with the powerful aid of the warlike Arthur. This is that Arthur of whom the trifling of the Britons talks such nonsense even today; a man clearly worthy not to be dreamed of in fallacious fables, but to be proclaimed in veracious histories, as one who long sustained his tottering country, and gave the shattered minds of his fellow citizens an edge for war.
Then Henry of Huntingdon, History of the English (Historia Anglorum) c.1130:
The valiant Arthur, who was at that time the commander of the soldiers and kings of Britain, fought against the invaders invincibly. Twelve times he led in battle. Twelve times was he victorious in battle. The twelfth and hardest battle that Arthur fought against the Saxons was on Mount Badon, where 440 of his men died in the attack that day, and no Briton stayed to support him, the Lord alone strengthening him.
Both these examples pre-date Geoffrey’s work but are clearly derived from Nennius. But concerning Geoffrey’s work: what value can there be in a book, written 600 years after the event, that contains so much false history not to mention giants and magic? Yet he also names lots of historical figures too. There have been some modern historians who have agreed.
Leslie Alcock, Arthur’s Britain (1971):
There is acceptable historical evidence that Arthur was a genuine historical figure, not a mere figment of myth or romance.
John Morris, The Age of Arthur (1973):
…he was as real as Alfred the Great or William the Conqueror.
Others take a different view.
Michael Wood, In Search of the Dark Ages (1987):
Yet, reluctantly we must conclude that there is no definite evidence that Arthur ever existed.
David Dumville, Histories and Pseudo-histories (1990):
The fact is that there is no historical evidence about Arthur; we must reject him from our histories and, above all, from the titles of our books.
After the History of the Kings of Britain was written in 1136 there was a rapid increase in interest and subsequent works. Fifty years later the monks of Glastonbury claimed to have made a remarkable discovery. In 1184 a great fire destroyed many buildings at Glastonbury Abbey. A chronicler at the abbey of Margam records that a monk had begged to be buried at a certain spot. When he died in 1191 the monks duly obeyed his request. Digging down they came across three coffins. The first contained the bones of a woman claimed to be Guinevere. The second, a man supposedly Mordred, ‘his nephew’. The last, with a leaden cross fixed, were the bones of a large man. The inscription stated:
Here lies the famous King Arthur buried in the Isle of Avalon.
He goes on to explain that the place was once surrounded by marshes, and is called the Isle of Avalon, that is ‘the isle of apples’. Explaining that ‘aval’ means, in British, an apple.
Gerald of Wales, writing shortly after, also recorded what happened. It is slightly different but he at least visited the site and handled the cross. Acting supposedly on the word of Henry II before he died in 1189, two years later they discovered, 16 ft below the ground, a hollowed oak tree that contained two skeletons. Under the covering stone was a lead cross bearing the following inscription.
Here lies buried the famous Arthurus with Wenneveria his second wife in the isle of Avalon.
Ralph of Coggeshall, writing in 1193, also mentioned it and supports the Margram version:
Here lies the famous King Arturius, buried in the Isle of Avalon.
Historical records differ on the number of tombs, skeletal remains and exact inscription. The majority appear to suggest two bodies and the reference to Arthurius and Isle of Avalon. The bones were transferred to a marble tomb in the Lady Chapel. A hundred years later during a visit by Edward I, there was a ceremony to move the bones again, this time to a black marble tomb in front of the altar of the larger church. The bones disappeared during the dissolution of the monasteries under Henry VIII. The leaden cross apparently survived.
Excavations in the 1960s suggest that there was a grave in that spot. We also know the cross was real. Leland described it in 1534 and William Camden sketched one side in 1607, it’s inscription supporting that of the Margam Chronicle and thus bringing into doubt Gerald of Wales (although leaving open to question what was on the other side). He admits he sketched it from the original copy and some of his copies differ in the shape of the letters. Sadly the cross went missing in the eighteenth century. Modern academics dismiss the find as a hoax for a number of reasons. First, following the devastating fire and the death of their greatest benefactor, the king, pilgrims and money had dried up. The scale of false religious artefacts and forgeries by the church in the Middle Ages should give pause for thought. Second, the letterforms are not consistent with the fifth century, but appear to be tenth century, as does the shape of the cross. The monks also had a history of similar claims. William of Malmesbury, writing shortly before Geoffrey, claimed that St Patrick was buried there in 472, dying aged 111. Like Geoffrey, he makes no link between Glastonbury and Arthur’s grave, claiming Arthur’s resting place is ‘nowhere to be seen’. William also claims the name Glastonbury comes from the founder, Glasteing. Indeed, the earliest record is Glestingaburg in the seventh century. There is no mention of islands or apples. Another legend also has it that Joseph of Arithamea founded the abbey in the first century and this is linked to Robert de Boron’s twelfth-century poems: The Holy Grail, Joseph of d’Arimathe and Merlin, all of which post-date Geoffrey of Monmouth.
The abbey itself was not built until the seventh century and was extended in the tenth. There is no evidence for any of these legends and no archaeological evidence for earlier activity on this site. Geoffrey of Monmouth did not connect Avalon with the site. In his Life of Merlin, he does call Avalon Insula Pumorum, or Isle of Apples; in his History it is Insula Avallonis. He does not associate this with Glastonbury. In the Life of St Gildas written by Caradoc of Llancarfan in 1130–50, he tells the story of Melwas capturing Guinevere, and Arthur coming to Glastonbury to release her. Gildas intervenes and is later buried in the floor of St Mary’s church, despite all the other legends and evidence which place his resting place at Rhuys in Brittany. The same author also includes Arthur in the Life of St Cadoc. There is no mention of Avalon or any association with Glastonbury.
In the Brut y Brenhinedd, a mid-thirteenth century copy of Geoffrey’s work, this becomes Ynys Afallach. This suggests an island belonging to someone called Afallach, an attested Welsh name. This is similar to a King Avallo mentioned by Geoffrey. However, there are also similarities to other Welsh legends. In the Preiddeu Annwn, a cauldron, sought by Arthur, is guarded by nine maidens and it is a place where neither age or injury can hurt. In another Welsh myth, Afallach is the King of Annwn and father to the goddess Modron. Gerald of Wales also relates how Margan, a goddess of Annwfyn, hid Arthur in Ynys Afallach. In fact as early as the first century, a Roman geographer, Pomponius Mela, described an island, Sena, off the coast of Brittany. There, nine virgin priestesses cared for the oracle of a Gaulish god.
What all this demonstrates is that the association of Glastonbury with Avalon came after Geoffrey of Monmouth. Prior to this, Arthur’s resting place is seen as distinctly mythical and in part of the legend he wasn’t dead at all but would return in time of need. It also shows that separate to Arthur there were tales of islands, nine virgin priestesses and cauldrons. We also have a historical account of a first-century island off Brittany. It may also show the willingness of medieval writers to blend stories and legends and be willing to create myths and foundation stories to boost claims and revenue. This is something to bear in mind when reading the saints’ lives. Importantly it also demonstrates there was no particular consensus in the Middle Ages about Arthur’s resting place or even historicity. Tales and stories emerging 600 years after Arthur’s alleged time can hardly be held up as evidence.
In 1981 someone claimed the cross had been found in a lake in Enfield. The man took it to the British Museum and an employee who saw the cross described it as just over 6 in high, not the 1 ft Leland described in 1532. The finder, however, refused to hand the cross over and his description of the cross included the same wording and size as the William Camden sketch. Despite the council’s attempts, the cross was never recovered. The gentleman in question was apparently a lead-pattern worker for a local toy maker and was involved in the manufacture of lead models of cars. He was also a member of the Enfield Archaeological Society.
