by Mike Ashley
Then there was the matter of Excalibur. Later myth-makers, or mischief-makers, report that Richard I had presented the recently discovered Excalibur to Tancred, king of Sicily. Richard had left England for the Holy Land in July 1190, long before the excavation had started, and Gerald made no mention of Excalibur being found amongst the remains.
If we are to believe Gerald, there is still the question of whose remains these were and how the monks managed to find them that deep. They were, it is true, digging in the abbey’s burial grounds, so one might have expected them to find remains, but there must have been considerable advance planning to have buried the cross. The size of the bones suggests that they may have belonged to a horse or an ox, but clearly no one would confuse a human skull with an animal’s.
But apart from Gerald’s report, we have no other “eyewitness” statements, and if Gerald was only repeating what the abbot told him, one might imagine there need have been no exhumation at all. However, in 1962 Ralegh Radford conducted a new excavation at the marked site of Arthur’s grave and was able to verify that a previous excavation had happened. He also found some stone slabs which may have lined the ancient burial, but nothing else.
There were two other contemporary reports of the discovery, though dating them is difficult. Firstly, Ralph de Coggeshall recorded the event in his English Chronicle, finished in 1224. Curiously, Ralph implies that the site was discovered accidentally whilst they were burying another monk. Also his description of the wording on the cross omits all reference to Guenevere, stating simply HERE LIES THE FAMOUS KING ARTURIUS, BURIED IN THE ISLE OF AVALON. That was the same phrasing recorded by the chronicler at Margam Abbey in Glamorgan. The date of composition of that entry is disputed, some believing it to be contemporary with the event. With the exception of the wording on the cross, it reads similarly to Gerald’s account and may even have been compiled from the same “press release” that Gerald had from the bishop. Bizarrely, the Margam Chronicle records that Mordred’s remains had also been found!
The mystery might have been resolved. The cross survived long enough for the antiquary John Leland to see it on his visit in 1533. By that time the tomb of Arthur had been elaborately enhanced. This happened following a translation ceremony in 1278, marking a visit by Edward I. Leland’s description of the wording on the cross agrees with Ralph de Coggeshall’s. The cross itself was reproduced by another antiquary, William Camden, in the 1607 edition of his book Britannia, and it was this printing that enabled scholars to study the nature of the engraving. It also shows the abbreviated text, but Camden maintained that the other side of the cross contained the reference to Guenevere, although this contradicts Gerald’s original claim that the wording was only on the one side, closest to the stone slabs. All of this suggests that the cross was created by the monks, a clever forgery, attempting to imitate an earlier form of lettering, but not one able to dupe modern scholarship. The reference to Arthur’s second wife, which is a curious feature and one that tends to favour a genuine inscription, may well have upset the Church, and the wording was rephrased.
That was not all that upset the Church or, more especially, Richard I. He was unhappy with the belief held by the Welsh that Arthur was not dead but might return to help them in their hour of need. There had been Welsh unrest throughout the twelfth century, and the last thing Richard wanted, while away on his Crusade, was to have a Welsh revolt at home. A sound reason behind needing to find Arthur’s bones, perhaps even greater than that of bolstering the revenues, was to prove once and for all that Arthur was dead.
Once again Gerald of Wales came to the rescue. In his original report he had noted the fantastical tales that Arthur might return, but a few years later, writing in Speculum Ecclesiae (“The Mirror of the Church”), he made the point emphatically:
Furthermore, tales are regularly reported and fabricated about King Arthur and his uncertain end, with the British peoples even now believing stupidly that he is still alive. True and accurate information has been sought out, so the legends have finally been extinguished; the truth about this matter should be revealed plainly, so here I have endeavoured to add something to the indisputable facts that have been disclosed. After the Battle of Camlann . . . after Arthur had been mortally wounded there, his body was taken to the Isle of Avalon, which is now called Glastonbury, by a noble matron and kinswoman named Morgan; afterwards the remains were buried, according to her direction, in the holy burial-ground. As a result of this, the Britons and their poets have been concocting legends that a certain fantastic goddess, also called Morgan, carried off the body of Arthur to the Isle of Avalon for the healing of his wounds. When his wounds have healed, the strong and powerful king will return to rule the Britons (or so the Britons suppose), as he did before. Thus they still await him, just as the Jews, deceived by even greater stupidity, misfortune, and faithlessness, likewise await their Messiah.
The true story may never be fully known. The marble tomb was smashed and the remains destroyed in 1539 during Henry VIII’s dissolution of the monasteries. The cross went missing sometime in the eighteenth century, though it, or a copy, was reputedly discovered in Enfield, of all places, in 1981. This was also believed to be a hoax though the finder, Derek Mahoney, refused to submit the item for analysis or to hand it over to Enfield Council, who maintained the item had been found illegally on one of their sites. Mahoney even served a prison service for contempt of court and later committed suicide. His copy of the cross was never found.
Whether true or false, Henry de Sully’s discovery of Arthur’s bones placed Glastonbury firmly on the pilgrim’s map, in addition to the fact that they already claimed the relics of St. Patrick and St. Indract, and would later develop the story of Joseph of Arimathea and the Holy Grail. The Arthurian legend was gathering pace.
12
FROM MONMOUTH TO MALORY – THE CRUSADER DIMENSION
Between 1138, when Geoffrey completed his Historia, and 1470, when Malory wrote Morte Darthur, there was an explosion in Arthurian literature. Over one hundred and thirty different works appeared, excluding translations, variants, revisions or adaptations. About half of these appeared within the first century, and thereafter most of what followed were reworkings of the earlier stories. Nothing of any significance was added to the Arthurian saga after the 1230s.
Could this phenomenal outpouring be explained by the popularity of Geoffrey’s work, which suited the politics of the courts of Henry I and King Stephen by enhancing their supremacy over the rival kings of France? Or were other factors at work? Factors which, in the process, created a new King Arthur – one far more powerful than the original – with an entire retinue of superheroes, the Knights of the Round Table.
This chapter will provide an overview of the stories that appeared in these three hundred and fifty years, and chart the key factors that created both the Arthur of legend and the mystery of the Holy Grail. Many names will keep recurring and become familiar, and we will find two major elements, without which we might never have seen the Arthurian phenomenon as we now know it. These were the Crusades and the Cistercian Order of monks.
The chart on the next few pages lists all of the major Arthurian tales and romances that appeared in these years. During those three and a half centuries everything we have come to know about Arthur and his world, about Merlin, Guenevere, Camelot and the Holy Grail, appeared and was tailored to fit the new image. The chart is divided into the main groupings of stories, and plot summaries will be given over the next six chapters. This chapter will provide an overview to show how these stories evolved, and why.
Table 12.1. Arthurian Literature and Events from Monmouth to Malory
1. The Welsh background
We have already seen that between the eighth and the twelfth centuries wondrous tales about Arthur emerged, most being written down from oral tradition by the early 1100s. Arthur was raised from a mortal into the ranks of the great heroes, though he never became a fully-fledged god in the same way as such Scandinavia
n heroes as Thor (whose name has a striking similarity). Strangely, as time progresses and Arthur becomes the property of the Norman French, he reverts to being only too human, and it is the others, such as Lancelot and Gawain, who become super-human.
It is a fascinating transition because what usually captivates us about Arthur is not his historical origins, but the adventures of his court at Camelot and his ultimately tragic life. Arthur and his knights captured the mood and spirit of the times, and transformed a battle hero into Britain’s greatest legend.
We have already discussed the early Welsh tales Culhwch and Olwen and Pa Gur, both of which portray Arthur in heroic and supernatural terms (see Chapter 8). Their Arthur is clearly different from the Arthur described by Nennius and Geoffrey of Monmouth, who portray him as a military leader with no unusual powers, although the mythical Arthur is lurking just offstage. In his section on the Wonders of Britain, Nennius refers to the stone at Carn Cafal that bore the imprint of Arthur’s hound, and the tomb in Ergyng of Arthur’s son, which is never the same size twice. Geoffrey includes Merlin’s predictions and the story of Arthur fighting the giant at Mont-St.-Michel, an obvious Breton folktale that crept into his history. Yet all these are as nothing to what was emerging elsewhere.
Primary amongst the Celtic tales is Preideu Annwvyn, “The Spoils of Annwvyn”, which tells of the attempt by Arthur and his men to rescue Gwair from an island fortress, and to find the pearl-rimmed cauldron owned by the Lord of Annwvyn. The story has some elements in common with the quest for the Holy Grail (see Chapter 16), but it is also an archetypal text for an Arthurian adventure, and may just relate to an heroic episode in Welsh history. As such, it is a crucial story in the mutation of the historical Arthur to the legendary one.
Whilst it would be an exaggeration to say that all Arthurian romances owe their origin to this story, of the surviving early Welsh tales this is the one that bears the closest resemblance to the key features of the later romances, including a quest, a rescue and a magical object. The adventure is not a total success, and was, in the words of the poet, “a woeful conflict”. In fact, many of Arthur’s adventures, and those of his knights, meet with failure and require some special heroism or magic to save the day.
The poem is attributed to Taliesin, who is supposed to be the narrator and one of the seven men who survived the journey. If he was indeed one of these men, there’s little doubt that he would have composed a heroic poem to celebrate the achievement, although the poem is enigmatic enough to make one wonder whether Taliesin, or perhaps a later embellisher, was trying to say something else. If Taliesin, who lived from perhaps 530 to 610, experienced and wrote about this adventure in the 570s, it would fit into the reign of Artúir of Dyfed and, in fact, the poem does have connections with Dyfed.
The earliest surviving copy of Preidu Annwvyn dates from the early 1300s, when the flowering of Arthurian romance had already passed, but there is little doubt that the version we know today probably dates from the late ninth century, with oral versions existing before then. There would have been other heroic and mystical tales, not necessarily associated with Arthur, but of a kind that gradually formed into a body of work that influenced later storytellers. They would have borrowed from existing tales, and audiences for these stories would have looked forward to key passages and well-known episodes, just as we do today with formula action films. Unfortunately, all too few of those earlier tales have survived, and we only hear echoes of them in the stories.
Amongst the key passages are three well-known motifs: the beheading test, the test for chastity, and the “loathly lady”. All of these have origins in Celtic tales, and all of them become key elements in the Arthurian stories.
The beheading test is best known from its appearance in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, but it also appears in several earlier Arthurian episodes, including the first continuation of Chrétien’s Perceval, dating from the 1190s, in which the knight who takes up the challenge is none other than Caradog Vreichfras. The earliest known appearance of this challenge is in the Irish story Fled Bricrenn (“Bricriu’s Feast”), from the Ulster Cycle, which dates from at least the eighth century. The earliest surviving manuscript is from around the year 1100. The original story would have been well known as it featured one of the great heroes, Cú Chulainn. Bricriu, a renowned troublemaker, has invited all the Irish heroes to a banquet. He promises to save the place of honour at the table for the knight he regards as the greatest of them all, but spreads dissension by telling each of three heroes that the place is reserved for him. Fighting breaks out, which is not resolved even after they petition the king of Munster. But then a giant stranger arrives at the royal palace, and challenges the three heroes to the beheading game, just as described in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, except that here the return bout is on the following day. Two of the heroes chicken out, but Cú Chulainn takes up the challenge and is thus declared the greatest of the three.
The episode of the Perceval continuation in which this test appears is virtually a separate entity often called the Livre de Caradoc, which may have had a separate existence prior to its incorporation in that poem. Caradoc, a key figure at Arthur’s court, appears in both Culhwch and Olwen and The Dream of Rhonabwy, and it is likely that the original version of the Livre de Caradoc was a Welsh tale which had drawn upon the Irish legend.
There is another episode in the Livre de Caradoc that is also a test, although of a different kind. Towards the end of the story, a youth arrives with a drinking horn, which will spill its contents over any man who drinks from it whose wife has been unfaithful. Only Caradoc passes the test. This episode was lifted almost entirely from the Lai du Cor by Robert Biket, which dates from the 1160s or earlier. The wife of Caradoc was Tegau Eurfron, listed in Triad 103 as one of the “Three Chaste Maidens” of Prydein. The same triad calls her “one of the three beauteous dames in the court of Arthur”. Intriguingly, the list of the “Thirteen Treasures of Britain” includes the mantle of Tegau Eurfron, and one of the other versions of the chastity test is of a mantle that retains its beauty only on a faithful maiden. It is clear that legends about Caradoc were circulating in the Welsh world long before Biket’s poem. Furthermore, although Biket places Arthur’s court in Caerleon, he notes that Caradoc’s wife had been born at Cirencester, and that the horn is still on display there. By the twelfth century Cirencester was no longer the major town it had been under the Romans, suggesting that it was not an obvious one for Biket to choose unless it was already associated with the legend of Caradoc and Tegau.
The “loathly lady” or fier baker (“proud kiss”) motif is perhaps best known from the Wedding of Gawain and Dame Ragnell and “The Wife of Bath’s Tale” from the Canterbury Tales. In both cases, the hero agrees to marry a hideous hag in return for information, but discovers upon a kiss that she is the most beautiful woman in the world. The theme first appeared in Le Bel Inconnu (“The Fair Unknown”), by Renaud de Beaujeu, written in the late 1180s, in a slightly different form. A lady has been transformed into a serpent, but the young knight Guinglain is able to lift the curse with a kiss, and subsequently marries her. The motif can be traced back to the Irish tale, The Adventures of the Sons of Eochaid Mugmedon, in which Niall proves his suitability for kingship by kissing (and transforming) a hideous old hag. This tale was circulating by the 1020s and doubtless earlier, so was again well known by the time the Arthurian stories were taking shape.
In most cases, the authors of these early Celtic Arthurian tales are unknown – unless we accept the possible early roles of Taliesin or Llywarch Hen. However, one name has come down to us. Gerald of Wales, when not toadying up to the great and the good, wrote copiously, and refers to a great storyteller or “fabulator” who lived just before his time, called Bledhericus. Variants of that name crop up in other works. The Flanders poet Wauchier referred to a Bleheris, or Blihis, who knew of the Grail story, and the names Brandelis and Bleoberis feature as knights in the later romances. It is even conjectured (conv
incingly) that Bledhericus was the original of Merlin’s mentor, Blaise.
Jessie L. Weston, in From Ritual to Romance, mentions a suggestion by Edward Owen of the Cymmorodorion Society that Bledhericus could have been “a certain Welsh noble” named Bledri ap Cadivor, a Welsh chieftain who lived near Carmarthen in Dyfed around 1080–1140. He was a latemeri, or interpreter, and it is understood that he was an intermediary between the Welsh and the Normans. Bledri also turned up at the court of Guillaume VII, count of Poitou (and IX of Aquitaine) in the 1110s or 1120s. Guillaume was the grandfather of Eleanor of Aquitaine, who was born at either Bordeaux or Guienne around 1120. Eleanor may even have heard these Arthurian stories directly from Bledri in her childhood, which would account for her lifelong interest in the subject.
The one story with which Bledri’s name is associated is that of Tristan and Iseult (see Chapter 13). This was originally independent of the Arthurian story, and was not integrated until the prose Tristan of the 1240s. Bledri could have been the conduit for the Arthurian stories between Brittany, Wales and the Anglo-Norman world, reconstituting tales that had grown independently from a once-common source. Bledri was alive at the time of Geoffrey of Monmouth, and perhaps tales that Bledri recounted found their way to Geoffrey. Bledri is said to have compiled a collection of old tales about Gawain called Le Grant Conte, but no trace survives.
