The legend of King Arthur, with its chivalrous knights, magical swords, and Utopian Camelot, has captivated imaginations for centuries. But beyond the tales of Merlin and the Round Table, lies a tantalizing question: was King Arthur a real person? The quest to unearth the historical figure behind the myth is as intriguing as the legends themselves, a journey through ancient texts, archaeological digs, and scholarly debate.
Geoffrey of Monmouth: The Myth Takes Shape
Much of what we know about Arthur’s popular story can be traced back to a rather obscure Welsh cleric named Geoffrey of Monmouth. In his 12th-century work, Historia Regum Britanniae (History of the Kings of Britain), Geoffrey weaves a compelling narrative culminating in the 5th century. He tells of the pagan Saxons, led by Hengist and Horsa, devastating Britain. Enter Merlin, a young sorcerer, who prophesies the arrival of a king who will save the land.
Geoffrey’s account paints a vivid picture: King Uther falls hopelessly in love with Igerna, already married to the Duke of Cornwall. Merlin intervenes, magically transforming Uther into Igerna’s husband, allowing him to beget Arthur. Fast forward fifteen years, and young Arthur takes the throne, fiercely defeating the Saxons and confining them to a small part of Britain. He conquers Picts, Scots, Irish, and Icelanders, among others. When Roman ambassadors demand his homage, Arthur crosses the English Channel and defeats their armies in France.
However, while Arthur is abroad, his nephew Mordred seizes the throne and engages in a scandalous affair with Arthur’s queen, Guinevere. Arthur returns, slays the traitor, but is mortally wounded, last seen being carried off to the mystical island of Avalon.
A Golden Age Remembered: The Legend’s Evolution
Geoffrey’s story resonated deeply with the Britons, who, having been conquered by the Anglo-Saxons (turning “Britain” into “Angle-land” or “England”), yearned for a lost golden age where they ruled the land. For them, Arthur wasn’t dead, but merely awaiting the opportune moment to return from Avalon.
This yearning fuelled further embellishments by later medieval writers. The French writer Wace introduced the iconic Round Table, where Arthur’s knights sat as equals. Chrétien de Troyes brought Lancelot to prominence, Arthur’s loyal knight and Guinevere’s lover. The German Wolfram von Eschenbach added Parsifal. By the end of the Middle Ages, Arthur’s 5th-century foot soldiers had become mounted knights, his hill forts transformed into grand castles, and his court, Camelot, a Utopian symbol of chivalry.
All these elements were masterfully woven together by the Englishman Thomas Malory in his 15th-century work, Le Morte d’Arthur, giving his countrymen a foundational myth. The legend’s timeless appeal is evident in its 20th-century resurgence, from Marion Zimmer Bradley’s feminist retellings to Broadway musicals like Camelot.
The Elusive Historical Figure: Peering Through the Mist of Myth
Even in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s time, it was clear his Historia wasn’t a factual historical account. William of Newburgh, a 12th-century historian, dismissed it as a “ridiculous web of fictions.” The challenge for historians has always been to disentangle the “historical” Arthur from the pervasive legend, if such a person ever existed.
This means turning to sources predating Geoffrey of Monmouth, primarily Welsh writings, as the Welsh are descendants of the early Britons. These sources, though few, offer glimpses closer to Arthur’s supposed time, with less chance of later legendary embellishment.
The Britons rose to power after the fall of the Roman Empire in the early 5th century, inheriting both Roman civilization and its enemies. They soon faced attacks from the Irish, Picts, and Anglo-Saxons. The situation, as depicted by Welsh bards, seemed desperate. However, according to the Welsh monk Gildas, around 500 AD, the Britons achieved a significant victory at a place called Mount Badon. Gildas, writing only about 50 years later in De Excidio et Conquestu Britanniae (The Ruin and Conquest of Britain), describes the battle and the subsequent period of relative peace and prosperity.
Was this Gildas’s “brief shining moment” of Camelot? Perhaps. But crucially, Gildas never mentions Arthur by name. He also frustratingly omits the name of the British leader.
Nennius and the Twelve Battles: A Glimmer of Arthur
The name Arthur finally appears in the 9th-century Historia Brittonum (History of the Britons) by another Welsh cleric, Nennius. Nennius identifies Arthur as the hero, “the warrior Arthur,” and credits him with defeating the Saxons in twelve battles, even claiming Arthur single-handedly slew 960 enemy soldiers in one instance.
But can Nennius be trusted? Such clearly impossible feats belong to epic poetry, not history. Nennius himself described his method as “heaping up one mound” of everything he found, a chaotic approach. Some historians find solace in this, arguing that someone incapable of organization is unlikely to fabricate. Others find it frustrating. Like other Welsh writers who followed him, Nennius wrote at least 300 years after the events, making it impossible to verify the oral traditions he relied upon.
Glastonbury and Cadbury: The Search for Tangible Evidence
With Welsh writings alone failing to convince skeptics, the search for more concrete evidence of Arthur’s existence seemingly materialized in 1191 (or 1192). Monks at Glastonbury Abbey claimed to have discovered the bodies of Arthur and Guinevere. Gerald of Wales, who wrote about the discovery two years later, described the bodies found “deep in the earth in a hollow oak” with a lead cross inscribed: “Here lies the famous King Arthur, with Guinevere his second wife, in the Isle of Avalon.”
Was Glastonbury the legendary Avalon? Most historians are skeptical. The abbey, located in Somerset, is surrounded by green meadows, not an island. Furthermore, the inscription on the lead cross was in a 10th or 11th-century style, not 5th or 6th, suggesting a possible fabrication. The monks had a strong motive: a large part of the abbey had recently burned down, and the discovery of Arthur’s grave would (and did) attract pilgrims, bringing much-needed funds for reconstruction. While some argued the monks were knowledgeable enough to forge an older inscription, the evidence remains circumstantial. Unfortunately, the bones disappeared in the 16th century, and the cross later, preventing modern scientific analysis.
The search for Arthur’s legendary home, Camelot, led archaeologists to Cadbury Castle in Somerset, near Glastonbury. This impressive hillfort had been associated with Camelot in popular folklore since at least the 16th century. Between 1966 and 1970, archaeologist Leslie Alcock led excavations. Beneath the high ground known locally as “Arthur’s Palace,” Alcock uncovered the foundations of a large, skillfully crafted timber hall, along with remnants of a stone wall encircling part of the hill and a gate tower.
This evidence pointed to a substantial 5th-century fortress. Alcock excitedly suggested that Arthur and his forces could have “caroused in such a hall at Cadbury, and ridden out to battle through such a gate-tower.” However, he readily admitted that this didn’t prove Cadbury was Camelot, or that Arthur ever lived there. It was a formidable stronghold for any 6th-century war leader, but nothing was found to connect it specifically to Arthur.
The Lingering Shadow of a King
Archaeologists like Radford and Alcock meticulously presented their findings, emphasizing that they revealed more about Britain in Arthur’s time than about Arthur himself. Yet, their discoveries undeniably placed Arthur back in the public imagination, with some media reports quickly equating Cadbury with Camelot. This, in turn, sparked a backlash among academics, who reiterated the shortcomings of the Welsh sources and the archaeological finds. Skepticism remains prevalent among most scholars, with one describing the argument for Arthur’s existence as little more than saying there’s no smoke without fire.
And smoke there certainly was. We can be confident that sometime in the 5th or 6th century, there was a brief resurgence for the Britons. At a place called Mount Badon, someone led the Britons to victory. And the Welsh bards, writing closer to the actual events than any later historians, called that leader Arthur. Perhaps, then, we can follow their lead.
