What is the Evidence for an Historical (King) Arthur?
In a way, this is about King Arthur. But the historical Arthur, so far as we can know about him. What does that mean? It means no swords in stones or anvils, no round tables, no magic, none of that sort of thing. No high medieval romance. What do I mean? By saying “The Historical King Arthur,” I’ve begged the question— I’ve presumed there was an Arthur— or some historical figure who, for practical purposes, was the source of the accounts which later ramified and blossomed into the figure of medieval romance.
Let me make something clear straightaway: I do not claim that we can be sure there was such a person, still less that he was a king. I do think that a good case can be made for Arthur (let’s call him that) as an historical figure, however misted by the passage of time, and I do think it likely that he existed. I’m not alone in thinking that there is a real man behind the legend; Edward Gibbon for instance, the philosopher and historian R. G. Collingwood and even Winston Churchill accepted his existence. Others say no. Let’s not rely on authority though. Let’s do what Collingwood suggests that historians should do: look at and assess what evidence is available.
This means we have to be detectives; we have to look for clues, for evidence. And we have to weigh what evidence we can find. So then, what is the evidence, and how good is it?
When people think of King Arthur, I imagine most think of a medieval king presiding over a court peopled with elegant ladies in tall pointed hats and knights in shining armor. This is, of course, the world of medieval romance: the work of Geoffrey of Monmouth, Thomas Mallory and many others. Wonderful stuff in its own right, of course, and culturally and artistically of great importance. But these are works of fiction written hundreds of years after any historical Arthur might have lived, and I don’t think we can learn anything about him, really, from these works. Doubtless some will disagree and say that there is some historical undercurrent in these medieval tales, but I have to say, no, not really. If anything is preserved in them, apart from the bare existence of Arthur, it must be coincidental and impossible to unravel from the fictions within which it is woven.
Clearly the best evidence would be contemporary evidence, either written or archaeological. And, failing that, evidence that is closest in time to the relevant period. That period is what are commonly called the “dark ages.” This is not the place to discuss how dark they were or weren’t. It’s a handy term for the period we’re talking about and distinguishes it from the high middle ages during which, by the way, most of the Arthurian romances (which I think we must dismiss for historical purposes) were written.
But first a brief mention of the Roman Empire. As perhaps all readers of this blog will know, Britain was for centuries within the Roman Empire. Its conquest began under the Emperor Claudius in 43 AD and was completed, for the most part 44 years later. There was a famous revolt under Queen Boudicca in 60 or 61, which was put down, and over the centuries Roman Britain suffered invasions from what is now Scotland, from Ireland and from Germany. Roman Britain, however, remained part of the Roman Empire for about 360 years, eventually divided into four British provinces.
From the late 300s, however, troops were drawn from Britain to support usurpers who attempted unsuccessfully to capture the throne of the Western Empire. A result of these expeditions was that the number of Roman troops in Britain, by the start of the 400s, had dwindled, leaving Britain particularly vulnerable to barbarian raids from Ireland and the continent. The Emperor Honorius, in response to a request from Romano-Britains for help against barbarian raids, apparently wrote to them in 410 AD telling them to look after their own defenses. From this time on, there was apparently no direct Roman rule over Britain.
Left to their own defenses, the Romano-Britons invited Germanic tribesmen to settle in Britain and, in return for land, defend the island from enemies. This was a typical late Roman arrangement such as the Roman government itself had concluded before with other barbarian tribes: territory was given to these tribes within the borders of the Empire in return for military service. In the long run, it didn’t end well for the Romans who, by the end of the 400s, found their western provinces transformed into Germanic kingdoms. In Britain the result, over time, was much the same: the settlement of Germanic tribesmen, Angles, Saxons and Jutes, who over the course of a century or so managed to take over much of the territory of the former Roman provinces in Britain.
The period during which we should look for Arthur lies between the end of Roman rule and the end of British rule in the former Roman provinces apart from the area that became Wales. So, between, say, 435 and 530 AD. We need to look for some sort of leader here.
Back to evidence. There is no archaeological evidence for an historical Arthur, no contemporary monuments to him, for example. Written records— are there any written records from this period about him by anyone who knew him personally? No. And yet, somehow, the Arthurian legend was born and grew into one of the most important in western culture.
Are there any early references to him? Yes, there are. But they must be judged carefully. The early sources four: a Welsh poem, a roughly contemporary religious tract, an early Welsh history and a set of annals. So, let’s consider each. Before we get to them, however, we might note an interesting phenomenon: during the sixth and seventh centuries, a number of Celtic princes were named “Arthur.” This certainly suggests that the name must be tied to some impressive person from some time earlier. So, this is evidence of a sort.
Now, back to the written sources. What may be the earliest is a Welsh battle poem preserved in a medieval manuscript. The poem is called Y Gododdin. It recounts a British defeat by Angles in the Battle of Catreath about the year 600 AD. Though the manuscript in which is found is much later, the poem itself may date from the 600s and thus be fairly contemporary as far as the battle goes. On the other hand, it may have been composed much later. If it is from the 600s, then it may contain the earliest reference to Arthur.
Translated into English, the relevant passage (taken from Jarman’s edition of 1988) is this:
“He fed black ravens on the rampart of a fortress
Though he was no Arthur
Among the powerful ones in battle
In the front rank, Gwawrddur was a palisade”
Let’s remember that, if there was an Arthur, he’s to be found rather earlier than this, so even if the poem dates back to the 600s, there’s something of a gap between it and Arthur’s life. Still, not so long a gap, it seems to me, for a figure who had apparently become something of a legend, someone for whom princes were named.
The next source is a religious tract by the British monk Gildas. The general opinion is that he lived in the 500s, though there are some that would place him earlier. He wrote a work called De Excidio et Conquestu Brittaniae, which means something such as “About the Decline and Conquest of Britain.” In it he criticized a number of contemporary British rulers for their various moral failings and tied these failings to the general general loss of territory to the barbarians. In it is found this interesting passage about a struggle over the years between the British and their barbarian enemies, apparently, the Saxons (or Angles or Jutes). He writes:
“ex eo tempore nunc cives, nunc hostes, vincebant. . . usque ad annum obsessionis badonici montis, novissimaeque ferme de furciferis non minimae stragis, quique quadragesimus quartus (ut novi) orditur annus mense iam uno emenso, qui et meae nativitatis est.”
My translation is this:
“From that time now the citizens, now the enemy, were victorious . . . up to the year of the siege of Mount Badon, almost the last but not the least slaughter of the criminals, forty-four years and one month have passed, as I know, which is the year of my birth.”
The passage is vexing for many reasons, apart from its difficult style: we don’t know exactly when Gildas lived and, while he mentions the Battle of Mount Badon— and we’ll see that this was a particularly important battle— he doesn’t name the victor, whether Arthur or anybody else.
And what, exactly, does Gildas mean by “ex eo tempore?” This is Latin for “from that time.” But from what time? From the date of the Battle of Badon? Or from the arrival of the Saxons, which is discussed right before this passage? It seems that it must mean one of these two. But they are years and years apart. Most scholars today think the time referred to is that of the Battle of Badon, but others think it refers to the arrival of the Saxons mentioned earlier in the text, and this seems to have been the way the passage was commonly understood centuries ago. It’s quite unclear. Furthermore Gildas doesn’t mention the victor of Badon. So, why do I bring this passage up? I think you’ll see shortly.
Let’s talk about another early text, that of the Historia Brittonum. This is a book, whose Latin title means “The History of the Britons,” and it has been traditionally ascribed to a monk named Nennius. Lately there has been some doubt about whether he was the fellow who wrote it, but this doesn’t matter for our purposes. It seems to have been written around the year 830. Thus, it was written about 300 or more years after any activity of Arthur, and we don’t know what sources the author used. That information would be very good to know but, unfortunately, we don’t.
All the same it is a very interesting book. It mentions Arthur explicitly, and it states that he won twelve battles. Here is the Latin text:
“tunc Arthur pugnabat contra illos in illis diebus cum regibus Brittonum, sed ipse erat dux bellorum. primum bellum fuit in ostium fluminis quod dicitur Glein. secundum et tertium et quartum et quintum super aliud flumen, quod dicitur Dubglas et est in regione Linnuis. sextum bellum super flumen, quod vocatur Bassas. septimum fuit bellum in silva Celidonis, id est Cat Coit Celidon. octavum fuit bellum in castello Guinnion, in quo Arthur portavit imaginem sanctae Mariae perpetuae virginis super humeros suos et pagani versi sunt in fugam in illo die et caedes magna fuit super illos per virtutem domini nostri Iesu Christi et per virtutem sanctae Mariae genetricis eius. nonum bellum gestum est in urbe Legionis. decimum gessit bellum in litore fluminis, quod vocatur Tribruit. undecimum factum est bellum in monte, qui dicitur Agned. duodecimum fuit bellum in monte Badonis, in quo corruerunt in uno die nongenti sexaginta viri de uno impetu Arthur; et nemo prostravit eos nisi ipse solus, et in omnibus bellis victor extitit.”
My translation of this is:
“Then Arthur fought against them in those days with the kings of the Britons, though he himself was the leader of battles. The first battle was at the mouth of the river called Glein. The second, third, fourth, and fifth along the river which is called Dubglas and is in the region of Linuis. The seventh battle [was] at the river which is called Bassus. The seventh [was] the battle in the Celidon forest, that is, Cat Coit Celidon. The eight was in the castle of Guinnion in which Arthur carried the image of Holy Mary the Perpetual Virgin on his shoulders and the pagans were turned to flight on that day and the slaughter was great that day over them through the strength of Our Lord Jesus Christ and the strength of Holy Mary, his mother. The ninth battle [was] fought at the City of the Legion. The tenth [was] fought on the shore of the river that is called Tribruit. The eleventh was done at a mountain which is called Agned. The twelfth was the battle at Mount Badon in which perished in one day nine-hundred and sixty men from a single charge by Arthur and no one laid them low but he alone, and in all the battles he emerged the victor.”
If we just cut to the battles we see something interesting: while there is much speculation about where some of them were fought, in the end it isn’t certain where any of them might have taken place. Furthermore, some say that the number twelve is suspect because it is often found in myths and legends. Others point out, however, that if the list were a medieval forgery, you might expect them— at least some of them— to have been located in places that were readily recognizable. But that’s not the case. Even the “City of the Legion,” a clear enough expression, cannot be construed with certainty as cities had arisen near legionary camps, and legions had been posted in several cities during Roman times. So, is the “City of the Legion” Chester? York? Some other place? There are, of course, many theories, many of them quite clever, in favor of various places being the locations of these battles, for example some scholars argue on linguistic grounds that “Linnuis,” is the source of the word “Lincoln,” but nothing is certain. And this is the important point: you might expect, if these battles were simply made up to support a legend, that they would have been placed in familiar locations. And yet they are not.
The reader should note here that this passage from the Historia Brittonum lists the British victory at the Battle of Badon, a battle mentioned by Gildas, and attributes it to Arthur, so there is a tie-in here.
Another interesting point is that Arthur is referred to in the Historia Brittonum not as a king, but as a war leader or leader of battles. In Latin, that’s “dux bellorum.” Consider two things here: Nennius, or whoever wrote the Historia Brittonum, has not chosen to cast Arthur as a king or elevate him to that status, which might have been expected of a legendary, national figure.
In fact Arthur’s title is vaguely reminiscent of certain Late Roman military titles such as “Dux Britanniarum” (military leader of the British provinces), or even simply “dux” which was one of the terms for a Roman military commander. Dux (from which we get the word “duke”) is a leader, not a king and, while we shouldn’t press it too far, the title might just be seen to echo late antique terminology.
Finally, our last written source is another document in Latin, the Annales Cambriae or, in English, the Welsh Annals. These annals are a chronicle, a list of years in which, along the margins of the pages are listed, very briefly, major events that had taken place in those years. For the most part they are British events. The manuscript (which is, of course, a copy of an earlier manuscript) dates back to the 1100s, but the events recorded in it go back centuries earlier.
Of particular interest to us are two entries, that for the year 72 and that for the year 93. The Annals do not use the dating system we use now. Those numbers are the numbers of the years in an Easter Cycle. This means that we have to decide which years 72 and 93 correspond to. But first, let’s see what the entries for those years say.
For the Year 72:
“Bellum Badonis, in quo Arthur portavit crucem Domini nostri Jhesu Christi tribus diebus et tribus noctibus in humeros suos et Brittones victores fuerunt.”
For the Year 93:
“Gueith camlann in qua Arthur et Medraut corruerunt, et mortalitas in Brittannia et in Hibernia fuit.”
Or, in English:
For the Year 72:
“Battle of Badon in which Arthur carried the cross of Our Lord Jesus Christ three days and three nights on his shoulders and the Britons were victors.”
For the Year 93:
“Battle of Camlann in which Arthur and Medraut fell and there was death in Britain and Ireland.”
It’s interesting here to see the Battle of Badon once again, just as we do in Gildas. Here the victory is clearly attributed to Arthur. Note again that he is not called a king.
The earliest entries in the Welsh Annals seem to have been taken from Irish annals. This doesn’t mean they’re inaccurate, of course, though some believe that the Arthur entries were added centuries later. We don’t know that’s so, however.
What years to 72 and 93 correspond to? If we look at other events in the annals which we know about from other sources, then they seem to correspond to the years: 516 and 537 AD.
However, if some of the entries come from earlier annals and were incorporated into the Welsh Annals, there is the chance that they were not put into the right years. Remember that we are dealing here with years numbered in a repeating Easter cycle. So, a systematic error can be introduced. I mention this because some scholars argue that the Battle of Badon was earlier than 516 and that Gildas (who refers to it) may have lived somewhat earlier than previously thought. We are not talking about great differences, say about about half a century’s difference, but they are possibilities.
So, let’s weigh the evidence. First the Welsh poem.
The poem does suggest that Arthur was well known in the 500s— though the date of the poem’s composition is uncertain, it may be very early. We have the Celtic princes of about that time named Arthur too, which is suggestive.
Gildas mentions the Battle of Badon, which is helpful, though he doesn’t attribute it to any particular leader. A date for the battle between 480 and 520 seems implied depending upon the interpretation of his unclear language.
The Historia Brittonum mentions Arthur, calls him a war leader rather than king (something less grand), mentions twelve battles, which may be a suspect number, though the places are not susceptible of certain identification and this seems to argue against forgery. So, it seems to me, does this: If the entries are forgeries intended to elevate a national hero, why not make Arthur a king? Why just a war leader quite distinct from kings mentioned in the same passage?
It must be admitted that, while the Historia mentions the Battle of Badon, which ties in with Gildas, we don’t know what the sources are and so we don’t know whether the report is independent or merely repeats what Gildas says.
The Welsh Annals tell us, as the Historia Brittonum does, that Arthur was a war-leader (not a king), that he was the victor at Badon, and that he was killed at the Battle of Camlann. The years may have been 516 and 537 AD. Or not.
However, we don’t know whether the entries of the Welsh Annals were made in the years they refer to. Some argue that the Arthur entries are later forgeries, but of course we don’t know. However, once again it is worth asking this: if these entries are late forgeries, why is Arthur not said to be a king? After all, he was already a king in medieval romances by this time. We don’t know whether the early entries, apparently incorporated from another chronicle, were included in the right years, though this doesn’t defeat claims about the historicity of Arthur, although it makes the dates uncertain.
If we weigh all of this evidence, what seems likely to be true? My view, for what it’s worth, is that there is evidence for a military commander called Arthur in the late fifth or early six centuries who won a number of battles against barbarian raiders: probably Saxons, Angles and Jutes, and possibly others such as Picts or Irish. He seems likely to have been a victorious commander at the Battle of Badon (who knows where or when?) and he probably fell at the Battle of Camlann (again, who knows where and when?) about 20 years later. From these events, somehow, the King Arthur of legend sprang up and became so elaborated that he entirely eclipsed his post-Roman, dark age origins. The earliest evidence does not treat him as a king, and the locations of his battles are obscure. This matter-of-fact treatment seems to me to tell against forgery and so, while we cannot know much about an historical Arthur, I do think, on balance, that it is reasonable to accept him as an historical person.
Note: The Latin texts for Gildas and the Historia Brittonum are from Theodor Mommsen’s editions. All translations from the Latin are mine.
If you have enjoyed this article, you might be interested in my novel of post-Roman Britain, Quirinius, Britannia’s Last Roman, which treats elements of the Arthur legend from the viewpoint of a Late Roman aristocrat.
