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The Real King Arthur?
Posted Jul 14, 2004
The problem we have with 'Arthur' is his timeless popularity. So many people have jumped onto the Camelot bandwagon over the centuries and adopted him - and then adapted him.
Looking at all the stories, and there are truly so many as to boggle the mind, the first job is to delete the obvious romances and parodies of later years. Then take the
earlier offerings and, along with some thought for the political and religious agendas of the periods, see what we really have.
This takes us back to the 12th century, and everyone's favourite liar, Geoffrey of Monmouth.
Most later works - the ones that weren't total fabrications - were based either on G of M's works, or on similar 'evidence' to that he worked with. (Now, if that isn't an over-generalisation worthy of a spot in the Guinness Book of Records, then I don't know one!)
My opinion - and this is only an opinion - is as follows:-
In British times names as we know and accept them are seldom recorded. What could be termed 'titles' or 'nicknames' are prevelant. Sometimes two very different people, though famous, noteworthy people in their own right, could have the same 'name' within a generation of each other.
Then again, a single person could go through more than one 'title' in their single lifetime. This can obviously lead to some confusion.
Looking at the names/titles involved in the Arthurian stories, and applying them to other histories and documentation as we know them, seems to give us two seperate, and clearly defined, targets.
We have two Myrddins for a start. One youthful lad in the mid 5th century and one slightly older chap in the mid 6th century. The 100 years between them illiminating any chance of them being the same person (unless you REALLY believe in magic.).
Peredur, Gawain, Uriens and many of the 'Knights' of the 'Round Table' are very much alive and active in Northern Britain in the latter half of the 6th century.
At that time the Northern British War Chief, ' Great Warrior' or 'PenDragon' to give him his proper title, was one Gwenddolau of Arddrydd (choose your own spelling). It is not a big step from 'King of Arthuret' to 'King Arthur', especially allowing for the British passion for titles and their grammar.
His chief councilor is recorded as one of the Myrddins mentioned above.
His wife's name is not recorded, but would likely be titled after him - therefore would be Gwen-something, almost as in Mrs Gwenddolau.
So Gwenifar - or Guinevere in later tongues - would not be impossible.
Near his capital is a round circle where Celts have met since the dawn of time. For meetings to be held there, in the neutral open, - especially as the so-called 'knights' were all in-fact princes 'equal' to Gwenddolau - would be quite feasible. And the
Celt's love of pomp and ceremony would near demand it. Oh yes - the nearby hill is still named 'Arthur's Seat'. Hence, perhaps, the 'round table'.
Even Myrddin's sister, a trouble-maker beyond belief, makes a good basis for the 'wicked sister' of the later legends. She was also married to the Prince of Din Eidin, one Morgn of great fame. So her acceptable title could well have been Morganna.
Let's hope she wasn't much of a witch - as she seems to have left Morgn to live with St. Kentigern.
After Gwenddolau's death, in c572, his greatest friend Aiden, soon chief of the Dal Rhiadda Scots, 'named' his next born son Arthur in his memory.
Mere coincidence of course. As are all of the above.(?)
Now further back we have our other Myrddin. He is sat closer to 460AD and is in Gwynedd (modern North Wales). Here we meet the red and white Dragons. Quite probably an idea based on old Roman cavalry standards (not so old then of course).
Nennius, writing in the early 9th century, puts this story in Snowdonia, and Welsh tradition also has it at Dinas Emrys near Beddgelert.
Here we have a youthful Myrddin Ambrosius putting his case forward to King Vortigern for him (Myrddin) to be warlord of the British. And his proven control over the fractious cavalry wins his argument.
Ambrosius is said to be of Roman lineage and the two dragons could also be taken from the insignia of the Roman administration of the area. Again, something of a statement as to who controlled what.
From Gwynedd he reputedly moved his base south to Powys. Later poems (Llywarch the Old 9th century - comes to mind) often refered to the kings of Powys as 'the heirs of Arthur'. This was written well before the glamorised romances of Norman times.
Indeed, Viroconium, the capitol of Powys, is shown in excavations as one of, if not the most, sophisticated cities in Britain in the late 5th century.
A recorded leader in the area during the 490's was one Owain Ddantgwyn. According to Gildas, Ddantgwyn's battle-title was 'The Bear', or Arth. Also, purely coincidental is that this man's father, Enniaun Girt, was known in battle as the 'Terrible Chief Warrior' - Uthr Pen Dragon.
It seems to me that we have two Arthurs and two Myrddins and PenDragons in both situations.... the later stories seem to have blended much from each. The titles and lineage coming from the 5th century Arthur, the actions, associates, 'round table' etc., from the 6th century Arthur.
Was Arthur a living king?
No. 'Arthur' was a real living title.
And two great Princes wore it while unknowingly giving their lives to a greater story.
Either one of them is quite possibly more interesting than the 'literary' Arthur. Indeed, most definitely so.
Just my opinion - as I said. But I hope it helps.
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Latest reply: Jul 14, 2004
The Truth About Merlin
Posted Jul 14, 2004
Here do I sit with my wolf and my boar,
Beneath such a great sprawling tree,
And I think on my past as old men will do
And all such has happened to me.
Seven long years have I lived in the wilde,
Seven long Winters of cold,
But I had a life once that any could want,
And a torc of the finest pure gold...........
The hornful of mead was a welcome weight,
The smoke filled hall was a blur,
I studied the faces of all stood around,
Until my eyes settled on her.
A world of her own, she stared at the fire,
Her face all a bright orange glow.
Her golden torc marked her as being high born,
Her spirit undoubtedly low.
To one side sat Gwallawg, a Prince of the North,
To the other perched Ida Flamdwyn,
I stepped on towards them, determined to meet,
This trio of beauty and sin,
"My lady...." I offered ny hand in salute,
"My lords..." I acknowledged their stand,
"Allow me to greet you, and welcome you here,
To this, my hall and my land."
Her eyes lifted slowly, a slow gentle smile,
Her greeting befitted her face,
"You are kind to us sir, in our hour of need,
We are honoured to be in this place."
"The honour is mine, " I meant every word,
"You are welcome to stay at your need."
I caught a small twitch in Gwallawg's good eye,
Discomfort was there harsh indeed.
"Good brother," I hailed him, "Pray tell your distress."
His eye spoke in volumes to me,
"Distress? You misread my face my good lord,
I am in no dispair." lied he.
I shrugged and returned to my more favoured guest,
"Won't someone at least give your name?"
Gwallawg spoke slow, "'Tis my cousin, my lord."
I smiled and she smiled the same,
"Lord Myrddn," as she placed her hand into mine,
"Morgana of Elmete." quoth he,
Something about her struck deep in my roots,
Something that screamed to be free.
I was sure that I knew her, knew her before,
Like finding an old, old friend.
She looked right into me, into my eyes,
I felt a beginning and end.
Then she looked away, her face in a shock,
I knew then that she saw it too.
Now either this meet was the start of a dream,
Or a journey end I would soon rue.
"PenDragon!" the call swiftly carried the day
And in to the hall came my chief
Who strode over to me and gave me his hand,
His face; purest joy and relief.
"Good friend, it has been long, too long since we met."
I grasped him with all of my heart.
The face of my Gwenddollau showed all his mind,
Too long had we been both apart.
We talked and talked of our past and our plans,
Of problem and possible cure,
Horn after horn of good mead passed our lips,
Until no more could we endure.
The fire was burned low, the tapers were spent,
As Gwenddollau tripped to his bed,
And there by that fire she now sat alone,
I gently caressed her young head.
Her tears came so slowly, and silently spent,
I silently joined in the spell,
And lifted her to me and held her fast tight,
Sharing her torment and hell.
And so we stood rooted, as statues of stone,
With ne'er but a word to impart,
I knew this young stranger as if she were me,
As if we did share the same heart,
The dawn sky rose pale through the door of the hall,
We tasted the damp of the morn.
Slowly we stepped, arm in arm, from my vill,
Both of us feeling reborn.
We didn't return 'til the Sun was at noon.
The smell of pork sweetened the air.
Gwenddollau stood with his hands on his hips,
"Pray tell" Who's the gem you have there?"
His smile and his wink brought a flush to her face,
I countered on my lady's part,
"Morgana of Elmete, my Lord, if you please.
A lady most dear to my heart."
He bowed to my lady, a courtly display,
But the glint was still deep in his eye.
I joined in his laughter. How could I resist?
My heart and my spirit were high.
Morgana laughed with us, then suddenly froze,
As Gwallawg appeared in the door.
His face was a fury of anger and hate,
Of Morgana and me to be sure.
Behind him came Ida, a sneer on his lips,
Aware of the breech I had made.
Already concocting how best to advance,
The plans he'd undoubtedly laid.
Ida Flamdwyn was an Angle by birth,
And Prince of Kaer Effrawc to boot.
God only knows what evil tricks he had planned,
Or how this had helped them take root.
The pair of them stamped off towards their horse line,
Gwallawg called Morgana to heel.
Morgana stood steady, her face raised to mine,
Her fear of him easy to feel.
"Lord Gwallawg!" My tone stopped the man in mid-stride.
I glared, "A word in your ear.
You and Lord Ida were most free to leave,
But Morgana I chose to keep near."
His hatred was piercing, he reached to his sword,
He strode at me, drawing his blade.
Before he was half way a blow knocked him cold,
Lord Ida his first move had made.
The rest moved so quickly, their men took his frame,
And Ida led all from my land.
Gwenddollau watched me but spoke not a word,
Then walked up and offered his hand.
"My brother, this day has created a split,
That we may well rue before long.
But you chose the right path, of that I am sure.
Let Fate choose the tune and the song."
The days passed to weeks and Summer was coming,
The storm clouds that loomed were not rain.
Elmete and Effrawc were arming and raiding,
I knew what was coming again.
'Twas the same in my youth time, the blood and the fire,
And youth likes to join in that game.
But years make one wiser, in some ways at least,
And I wanted none of the same.
The question was how to avoid this new war.
I'd much rather sing now than kill.
I'd call the Thirteen Princes of the North,
To meet at the Stones on the Hill.
It was in my right to call such a Circle,
And Princes could heed without fears.
For there in the Stones of the Wise all were equal,
To speak as they felt to their peers.
But plainly, to do such a thing needed plans,
All would be worse should it fail.
The day should be scripted in every detail,
As one does with any good tale.
North to see Bruid would be my first step,
Then head South in time for sweet May.
Then I would call here a Meet of the Wise,
So our Lords would know what to say.
My way to the North was a trial and a half,
Much longer than planned was my trip.
And while I was absent all things went awry,
So many good plans were let slip.
Gwallawg tricked Morgn of Eidin in trade,
Then had his young messenger killed.
Morgn raised a war band to reek his revenge,
The scene was for blood to be spilled.
Gwenddollau agreed that a lesson be taught,
The men of Gododdin were armed,
Many men joined him but some men did not,
At that he should have been alarmed.
But the fire was lighted and mead had been drunk
There was only one thing left to do,
South into Elmete rode Gwenddollau's host,
An act that so many would rue.
The first town they reached was Camolodd on Wharfe,
It proved far too easy to take,
Then onwards they went, close to Loides on Aire,
Not noting their greatest mistake.
The booty was grand, horse and cattle in mass,
Their point made they headed back North,
By then the news of their raid had been called,
Gwallawg and Ida moved forth.
At Sheburne these men had been planning their moves,
When word came of fire and sword.
This meet was the reason resistance was low,
Gwallawg's men being there with their Lord.
As Gwenddollau moved on the Old Great North Road
The Host of Elmete was to horse,
Two days and the Northern Men were at Catreac,
A Mead-Feast in tribute to Force.
When hardly but started a messenger came,
Gwenddollau had to race North,
The forces of Rhydderch were raiding his land
He and his war band rode forth.
Rhydderch of Alcut was a Christian King
Jealous of all the Old Ways
Troubles between them were often and long
A bane of those glorious days
Though Gwenddollau left the Mead Feast went on
Glory was their's to rejoice,
Stories and singing went on through the night
Each warrior proud of his voice.
Ywain ap Marro, Blaen, Tudfwlch and Cian,
Narated their best to the hall.
Through night until morning the feasting went on,
Three hundred soon destined to fall.
Gwefrfawr ap Ysgyrran was there in the host,
Cadfannan and Hyfaidd stood proud,
Rheithfyw, Neirthiad were ready to die,
Erthgi and Cyfwlch together sang loud.
Gwrwelling drank mighty and called to the host,
Cynri and Cynon replied,
Cynrain of Aeron stood with them in arms,
Of fame and of honour they cried.
Cydywal ap Sywno, Breichiawl and Llif,
With Llifiau joined in the call,
Graid ap Hoywgi, Buddfan ap Bleiddfan,
And Cadlew, they joined one and all.
Marchlew the horseman, Isag of the South,
Cereidig and Caradog stood.
Ywain ap Eulad walked to their side,
Gwrien spoke loud of much blood.
And how it would flow when Gwyn and Gwriad,
his brothers, went deep in the foe,
Pyll and Ieuan, Gwgon and Gwion called loud,
With Cynfan that all there would know,
Rhufon and Gwlgod, Aeddan and more,
Now rose to this cry of the North,
Gwawrddur with Morien, Cynon and Gwid
To Morien ap Caradog held forth.
With Clydno he answered their calls in great cheer
Eithinyn, like Elffin joined in.
Gwanonnon, Eithinyn ap Boddw Adaf,
Added their voice to the din.
Cadfannon held forth on the might of his steed
Gwyddien the skill of his men,
Morien praised the fair song of Myrddn,
Bradwen and Gwenabwy ap Gwen,
With Cynhafal and Senyllt, with Heilyn and Rhys
Sang songs and told stories of yore
From battles and heroes to mead's last release,
Of Cynwal, Addonwy, Bradwen and more.
The morning came slowly the day but begun
The enemy a challenge decreed
For each of our heroes faced ten angry swords
'Twas time to repay all their mead.
Gwrwelling, Cyrain, Cynri and Cydwal,
Steadfast Breichiawl, so many more,
Graid ap Hoywgi, Llif and the others,
Heroes each one, fell by the score.
Merin ap Madiain earned his mead cup bravely,
Cibno the Christo paid for his too,
Aeron and Cynon, their names are immortal,
Their foemen they ploughed, hacked and slew.
Ywain's spear skewered them dead by the score
Until even he finally fell,
The shout went abroad to revenge the man's blood
A honour to die, and die well.
Ceredig, Caradog, Gwrien, Gwyn and Gwriad,
Charged in to death, proud so to die,
Gwgon and Gwion, names here remembered,
Only their killers hear our goodbye.
So went the slaughter, Gododdin's good youth,
Killed by the dozen and score.
Elmete and Effrawc tasted good fortune,
A taste that will hunger for more.
To the North Gwenddollau made Rhydderch's men run,
Unaware of the slaughter he missed.
While I was bound homeward to hearth and to love,
Happy that soon both would be kissed.
My heart wasn't ready for what I would find.
Arderydd spun with news so bad,
I made my way swift to my darling and home,
And found that which near made me mad.
Morgana had lain with a much younger man,
While I had been travelling North.
Before I could give any vent to my pain,
Lord Gwenddollau summoned me forth.
Trouble was brewing from too many sides,
My plans were already out-grown.
To the North our claimed allies hid their support,
His Southern raid bad seeds had sown.
Into this disorder I rode with my hurt,
The Princes in circle did stand.
So many were missing, reflecting the day,
As Gwenddollau offered his hand.
The Princes went silent, each face turned to me,
I looked in turn from eye to eye.
All worry and anger, pure rage and deep fear,
I gave an involuntary sigh.
"So many places," I gestured around,
"devoid of the usual face!
What has become of our unified arm?
Vanished without any trace?"
The silence spoke volumes, faces said more,
All eyes turned unto my great lord.
He smiled, "You'll remember I said we would pay,
That day Prince Gwallawg drew his sword."
"He comes with an army, angry and grim,
Five thousand or more it is said.
We number a thousand with Gwynnedd to come,
Our land is, in truth, to run red.
We will centre on Arderydd, combine our small might,
Defending our Truth with our blood.
We need Gwynedd but he follows Christ of late,
Despite knowing best what he should."
Mead was brought forward and all present supped,
A toast to the Old Ways went round.
I watched their blood rising and honour return,
Their heritage once more re-found.
I smiled at the sight of these young gallant souls,
Brave deeds forming fast in their minds.
'Tis hard to explain how the Cymri heart beats,
The way that our life and past binds.
Hearts and minds melded and oaths were foresworn,
The plan and the concept agreed.
Away went each hero to prepare their bands;
To Arderydd then with all speed.
Gwenddollau watched me as all the lords left'
His face saying more than words tell.
Then off with his escort he rode to his hall,
My plan I had him failed to sell.
The next two nights filled with tasks of great speed,
And Arderydd fast came a fort,
The first of the Elmete band showed down the vale,
Of Gwynedd we waited report.
'Twas news when received surely condemned us,
Maelgwn to Elmete's side had turned!
May he to his Christian Hell be bound,
And in that damned place be he burned!
Beneath and before us the enemy spread,
Angle and Cymbri combined.
Never before had such stood together,
Never before been entwined.
So where was Urien and Owein, his son,
Rheged's two heroes of song?
The Scot King Aidan was there in support,
Other's avoidance was wrong.
I prompted a mist, to confuse and confound,
A rider was sent out to talk,
That Gwenddollau chose such a young man was sad,
His office, his anger did balk.
He called out a challenge in sarcastic verse
Ensuring to anger the foe.
Then rode at them quickly, his sword arm aloft,
As if to deliver a blow.
His name I won't utter, a curse on his blood,
That through all the ages be heard,
When any remember the fight that he caused,
He that was named like a bird.
The enemy angered, their honour demeaned,
The rushed to the fight yelling blood.
All of my tactics and all of my plans,
Were swept away in a flood.
So it was started, those terrible days,
For the battle was bloody and long,
With no mercy given and none received,
It'self more than warrants a song.
Slowly we weakened, their numbers so strong,
For every one downed there rose more.
Until even Gwenddollau tired of the sight
Tired of the blood and the gore.
Into their ranks he charged, I see him still,
Carving them dead by the score,
Around him they gathered in numbers immense,
Then Gwenddollau I saw no more.
The cry from our ranks was of horror and shame,
That such a Pendragon was lost.
Harder and harder we hacked at their lines,
Exhaustion soon showed it's high cost.
Back to the summit of Arderydd's seat,
We slowly were hammered and pressed.
For in sheer exhaustion we slowly did fall,
And I took a blow to my chest.
I awoke in the darkness with no sounds at all
The pain in my wound screaming loud.
In a daze I did stagger until morning came,
Lifting the Land from it's shroud.
North I was headed, though knew it not then,
Two days or more I can't tell,
Collapsed by a stream near a hillside and cave
'Twas thus that I came to Hart Fell.
And here in the wild have I dwelt seven years,
Beard almost down to the floor.
Alone with my nightmares, and two gallant friends,
My great wolf and my wild boar.
At night I remember that terrible fight
Awake with a scream from my sleep.
My honour besmirched that I outlived my King
Could anyone's shame be so deep?
So here do I sit with my wolf and my boar,
Beneath such a great sprawling tree,
And I think on my past as old men will do
And all that has happened to me.
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Latest reply: Jul 14, 2004
Briton, Breton and Britain
Posted Jul 14, 2004
The people who became Britons arrived around 1000-1500BC. They met with others whom they classed as 'giants'. The shamanistic culture of the Britons gave way to Druidism and a whole history was born. But what was that history? The Roman invasion saw the Brits slowly take on the mantle of greater glory and Celtic Christianity flourished along with the Old Ways of the Druid classes.
After Rome the west of Europe had the British stand against the invading English. There were 13 kingdoms in the north of todays England / south of todays Scotland. There was what is now Wales, Cornwall and Brittany.
What can we find from their 'histories', tales, songs, poems and language that may give us further sight of their culture/s and their true history? Not the English or Frensh version but the true version. Just a old British nobody researching millions of previous British nobodies. My websites on the Celtic Kingdom of Elmet are at www.oldtykes.co.uk and the newly started links between the Insular Brythonic lands and Brittany are at www.britt-gwenn-ha-du. All help and support gratefully accepted. John Davey
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Latest reply: Jul 14, 2004
penbardd
Researcher U789458
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