The Medieval Murderers: King Arthur's Bones

Once again he grazed his fingers over the leaden object.

‘Our community in Glastonbury might be content with the cross,’ said the abbot after a pause. ‘It is a fine relic and will doubtless draw pilgrims and visitors to our abbey. But I have a living king to account to, a fact which may be more important than our scruples about a dead one. King Richard has personally urged me to dispose of King Arthur’s remains more fittingly if they can be found. And we are nearer to finding them now than we were this morning. Surely, Brother Owen, you would wish to see the mortal remains of this great monarch and warrior bestowed with all due ceremony, not lost for ever in a common graveyard?’

‘The fame of Glastonbury would sound across the land,’ said Geoffrey.

Henry de Sully said nothing. Geoffrey was right, but it was not for the abbot to make such an expedient remark.

For his part Owen said nothing either. It was obvious that he did not wish the bones to be uncovered but he would not contradict his superior outright or disagree with Geoffrey.

Further discussion was not possible since they were interrupted by the early-evening call to vespers. Wrapping the leaden cross in the blanket, Henry ushered the others from his parlour. He made a show of locking the door. They left the Hall and walked out into the darkness, now suddenly sharp and cold. As Henry passed the tent, he was reassured to see a couple of the abbey labourers keeping watch over the entrance, their faces illuminated by flaring torches. He must order an all-night vigil to be maintained at the place.

In the Lady Chapel, the abbot was aware of a subdued excitement that seemed to make the air shimmer with more than the heat and smoke from the candles. This was no ordinary evening; these were no ordinary prayers and chants. He had to struggle to keep his own mind and heart on his devotions.

To an extent, and no doubt like the other senior Benedictines, Henry de Sully felt there was some justice in the Welsh cellarer’s remark about the sacrilege of disturbing long-buried bones. But he was aware of other considerations. It was noble of King Richard to want Arthur’s bones uncovered and then buried more reverentially; it was a desire befitting a monarch. But Henry de Sully, who was well versed in the ways of power, knew that another of Richard’s motives wasn’t so high-minded. By proving Arthur dead and gone, once and for all, King Richard would be able to stamp on those troublesome legends which asserted that the legendary leader was going to return. It might help to calm an occasionally rebellious spirit in the far-western fringes and corners of the country.

The abbot had his own reasons for uncovering the remains of Arthur and Guinevere. De Sully had been elevated from the grand but dour Thames-side abbey at Bermondsey to this great foundation in the west country. The origins of Glastonbury were lost in time, but one story held that Jesus himself had walked through this watery landscape. Another tradition was that the Old Church, the very one destroyed in the fire that also laid waste to other monastic buildings, had been the handiwork of the apostles of Jesus.

The abbot did not know whether this was true. He hoped it was true. In any case it had proved a useful tradition, drawing pilgrims and worshippers as well as the merely curious to Glastonbury. De Sully glanced around the interior of the Lady Chapel, with its bright patterning of reds and blues and yellows, the dyes and paints so recent that they seemed to glisten in the candlelight. For sure, this church was far removed from the simple wattle-and-daub construction of the disciples. It had cost money to build. To restore the abbey to its former glories would cost a great deal more. At the very moment when he had been disturbed by the buzz of voices beyond his window, he had been studying estimates for repairs and rebuilding. The unearthing of King Arthur’s remains would be… convenient… in ensuring the continued flow of money into the abbey’s coffers. To say nothing of keeping King Richard’s benevolent attention fixed on Glastonbury.

So there was no question of halting the excavation just as they seemed to be on the verge of a discovery. He would order the workmen to continue their labours the next day.

These were the worldly and practical thoughts of Henry de Sully as he listened to evensong.

As he slipped quickly out of the abbey precincts after vespers, Owen the cellarer was gripped by rather less worldly considerations. He was not joining the other monks in the fraterhouse for supper. Instead he wondered how many of them would allow their thoughts to drift away from the scriptural passage that was read aloud during the meal. He wondered how many of his fellows would instead be as preoccupied as he was with this day’s discovery.

Owen paused by the main gate to catch his breath. He wasn’t used to moving at such a pace. Or perhaps it was the strain and excitement of the day’s discovery which were leaving him breathless. Owen nodded towards the lay brother who acted as porter. He didn’t have to explain his movements. With the exception of de Sully, the cellarer had more licence to come and go than anyone else in the abbey. Among other affairs, he was responsible for buying in provisions and so he had the most contact with the world beyond the monastic walls.

Owen gazed out and down from the slight slope beyond the gatehouse. Directly overhead, the night was clear with a waxing moon even though cloud was gathering in the west. The moon glinted off the lakes and rhines which dotted the land as it fell away from Glastonbury towards the great channel dividing England and Wales. As often, the Welsh cellarer had the impression that he was gazing out at a sea, broken by tiny islands scarcely more than reedy marshes and peat bogs. Glastonbury tor, on the lowest slopes of which perched the abbey and its small town, was the biggest of these islands.

Like his fellow monks, he was familiar with the story that Jesus had walked this watery region and that his disciples had constructed the first church with their bare hands. But Owen was thinking now of a quite different tradition, one which said that King Arthur had not only visited Glastonbury but had been brought here to die. That he had been buried in the Isle of Avalon.

The leaden cross excavated this afternoon was surely proof of the story. Gazing on it for the first time, seeing something which he had never dreamed of seeing in his lifetime, kneeling by the cross in the shadow of the makeshift tent, reading the Latin inscription, putting out tentative fingers to touch what had been so carelessly handled by the workmen, all this had affected Owen almost as much as if he were handling a piece of the True Cross on which the Saviour hung in his agony.

The letters HIC IACET SEPULTUS INCLITUS REX ARTURIUS IN INSULA AVALONIA swam before Owen’s eyes. The cellarer had been unable to utter a word while Frederick the sacristan was exclaiming in wonder and Geoffrey was rushing off to give the news to Henry de Sully. It was only when Abbot Henry arrived and asked Owen whether he was well that he came back to himself.

Had anyone noticed? He didn’t think so. Everyone was distracted by the discovery of the cross. He feared, however, that he might have drawn attention to himself in the abbot’s parlour by announcing they should not dig down any further in the graveyard, that it would be sacrilegious to disturb the last resting place of Arthur – or of anybody else. He did not say so aloud but, as far as Owen was concerned, the king’s bones must not be found. If they were, it would demonstrate that Arthur, the once and future king, could never return to reclaim his kingdom.

Better to find an empty grave. Better still not to dig any deeper and to be content with the cross, to treat it with the reverence which it deserved and to install it in a privileged place on display in the abbey. Where it would doubtless draw those pilgrims and visitors so desired by the abbot. Owen didn’t despise the idea of visitors. He was almost as conscious as de Sully that such guests frequently made offerings and, as cellarer, he had a clearer idea than most of the abbey’s finances and the costs of restoring the place after the ruinous fire of six years before.