Challenging Camelot

There are certain historical episodes that, despite their antiquity are still very much part of our modern western cultural identity. For example,  Alexander the Great and the cutting of the Gordian knot, the doomed love of Antony and Cleopatra, Nero fiddling whilst Rome burns, King Arthur pulling the sword from the stone…

They provide us with examples of conduct and attributes we may wish to emulate – like Alexander’s decisiveness and lateral thinking; or behaviour to actively avoid – no one admires Nero’s cavalier disregard for the lives and fortunes of others, whilst indulging his own hobbies and desires (oh, hang on….).

Sometimes they even provide role models that we can look up to and aspire to emulate – like the story of Arthur, an unknown and relatively lowly individual, who by one simple, unexpected act, becomes a King. But “wait a minute” I hear you say, “did King Arthur actually exist?”

There is still debate as to the verifiable existence of a fifth century Britannic king called Arthur. The British Isles had been first invaded by Julius Caesar in 55 BCE. and remained under the control of the Roman Empire until, in 410 CE, the Visigoths invaded the Rome, and the Empire, forced to deploy all its forces in defence, withdrew its troops and administrators. This plunged Britannia into the social, economic and political disorder that have traditionally been called the Dark Ages.

In his book The Anglo Saxons: A history of the beginnings of England: 400 to 1066 (Pegasus Books, 2021) historian Marc Morris states that at this point in history: “Britain was a failed state”. Its civic institutions were in disarray, its peoples leaderless. The land was ripe for the taking, and the Angles, Saxons and Jutes – war-like tribes from Germany and the Netherlands - did exactly that.

It is against this backdrop of chaos, violence and confusion that the stories of Arthur –  his Knights and his Round Table – are set. References to  Arthur appear in to early historical sources – such as the  10th century Annales Cambiae and the Historia Brittonum (828 CE), but it is not until the twelfth century and the publication of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae (The History of the Kings of Brittain) that we find a  detailed depiction of  King Arthur as a mighty warrior, who defeated the invaders and held the Saxons at bay.

The veracity of these Histories has frequently been questioned, and although recent research has revealed evidence to support the idea of a British resurgence during the late fifth and early sixth centuries – aligning with the supposed dates of Arthur’s reign, it is not possible to say with any certainty that he existed. What is certain however, is that the idea of Camelot and all that it has come to represent has been used for centuries to reinforce an ideal of ethical behaviour and strong leadership.

Elizabeth Proctor in "The Legendary King: How the Figure of King Arthur Shaped a National Identity and the Field of Archaeology in Britain" (2017, University of Maine) notes that:

“It is important to recognize that the contemporary version of Arthur is the result of various political forces from the past.  Different traits were added to his character in an attempt to connect the often unfamiliar ruling elite with the masses and the history of the land they were trying to control”.

King Arthur has long been a symbol of British identity, supposedly the very embodiment of the ideals of chivalry, loyalty and moral rectitude. But as I looked into the early writings and began to unpick them, it became clear to me that there was a darker side to the story. I began to realise that the origins of Camelot were not to be found in the almost comedic tale of lost and found identity that surrounds the extraction of the sword of the stone, but in a tangled web of deceit, political machination,  and  the rape and abuse of his mother, Igraine of Cornwall.

This led me to consider not whether Arthur did or did not exist as an historical figure -  that is something we need further evidence to determine - but to ask what for me is a rather more important question:   Why do we continue to see the stories of Camelot through a Hollywood-lens of charming animation,  musical-comedy and knights doing the can-can, when at their heart is a blood-feud as violent and destructive as any Greek Tragedy? 

This is the perspective that I seek to challenge, and in my book The Chosen Queen,  I begin at the beginning – with the conception of Arthur and the events that led up to it.

The story goes as follows: Igraine was married to Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall, with whom she had several children. Uther Pendragon, who had recently inherited the throne of Britain, becomes infatuated with Igraine and tries to force his attentions upon her. Igraine informs her husband, and they leave court without consent.

This is seen as treason, and Uther declares war on Gorlois,  slays him and rapes Igraine, who conceives Arthur.  When Arthur is born, he is taken away from Igraine and fostered, growing up knowing nothing of his identity or family. His sisters, Morgan and Morgause, blame their half-brother for the death of their father, the destruction of the family unit, and the disgrace of their mother.

In every version of the story I have read, the rape of Igraine is little more than a footnote. It is not questioned, and its implications are given little consideration. But to ignore it, and hold up these tales as examples of moral rectitude is equivalent to ignoring the facts of slavery and imperialism.

This literary silencing of a victim of rape is, sadly, representative of the way rape victims have long been treated. Rape victims have often been advised not to report their attack, or have been challenged, shamed and disbelieved if they do so. The recent case in France, in which Gisèle Pelicot, drugged and raped by her husband and numerous others over a nine-year period, refused to be shamed by what had happened to her,  is inspirational, and I hope marks a change in the way society will regard rape, its victims and its perpetrators in the future.

In The Chosen Queen I call into question the idea that Arthur and the tales of Camelot necessarily provide us with a positive example of ethical leadership, seeking to provide another voice to counter balance our received understanding.   I also seek to give a voice to a woman who has been silenced, and in doing so, pay tribute to others, whose voices have not been heard.