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53geoffrey’s ‘very old book’

arthuriana 22.2 (2012)

Geoffrey’s ‘Very Old Book’ and Penda of Mercia

edwin pace

Major story elements in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s narrative concerning Uther Pendragon and Aurelius Ambrosius closely follow historical events recorded for the reigns of the seventh-century insular rulers Cadwallon of Gwynedd and Penda of Mercia. This may have important implications for the provenance of the Historia Regum Britanniae. (EP)

Geoffrey of Monmouth’s claim for the existence of ‘a very old book in the British tongue’ (Britannici sermonis librum uetustissimum) is often seen as

little more than a cunning fiction.1 The Historia Regum Britanniae differs so markedly from all previous material about ancient Britain that many scholars dismiss the idea that Geoffrey had access to some now-lost source for the reigns of almost a hundred British kings.2 If such a book existed, they ask, why do we see no evidence for it in any previous work? Why do the stories of Aurelius, Uther, and Arthur differ so radically from the known evidence for this period? Clearly, the Historia Regum Britanniae (henceforward ‘HRB’) is a product of Geoffrey’s own literary genius, not the result of a happy discovery of authentic ancient material.

It is certainly true that there is much that is fanciful (and certainly non-historical) in the good bishop of St Asaph’s book. Various observers have demonstrated how Geoffrey seems to misquote and manipulate Gildas, Bede, and other writers in order to create more vivid narratives.3 It has also been demonstrated that literally hundreds of names have been taken from other sources to lend an air of credibility to the work. In Geoffrey’s battles the commanders of each detachment are named. In his ceremonies, the part played by each vassal is described in obsessive detail.4 When we read that Ali Fatima commanded a Roman Army unit in fifth-century Gaul, it is difficult to resist the conclusion that most of the HRB is a clever literary deception.5 As one study has asserted, Geoffrey ‘pillaged other authors with unequalled audacity to fabricate what he certainly did not believe himself.’6

There have been some dissenting voices to this skepticism, however. Acton Griscom and Lewis Thorpe were willing to consider that Geoffrey’s claim was more than mere fiction.7 Molly Miller, Peter Bartrum, and Michael Curley have each allowed that Geoffrey may have had access to some written material,

06_PACE aurelius ambrosius.indd 53 5/27/12 8:43 PM

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albeit no more than a few pages of text.8 Mary L.H. Thompson ventured that a Late Antique story of Vercingetorix might lie behind the account of Arthur’s Roman war, while Roger Sherman Loomis saw the deeds of the Irish hero Llwch Llawwynnawc as a possible exemplar.9

Acceptance of these arguments has been far from universal, however. Rosemary Morris perhaps best sums up much current scholarly opinion about Geoffrey’s claim when she states: ‘Geoffrey’s ex nihilo creation of a complete biography for Arthur is an ineffably important achievement.’10 The phrase ‘ex nihilo,’ however, raises an important, though largely neglected issue. The biography of Arthur is only part of a much larger narrative, the story of the House of Constantine. This is a very complex literary and quasi-historical work, comprising most of the latter half of the HRB. Yet it must be said that the authors of complex literary works on historical themes rarely create them ex nihilo. Tolstoy certainly used pre-existing historical material to write War and Peace, as did Shakespeare when he composed his history plays. This implies that Geoffrey’s originality was of a very high order, in that he could assemble compelling narratives from extremely diverse materials—and on his very first attempt. Indeed, since the HRB spawned one of the most long-lived genres in world literature, one might make a case that Geoffrey was the most original writer of historical fiction ever, creating ex nihilo a literary tradition still going strong after eight centuries. But one must then ask: does the fact that Geoffrey was ‘capable’ of deceiving his readership also imply that he was ‘capable’ of producing the compelling narratives found in the HRB?

I contend that we actually possess information that helps resolve this question. This article will not directly address the historical significance of the HRB, nor will it deal with the HRB’s place in medieval literature. Rather, it is an inquiry into the possible origins of a number of key elements in the HRB—all associated with the literary figures of Aurelius Ambrosius and Uther Pendragon. As will be demonstrated, a careful examination of this material may enable future researchers to better assess the reality behind Geoffrey’s claim for his ‘very old book.’

henry, vortimer, and horsaGeoffrey’s work at first reading seems an interminable narrative of kings and battles.11 His history of the House of Constantine recounts the exploits of Aurelius, Uther Pendragon, and Arthur in minute detail. Indeed, Geoffrey provides far more ‘evidence’ for these fictional monarchs than he does for Brennius, Caesar, Claudius, or Caduallo—even though the last four characters derive from genuine historical figures whose exploits are found in a number of Latin texts.12 One must then ask: why is so much ‘reporting space’ devoted to the extended military campaigns of a fictitious dynasty? From whence comes this elaborate narrative?



One might see this phenomenon as simply the product of a good storyteller. It is arguable that the very detailed battles that the House of Constantine fights with the Saxon invaders is Geoffrey’s way of making us suspend disbelief in his fabricated ‘history.’ But if so, this is not the pattern we see in the literary works with which Geoffrey would have been familiar. The Chanson de Roland, the stories of Guillaume d’Orange, Gormond et Isembart, the Tristan material of Thomas and Beroul, and Benedeit’s biography of St Brendan do not appear to have been created ex nihilo. On the contrary, they appear to draw on earlier exemplars, either from Celtic myth or Frankish history. They are, moreover, in no sense sweeping epics of a nation’s history over many centuries. Instead, they recount the individual fates of a few main protagonists.13

There is, however, at least one contemporary of Geoffrey’s whose work rivals the epic scale of the HRB. In this writer’s work we also find a national narrative played out over many centuries, replete with the names of kings and battles. This is Henry of Huntingdon’s Historia Anglorum (hereafter ‘HA’). But Henry sincerely believes that he is writing history, not fiction. Moreover, it is undeniable that the HA is largely based on a number of pre-existing sources, first and foremost some version of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (hereafter ‘ASC ’).14 Yet it is also true that Henry seems to embellish his work to make the narrative more compelling. For example, when the Saxon Revolt begins, Henry recounts the following:

Utebantur eo tempore duce Ambrosio Auerliano uiro modesto…Duoque filii Gortegirni duces erant cum eo Gortemer et Categir…Et filium regis prostratum cecidit. Gortemer autem, frater eius, uir uere strenuissimus, ex obliquo aciem Horsi disrupit, et ipso Horso interfecto uirorum fortissimo, reliquie cohortis ad Hengistum fugiunt….

[Their commander at this time was the virtuous Ambrosius Aurelianus…The two sons of Vortigern, Vortimer and Cateyrn, were commanders with him...The king’s son (Cateyrn) fell dead. But Vortimer his brother, truly a most valiant man, broke into Horsa’s line on its flank, killed Horsa, the bravest of men and put the remainder of his company to flight toward Hengist…].15

No earlier source reports that Ambrosius led the British force in this battle, nor is there any previous evidence for Vortimer’s brilliant tactical maneuver. When we read the Laud and Parker manuscripts of the ASC, we find that Henry’s stirring narrative is a manifest embellishment of earlier, very terse citations. Thus, the fact that Geoffrey uses similar embellishments in his narratives does not automatically imply that the rest of his story was composed ex nihilo. We find the same questionable inventions in a contemporary work that uses sources of great antiquity. The fact that a contemporary Anglo-Norman writer with a significant degree of historical credibility was guilty


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of exaggeration and embellishment suggests that something more is required to ‘convict’ Geoffrey of historical fabrication.

What may also be significant is that if we had no other witness to the ASC material save Henry, he might well fall into the same category as Geoffrey. His manifest embellishments would also be ‘proof ’ that Ambrosius, Cateyrn, and Horsa were his own inventions. Thus, the one charge that really ‘sticks’ with regard to Geoffrey is that no certain exemplars have been found for most of his historical narratives.

Curiously, the exploits of the very first champion we meet in this part of the HRB is based on a source that both Geoffrey and Henry could only have seen as authentic: the ninth-century Historia Brittonum (hereafter ‘HB’).16 We find that Geoffrey, like Henry, has something to say about Vortimer, and it comes from chapters 43 and 44 of the HB. These chapters detail four battles fought in eastern Kent. In the course of the four encounters Vortimer assaults the western side of the Isle of Thanet three times. The overall sequence is as follows:

1) Unnamed battle at Thanet2) Battle on Darent River3) Battle of Episford at Thanet; death of Categirn [Cateyrn] and Horsa4) Unnamed battle at Thanet; Saxons flee to their ships17

Geoffrey certainly does employ inventions to make his account of Vortimer more vivid. He reports the battlefield deaths of Horsa and Categirn but contradicts Henry of Huntingdon by identifying not Vortimer but Categirn as Horsa’s slayer: ‘Super uadum Episford, ubi conuenerunt Horsus et Katigernus’ [At the ford of Episford Horsus opposed Katigern]. Geoffrey also gives a reason for the HB’s report of the untimely (but unspecified) death of Vortimer: poisoning by the evil Saxon Queen Ronwein. ‘Dedit illi per quendam familiarem suum uenenum potare’ [She administered poison to Vortimer by means of one of his household].18

Otherwise, Geoffrey relates what is found in the HB. This suggests a hypothesis that might be testable: could there be other pre-existing narratives in the HRB, but narratives that have been obscured by embellishment? In considering this hypothesis, it might also be useful to look more closely at Henry of Huntingdon’s main source for the wars of the Saxon Revolt—the ASC. Here we find a kind of ‘mirror image’ to Vortimer’s encounters in the HB. The battles also number four. But in the ASC Hengist and Horsa are the apparent victors in each encounter. Schematically, the list appears thus:

1) Battle of Aegelesthreap; death of Horsa2) Battle of Crecganford (Crayford, on Darent); 4,000 Britons slain3) Battle of Wippedsfleot; twelve British nobles slain4) Battle at unspecified location; Hengist takes ‘great spoil’19



If one were to read the ASC in isolation, the logical conclusion would be that Hengist was the victor in every encounter, while a similar isolated reading of the HB would suggest that Vortimer triumphed in each battle. But it may be useful to recall the testimony of our earliest historical source for this period, the sixth-century writer Gildas. In his De Excidio Britonum (hereafter ‘DEB’), Gildas’ account of the Saxon Revolt appears to contradict both sources: ‘Ex eo tempore nunc cives, nunc hostes, vincebant’ [From then on victory went now to our countrymen, now to their enemies].20

Very significantly, if we compare the ASC and HB accounts side by side, both actually seem to confirm Gildas’ testimony. The ASC reports horrific British casualties in the second and third battles, but is much more reticent about the first and fourth. Similarly, in the Vortimer list, it is only in the last engagement that we find mention of a rousing British success: ‘Barbari victi sunt, et ille victor fuit, et ipsi in fugam versi usque ad ciulas suas mersi sunt in eas muliebriter intrantes’ [The barbarians were beaten and he (Vortimer) was victorious. They fled to their keels and were drowned as they clambered aboard them like women].21 The very fact that a third Thanet battle had to be fought at all makes us suspect that the two previous assaults on the western side of the island were later seen as less than total successes.

This suggests that by the ninth century, Saxons and Britons agreed on certain aspects of their fifth-century past. But at the same time, each party felt free to claim that every battle fought was a victory for its own champion, even when this was disputed by the other side. In the above case, a pre-existing narrative was embellished to benefit a particular actor, but not so much that a related exemplar became unrecognizable. This suggests another aspect of our hypothesis: can we see evidence of competing claims by different parties, claims that may superficially obscure the links between two narratives?

aurelius and utherIt may seem very doubtful that there is an earlier exemplar for the story of two protagonists in Geoffrey’s narrative—the brothers Aurelius Ambrosius and Uther Pendragon. However, the well-known legends of Merlin’s construction of Stonehenge, and Uther’s magical exploits at Tintagel, have obscured the fact that Aurelius and Uther are first and foremost the leaders of a vigorous resistance to the encroaching Saxons. Strangely, the action takes place mainly in Northumbria, an area which is almost completely ignored in British and Saxon records purporting to address fifth-century events.22 This may in fact be an indication that a much wider perspective is needed.

The two brothers begin their careers as youthful exiles in Brittany. But when they reach manhood they return to Britain, where Aurelius is crowned king. His first act is to lead a force northward against Saxons in the vicinity of York. Yet, curiously, the only troops explicitly named in the expedition


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come from the Celtic fringe: Brittany, Gwynedd, and Dyfed.23 This force defeats the Saxons at a field called ‘Maisbeli.’ Aurelius then pursues his foes to a certain Kaerconan, usually identified as the modern Yorkshire town of Conisbrough.24 Here the pagans are decisively crushed in a set-piece battle east of the city. This allows the Britons to take a just revenge on the Saxon leader Hengist: ‘Accepit itaque Eldol gladium et duxit eum extra urbem et amputato capite’ [So Eldol took a sword, led Hengist outside the city, and cut off his head]. These victories also enable Aurelius to restore British churches destroyed by the Saxons and to appoint new bishops for Chester and York. But, having decisively beaten the pagan foe, the king takes pity and allows them to settle in the far north of Britain. He also restores lands to the descendants of dispossessed Britons.25 There follows a supernatural interlude, which recounts how Merlin transported the monoliths of Stonehenge from Ireland.26

In the first part of the story, Aurelius’ younger brother stays very much in the background. Only when the elder sibling falls ill does Uther Pendragon take center stage. Strangely, Uther fights his initial encounter not in the north, where the Saxons have settled, but at faraway St Davids. This is the only time in Geoffrey’s entire work that this coastal Welsh city is mentioned as a place of battle.27 Still stranger, Uther defeats opponents who include Irish and fellow Britons. This younger brother also has a different persona from Aurelius. Instead of looking after the needs of the Church, Uther becomes involved in a magical shape-shifting episode, aided by the northern British figure Merlin.

During this time Uther’s brother dies. This is heralded by a star with a tail—a comet. ‘…apparuit stella…uno radio contenta’ [There appeared a comet…with a single tail]. This same comet further occasions the new king’s honorific, ‘Pendragon.’ There follows another battle with the Saxons, which the Britons lose. Uther is then besieged at a place called Mount Damen, but defeats his foes in a surprise attack. ‘At Britones…ocius adeunt castra et inuadunt repertoque aditu nudatis ensibus in hostes concurrunt’ [The Britons…got quickly to the camp, burst in and fell upon the enemy with drawn swords]. This enables Uther to pacify the country all the way to Scotland.28

Then, like Aurelius, Uther falls ill. Under the leadership of a subordinate, Loth of Lothian, the Britons carry on a protracted, indecisive struggle against the Saxons. Finally, upon hearing of a Saxon landing in Scotland, Uther rouses himself and leads his army out to battle. Yet, very illogically, the Saxons in the meantime have somehow removed far to the south, to St Albans—which, like St Davids, is only mentioned once in the HRB as a battle site.29 Here a bitter siege ensues, with great loss on both sides. Eventually the Britons triumph. But, like Vortimer and Aurelius, Uther then dies from poisoning. It is this tale of strife and uncertainty that sets the stage for Arthur’s advent.30



The above may seem like a bewildering series of events, thrown together almost at random by an enthusiastic storyteller. The writer would in no way argue that it is a ‘lost saga’ of the House of Constantine. But he would still suggest that there are historical exemplars for nearly all of this. And they come from a period when the fate of Britain was just as uncertain as in the time of the fifth-century Ambrosius Aurelianus.

cadwallon and pendaThe name Aurelius Ambrosius almost certainly derives from the historical British leader Ambrosius Aurelianus. But for our purposes it may be the lack of material on this historical personage that is most significant. Gildas presents Ambrosius as a kind of liberation figure for the Britons, yet up to the ninth century we find almost no details attached to him. While the battle of Badon occurs immediately after his appearance in Gildas’ text, the latter makes no attempt to connect Ambrosius with that event. Indeed, the only battle with which this leader is associated is the ninth-century HB’s mysterious ‘Discord of Guollop.’31 Ambrosius is thus considered very important, yet is paradoxically associated with almost no events. The very limited evidence available makes Ambrosius in effect a palimpsest, upon which any narrative might be imposed.

No known historical British leader has been associated with the pre-Galfridian Uther Pendragon. There are early mentions of him in the Pa Gur and the Welsh Triads. Another early work, ‘The Death Song of Uther Pendragon,’ describes him as a great warrior, one who has taken a hundred heads. The poem also claims that he has founded a line of kings and Arthur has only a ninth part of his strength.32 But again, what may be more significant is what is not said in the earliest sources. Uther’s descendants are not specified. He is never described as Arthur’s father. We only assume this because of what Geoffrey tells us in the twelfth century.33

It might be instructive to take a closer look at this death song, specifically its Welsh title, Marwnad Uthyr Pen. Once again, what is most interesting is what is not here—the Welsh word for military commander, dragon.34 Instead, in one of the earliest Welsh sources, we find this literary figure called, not ‘Uther Pendragon,’ but simply ‘Uthyr Pen.’ This suggests that either form was sufficient for a medieval reader to recognize just who this figure was. Moreover, ‘Uther’ and ‘pen’ are ambiguous words. ‘Uther’ is both an early proper Welsh name and the Welsh adjective ‘terrible’ or ‘dread.’ ‘Pen’ has the meaning of both the noun ‘head’ and the adjective ‘chief.’35 Uthyr Pen is thus a figure of uncertain provenance, whose very name elements are uncertain. He is as much a palimpsest as Ambrosius.

We do, however, find a historical character with a name superficially like Uther Pen. The Welsh knew him as Panna. But he flourished not in the


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fifth, but the seventh century. Moreover, he was not Welsh but English. This is Penda of Mercia, who fought against the expanding power of the English kingdom of Northumbria. Penda’s main ally in this struggle was a very powerful British ruler, Cadwallon, king of Gwynedd. Indeed, like the fictional Aurelius, Cadwallon was originally the senior partner in the alliance. It was only the British king’s death in battle that made Penda the leader of the coalition.36

The equation of Penda with Pen—and Cadwallon with Aurelius—may seem dubious in the extreme. Yet a comparison of the careers of the two seventh-century warlords with those of Geoffrey’s fictional monarchs is most interesting. One of the earliest mentions of Cadwallon reports him as an exile in Ireland, evading the expanding power of King Edwin of Northumbria. But the Briton’s career soon took a spectacular turn. Allied with Penda and a number of Welsh rulers, Cadwallon gave battle to Edwin in about 633. This encounter has two names. In the Annales Cambriae (hereafter ‘AC ’) we read: ‘Gueith Meicen, et ibi interfectus est Etguin’ [The battle of Meigen, and there Edwin was killed].37 However, in Bede we find: ‘Et conserto graui proelio in campo qui uocatur Haethfelth, occisus est Eduini’ [A fierce battle was fought in the place called Haethfelth (Hatfield Chase) and Edwin was killed’].38 But Meicen is in Powys, while Hatfield Chase is northeast of the present Doncaster. A number of scholars see this as evidence for two separate encounters, Meicen being the initial battle and Hatfield Chase providing the venue for King Edwin’s final demise.39 Of even more interest, Hatfield Chase is only ten miles northeast of Conisbrough, the probable site of Aurelius’ second victory at Kaerconan. Any army fleeing from a defeat in Wales would first have to pass through this town to reach Hatfield Chase. The site of Cadwallon’s great victory over Edwin is thus virtually identical to the venue of Aurelius’ defeat of Hengist.40

Cadwallon’s triumph changed the balance of power in northern Britain for a time, allowing a Welsh army to overrun most of Northumbria, including York. Many among the Northumbrian elite fled the kingdom. Most prominent was York’s new bishop, Paulinus, who never returned to his vacant see and died in Rochester. The victory also saw King Edwin suffer the identical fate of Hengist. In Bede we read: ‘Adlatum est autem caput Eduini regis Eburacum’ [The head of king Edwin was brought into York].41 Cadwallon then suffered a temporary reverse when he was besieged by Edwin’s cousin, Osric, possibly at York. But Bede then reports a reversal of fortune quite as dramatic as Uther’s victory at Mount Damen: ‘Osricum erumpens subito cum suis omnibus imparatum cum toto exercitu deleuit’ [He (Cadwallon) broke out suddenly with all his forces, took Osric by surprise, and destroyed him and all his forces].42



The next year saw a fatal reverse for British fortunes. Cadwallon met Edwin’s successor, King Oswald, at ‘Hefenfelth,’ as Bede calls it.43 There the Welsh army was routed and Cadwallon was slain. This, however, was far from the end of the story. Cadwallon’s ally, King Penda, went on the offensive. In about 642 he slew Oswald at the battle of Maserfelth, or, as it was known in Wales, ‘Cogfry.’44

Penda’s hegemony lasted longer than Cadwallon’s.45 In 645 the AC speaks of a conflict at St Davids.46 Effectively controlling most of Northumbria, Penda’s armies then embarked on a series of extended campaigns southwards, driving the Wessex King Cenwealh into exile and killing King Anna of East Anglia.47 Finally, in about 654 Penda led a joint Mercian and Welsh expedition north, to a settlement called Iudeu, sometimes seen as Stirling in Scotland. There he reportedly exacted a huge tribute from Oswald’s brother, King Oswiu.48 But Oswiu shadowed Penda’s force on its return journey, ambushing it at a place called Campus Gaius, or Winwaed, probably on the Went River. Penda was decisively defeated. The AC citation reads ‘656 an. Strages Gaii Campi’ [656: The slaughter of Campus Gaius].49 Sources are not clear as to the Mercian king’s ultimate fate, however. Bede’s chronicle in his Historia reports: ‘Anno DCLV Penda periit’ [655: Penda perished]. But the AC citation for the year following the battle suggests that the Mercian died a year after Campus Gaius: ‘657 an. Penda occisio’ [657: Penda killed]. Like Uther, he thus may have been remembered as suffering something other than a battlefield death. Whatever Penda’s personal fate, however, this effectively marked the last attempt by the Welsh to regain lands outside of present-day Wales. That the Historia Brittonum ends its narrative here is therefore no surprise.50

Two other things about Penda and this troubled time stand out. Bede describes the Mercian king as a pagan,51 while the HB author specifically charges him with being victorious ‘per diabolicam artem’ [through the arts of the Devil].52 Moreover, during the time of Penda’s hegemony we find the following entry in the AC: ‘650 an. Ortus stellae’ [650: The rising of a star]. This is not the recurring visit of Halley’s Comet, which the AC reports for the year 676. Instead it may mark a unique celestial phenomenon that Korean and Chinese sources date to the year 647. The citation for this year mentions the appearance of a hui, the usual name for a comet.53

In view of the above evidence, it might be useful to compare the narratives of the two seventh-century rulers with those of the two sons of Constantine:


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table i Cadwallon Aurelius

Exile in Ireland Exile in Brittany

633 Meicen victory Maisbeli victory

633 Hatfield Chase victory Victory near Kaerconan (near Conisbrough) (Conisbrough)

Edwin beheaded Hengist beheaded

York captured York captured

Merlin builds Stonehenge

Bishop Paulinus flees York New bishop at York

York siege, Cadwallon Victory

634 Defeat at Denisburna, death Poisoned

table ii Penda Uther Pendragon

642 Penda slays Oswald

645 Assault on St Davids St Davids battle

650 ‘Rising of star’ citation in ‘Pendragon’ comet name Annales Cambriae York siege, withdrawal

Mt Damen siege, victory

Northumbrian hegemony Provinces in North pacified Paganism, ‘devil’s arts’ Shape shift at Tintagel Campaigns in Wessex Campaigns against Saxons and East Anglia

655 Siege of ‘Iudeu’ in Scotland Saxon landing in Scotland, siege (= Alban/Albania) at St Albans Death after Winwaed defeat Poisoned

Note: Supernatural elements in bold; unmatched elements in italics



The above is not a perfect match. Names at times differ, just as the ASC’s encounter at ‘Wippedsfleot’ becomes ‘Episford’ in the HB. But nearly every element in one list has an analogue in the other—and in the same order. In particular, the Northumbrian venue of the action, the battles near Conisbrough, the beheading of both Saxon leaders, the leadership change in the York see, the St Davids action, the stellar phenomenon, and the drawn out campaigns ending in an ‘Alban’ siege all argue for something much more than mere coincidence.

At the same time, Geoffrey’s account could certainly be seen as an ‘embellishment’ of the sketchy material provided by Bede, the HB, and the AC. Thus, just as we possess contrasting narratives of fifth-century events for the careers of Vortimer and Hengist, so too does it appear that here we may have contrasting narratives for the seventh-century struggle between Northumbria and her British and Mercian foes. In one we find the tale of a Christian British king’s ‘liberation’ of northern Britain from Saxon control. In the other we see a Northumbrian account of the ‘ravaging’ of this same area by a Welsh ‘tyrant’ and a ‘pagan’ Mercian. Instead of contradicting, the two narratives actually seem to complement one another.

It might be objected that Osric’s siege of Cadwallon at York has no clear parallel in Aurelius’ exploits. But Bede’s report that Cadwallon ‘broke out suddenly with all his forces, took Osric by surprise, and destroyed him and all his forces’ suggests a ready alternative.54 This event actually resembles the siege of Uther at Mount Damen, followed by his victory in a night assault. In both instances a surprise attack on the besiegers turns the tide. Cadwallon’s victory may thus have plausibly been ‘borrowed’ at some indeterminate date to flesh out Uther’s story. However, since Penda was allied to Cadwallon at this time, it cannot be ruled out that he took part in the battle as a subordinate and might plausibly have later claimed it as his own victory.

Another difference is how the careers of the two pairs end. Whereas Cadwallon and Penda meet with death and defeat, Aurelius and Uther overcome their foes, although in each case dying from poison afterward. A tragic ‘death in victory’ is quite effective from a literary point of view, and echoes Arthur’s tragic demise at Camlann. Both deaths might thus plausibly be explained in terms of literary ‘embellishment’ over a long period of transmission.

A third apparent anomaly is the difference in the names of certain battles (Meicen/Maisbeli, York/Mount Damen). But in the case of Maisbeli, Tatlock considered that this was merely the Welsh word for ‘field’ (maes), arguably combined with a genitive of the Latin bellum.55 Likewise, Damen has a possible cognate with Welsh tamen, or ‘mound,’ implying that this is not a place name, but a generic description of the ‘high ground’ fought over in battles of every era.56


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One final anomaly involves the venue of the last battle. Penda fought his final encounter far to the north, after besieging a certain Iudeu in Scotland.57 This parallels the HRB’s report of a Saxon landing in Scotland in this part of its narrative. Yet then Uther hurries south to St Albans, or ‘Verolamium’ [sic], where he wins his final victory. Again, this is a place otherwise unmentioned by Geoffrey except in the context of Alban, the saint who was martyred there. This may seem like the work of a careless storyteller. But it is well to remember that Geoffrey’s name for Scotland is ‘Alban/Albania.’58 It is thus arguable that the place name for the country ‘Alban/Albania,’ was at some point misunderstood as ‘the city of Alban,’ and written in the antiquarian form of ‘Verolamium.’

ortus stellaeThe 650 entry in the Annales Cambriae, ‘the rising of a star,’ requires a more detailed examination. It cannot be Halley’s Comet, which the AC records as arriving in 676. A Korean source states: ‘(September 647) during the eighth month of the first year Chindok Yowang, a (hui) comet appeared at the south …’59 It is probably based on earlier Chinese observations. But the fact that it is ‘in the south’ presents a problem. Since Korea and China are some twenty degrees lower in latitude than Britain, whether or not a comet seen ‘in the south’ in China would be visible from Mercia is a real question.60

A conjunction of several planets does occur in 650. However, many of the AC ’s dates for this century are actually some years off from the genuine dates. Thus, the AC reports Cadwallon’s death in the year 631, not 633. The very correctness of the conjunction argues against it, although the problem of visibility from Britain remains.

One possible way to resolve this issue is to compare the AC ’s wording for 650 versus that of 676. In the latter case, Halley’s Comet is merely reported as ‘Stella mirae magnitudinis’ [a star of marvelous brightness].61 No mention is made of its ‘rising,’ presumably above a horizon. But a comet appearing just above the southern horizon could reasonably be described as the ‘rising’ of a star.

Regardless of whether a comet or conjunction is in question here, some unusual stellar phenomenon is plainly recorded in the AC at just the time of Penda’s floruit. Moreover, this is one of only two stellar phenomena recorded in the AC from the year 444 to 954. As well, the ortus stellae citation comes first, suggesting that the regularly occurring visit of Halley’s Comet was only thought noteworthy because of the initial stellar sighting, ca. 650. In the absence of any other exemplar, this is the only alternative available for the provenance of the story of Uther Pendragon’s comet.

This also has some relevance for the accusation found in the HB: that Penda obtained his victories through black magic. Indeed, N.J. Higham



depicts the story of seventh-century Northumbria as in part a supernatural contest between Christianity and paganism. Each English ruler’s decision to convert to Christianity was heavily influenced by the level of battlefield success it provided.62 Perhaps not coincidentally, Uther Pendragon in the Welsh Triads is credited with one of the three great enchantments of the Isle of Britain.63 In other words, Uther himself was remembered as an enchanter, not merely as a monarch who employed the magician Merlin.64 Thus, the unusual stellar phenomenon that lies behind the AC entry for 650 could plausibly have enhanced Penda’s mystique as an adept in pagan magic.

cadualloOne must still ask: does this mean that we can accept Geoffrey’s story of a ‘very old book in the British tongue’ brought ‘ex Britannia?’65 This is less certain. It is not impossible that Geoffrey simply discovered a number of early accounts about Cadwallon and Penda and then worked them into a compelling narrative. Some argue that his use of the term ‘book’ is only figurative: that it really means the whole body of British tradition, both oral and written.66 The many parallels noted above may simply mean that Geoffrey also knew of this material in the twelfth century and drew directly from it.

The problem with this view is that the extant data for this era in seventh-century British history is spread across a wide range of sources: the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, Bede, the Annales Cambriae, and the Historia Brittonum. The full story of Cadwallon and Penda is only apparent due to painstaking research by historians over many decades. That Geoffrey could produce a coherent version of this diffuse material and then deliberately hide the two authentic protagonists under fictitious names strains credulity. Indeed, this would actually make him a historian of no little skill, capable of sifting and evaluating his materials to produce a scenario that parallels modern explanations for this period. More doubtful still is the proposition that the ambiguous ortus stellae would inspire him to create a comet-story to explain Uther’s nickname.

Another piece of evidence helps to shed light on Geoffrey’s use of the Cadwallon/Penda narrative. This is the HRB’s story of the British king ‘Caduallo,’ undoubtedly an alternate version of historical accounts of Cadwallon. But if we read Geoffrey’s story with care, we find that in most respects the historical Cadwallon bears a closer resemblance to Aurelius than he does to the HRB’s Caduallo. The HRB mentions an otherwise unknown battle between Caduallo and ‘Peanda’ (Geoffrey’s name for Penda) in which the Saxon is defeated and becomes a vassal. The Caduallo story makes no mention of any event at St Davids. Moreover, Caduallo is the senior partner throughout, with Peanda always acting as an obedient subordinate. Most significantly, however, Caduallo does not meet his death in battle at Hefenfelth—or anywhere else. In sharp contrast to Cadwallon, he outlives


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Peanda and dies peacefully in his old age.67 Aurelius actually seems more ‘Cadwallonian’ than Caduallo himself. Thus, one alternative that demands further investigation is whether or not Geoffrey’s story of the two brothers derives from a pre-existing quasi-historical narrative for Cadwallon and Penda. Such a narrative would have paralleled the accounts of Bede, the HB, the ASC and the AC, but cast both historical figures in a much more favorable light.

merlinMuch of the skepticism with regard to Geoffrey’s testimony about his ‘old book’ rests on his image as a trickster, either ‘playful’68 or ‘mendacious.’69 Scholars have certainly demonstrated that Geoffrey was ‘capable’ of significantly misrepresenting his sources. But, as noted above, this blurs an important distinction between capabilities. It does not follow that anyone ‘capable’ of deception would automatically be ‘capable’ of creating ex nihilo an elaborate narrative filled with dramatic plot twists. Deviousness is not a sure guarantor of literary genius. It might thus be well to examine another of Geoffrey’s narratives.

The Vita Merlini (hereafter ‘VM’) was written after the HRB,70 and one would expect that here we should see clear-cut proof of an experienced writer’s originality. It is certainly true, for example, that the character Merlin is largely Geoffrey’s own creation. The much earlier Y Gododdin briefly mentions this personage under the older form of his name, Myrddyn. But in Y Gododdin, the future enchanter is cited in connection with ‘his song,’ suggesting that originally Myrddyn was famous more as a bard than as a wonder worker.71 That Geoffrey has created a new character is undeniable.

The VM’s basic story, however, is actually derived from a pre-existing account of one Lailoken, found in several sources, to include the vita of St Kentigern. Lailoken was a Briton driven mad after the fratricidal conflict of Arfderydd, a real battle that occurred in about 573.72 A number of early Welsh poems also mention either Myrddyn and/or someone driven mad by a battle.73 Geoffrey certainly does rework elements from the earlier story to create a different ending than the one found in the Lailoken material. Thus, in the legend of Lailoken, his unmasking of a queen’s adultery impels her to inflict a gruesome ‘triple death’ upon him. But in the VM Merlin merely predicts correctly that a perjurer who aided her will suffer this fate.74

This is by no means the last exemplar used in the VM, however. Geoffrey recycles some of Merlin’s earlier prophecies from the HRB, foremost of which is a reference to the HRB’s Arthur, ‘the boar of Cornwall’: ‘Cornubiensis apri conturbant quoque nepotes’ [The nephews of the Cornish boar disrupt everything].75 He includes as well shortened extracts from his historical material, such as: ‘Hengistumque necant Christoque volente triumphant’ [They killed Hengist, and by Christ’s will triumphed].76 The bard Taliesin also



gives an extended commentary on various natural phenomena, drawn from contemporary thinking of the School of Chartres.77

The overall plot, however, is far from a masterpiece. Geoffrey makes the adulterous queen Merlin’s sister. Thus the perjurer, not the queen herself, suffers for her deceit. The work ends with Merlin cured of his insanity but choosing a life of contemplation in the wilderness. Moreover, in sharp contrast to Lailoken’s implacable nemesis, Merlin’s royal sister shows no ill will toward her brother. Instead ‘…quo modo populos indicto jure regebat, nunc cum fratre sibi silvis nil dulcius exstat’ […she who until now had been the queen of a large nation under the appointed law, now found nothing pleasanter than living in the woods with her brother].78

There is little here that can be termed skillful or even competent plotting. Christopher Brooke characterizes the VM as ‘a strange and horrifying fairy story.’79 Events occur in a disjointed fashion, with no cumulative force behind the overall narrative. In particular, the ambiguity of the queen’s function in the VM makes for a far less effective ending when compared with the Lailoken legend.80 The Vita Merlini may be by the same author, but we find nothing in it comparable to the HRB’s compelling narratives. It is thus no surprise that Karen Jankulak notes that the work was ‘not widely copied,’ and that, in contrast to the hundreds of extant manuscripts of the HRB, only twelve copies of the VM survive.81

All the available evidence suggests that Geoffrey’s gift for creating and plotting out genuinely original stories was modest at best. To label the many similarities between the Cadwallon-Penda narratives and those of Aurelius and Uther as coincidences requires a closely reasoned argument as to where the plot for Geoffrey’s story really comes from. Evidence must be produced that can point to earlier exemplars plausibly used to produce the overall narrative. Alternately, if one asserts that the basic plot comes ex nihilo, some likely scenario must be presented that can explain why the narrative for the two brothers develops in the way that it does. In particular, the question of why Aurelius and Uther fight so many battles in such disparate places must be addressed.

It would also be welcome if other ex nihilo narratives as complex as those found in the HRB were cited, to give confidence that at least some authors have attained this level of originality. To say that the complex stories found in the HRB are products of Geoffrey’s ‘genius’ is little more than to wager that one certainly knows what was going on in the head of an author dead for nearly a millennium.

conclusionIt is undeniable that Geoffrey of Monmouth is responsible for many of the ‘inventions’ and ‘embellishments’ found in the HRB. But this is a failing


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that can be laid at the door of many well-regarded pre-modern historians. The campaigns in Northumbria, the Conisbrough-centered battles, the replacement of bishops, the beheading of Saxon warlords, the events at St Davids, and, above all, the very real evidence for some sort of stellar phenomenon make it likely that the two narratives are related. The point-by-point analogues between the careers of Cadwallon/Penda and Aurelius/Uther are too numerous to be mere coincidence. The best alternative for the provenance of Geoffrey’s Aurelius/Uther narrative is that, knowingly or unknowingly, he derived much of it from earlier material based on the careers of two seventh-century insular warlords.

That the above is the best current alternative does not, however, mean that it should be the only alternative. This is an issue that demands investigation from a number of perspectives to include the ex nihilo position. But such alternatives require an evidence-based approach—not just citations of Geoffrey’s supposed duplicity.

The present study is in no way meant to offer a definitive conclusion on Geoffrey’s claims for an earlier written exemplar. Rather, the writer hopes that it provides new evidence to help resolve this question, as well as highlighting possible avenues for further research into this very difficult issue. It is only when observers approach this data set free of preconceptions that we may begin to find the truth behind Geoffrey’s claims concerning ‘a very old book in the British tongue.’

peterborough, cambridgeshireEdwin Pace is an independent analyst and researcher. He possesses an advanced degree in European History from the University of Texas. As a career intelligence officer he has held various analytical and linguistic positions in the National Security Agency. His Arthur and the Fall of Roman Britain (Invermark Books, 2008) is a comprehensive re-examination of the chronology of post-Roman Britain.

notes 1 Geoffrey of Monmouth, The History of the Kings of Britain: An edition and

translation of the De Gestis Britonum, ed. Michael D. Reeve, trans. Neil Wright (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2007), Prologue, pp. 4–5.

2 Karen Jankulak gives the following assessment of recent scholarly opinion: ‘Geoffrey’s claim to have translated a British book…is now, however, mostly viewed as pure fiction’: Karen Jankulak, Geoffrey of Monmouth (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2010), p. 13. David Dumville calls it ‘one of the greatest romantic novels of all time.’ Presumably for this reason, he has never addressed the issue of its historicity; see ‘Sub-Roman Britain: History and Legend,’ in Histories and Pseudo-histories of the Insular Middle Ages (Aldershot: Variorum, 1990), p. 175 [173–192]. See also John J. Parry and Robert A. Caldwell, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth,’



in Arthurian Literature in the Middle Ages, ed. Roger Sherman Loomis (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1959), pp. 72–93; John S.P. Tatlock, The Legendary History of Britain: Geoffrey of Monmouth’s The History of the Kings of Britain and the Early Vernacular Versions (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1950).

3 For example, Neil Wright demonstrates how Geoffrey ‘mischievously’ makes no mention of Bede’s notice of Cadwallon’s death at the hands of King Oswald at Hefenfelth. Instead, a still-very-much alive Caduallo subsequently kills Oswald at ‘Burne,’ the historical battle of Denisburna—an encounter in which Penda was the Northumbrian king’s actual slayer. Neil Wright, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth and Bede,’ Arthurian Literature 6 (1986): 39–44 [27–59]. As to Gildas, Geoffrey uses the word for an ecclesiastical robe (amphibalus) in order to provide a proper name for St Alban’s confessor: ‘Amphibalus.’ Wright notes that ‘such willful, even playful, misrepresentation of the DEB is a frequent keynote of Geoffrey’s literary technique;’ see ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth and Gildas,’ Arthurian Literature 2 (1982): 7–8 [1–40]. See also Parry and Caldwell, ‘Geoffrey,’ pp. 74–5.

4 Tatlock’s exhaustive examination of Geoffrey’s names includes derivations from early antiquity down to Geoffrey’s own time, as well as from many different peoples: Greek, Roman, Celtic, Saxon, Frankish and Scandinavian; see Legendary, pp. 117–70. But note Arthur E. Hutson’s conclusion: ‘None of these names is a random shot which happens to hit the mark;’ British Personal Names in the Historia Regum Britanniae (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1940), p. 93.

5 ‘Uni etenim praefecerunt Lucium Catellum et Aliphatimam regem Hispaniae’ [For the first column they appointed Lucius Catellus and Aliphatima king of Spain]; HRB 10.170, pp. 240–1.

6 Parry and Caldwell, ‘Geoffrey,’ p. 75. Michael Curley, however, finds it very doubtful that Geoffrey would have dared to lie about the existence of this book, given that Walter the Archdeacon would inevitably have been implicated; see Geoffrey of Monmouth (New York: Macmillan, 1994), pp. 10–13.

7 Acton Griscom, The Historia Regum Britanniae of Geoffrey of Monmouth (London: Longmans, 1929). Geoffrey of Monmouth, The History of the Kings of Britain, ed. and trans. Lewis Thorpe (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1966), pp. 14–19.

8 Molly Miller, ‘Geoffrey: Early Royal Synchronisms,’ Bulletin of the Board of Celtic Studies 28 (1979): 389 [373–89]; Curley, Geoffrey, pp. 12–13; Peter C. Bartrum, ‘Was there a Book of British Conquests?’ Bulletin of the Board of Celtic Studies 23 (1968): 3 [1–5].

9 Mary L.H. Thompson, ‘A Possible Source of Geoffrey’s Roman War?’ in The Arthurian Tradition: Essays in Convergence, ed. Mary Flowers Braswell and John Bugge (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1988), pp. 43–53. Loomis claimed eight similarities between Arthur’s campaign against King Loth in the Huth Merlin and Geoffrey’s account of Arthur’s war with Lucius Hiberius, viewing both stories as ultimately deriving from the Irish tale of the hero Llwch Llawwynnawc; see Arthurian Tradition and Chrétien de Troyes (New York: Columbia University Press, 1949), pp. 188–90.


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10 Rosemary Morris, The Character of King Arthur in Medieval Literature (Cambridge: Boydell, 1982), p. 13.

11 The author intends the name ‘Geoffrey’ to include anyone who may have had a hand in creating the work that eventually became the HRB.

12 I am indebted to Miles Russell for first raising the possibility that Geoffrey may be using previously unsuspected exemplars in the HRB.

13 The origins of these works have been studied for centuries. Einhard’s testimony suggests that Roland’s chanson derives from a historical event; see Einhard and Notker the Stammerer: Two Lives of Charlemagne, tr. Lewis Thorpe (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1969), pp. 64–5. In the nineteenth century Rudolf Zenker made an exhaustive study of the extant evidence to argue that an 881 Viking descent on northern France lies behind Gormond’s story; see Das Epos von Isembard und Gormund (Halle: Niemeyer, 1896). For a recent treatment of the origins of the Chansons see Philip E. Bennett, ‘Origins of the French Epic: The Song of Roland and Other French Epics,’ in Approaches to Teaching the Song of Roland, ed. W. W. Kibler and L. Zarker Morgan (New York: Modern Language Association, 2006): pp. 53–6. For sources of other works, see Thomas of Britain: Tristan, ed. and trans. Stewart Gregory (London: Garland, 1991), pp. xi–xvi; and Benedeit, The Anglo-Norman Voyage of St Brendan, ed. and trans. Ian Short and Brian Merrilees (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1979), pp. 2–3.

14 The foremost scholar on Henry, Diana Greenway, notes that the work was ‘written at the explicit direction of Bishop Alexander “the Magnificent” of Lincoln’: Henry of Huntingdon, Historia Anglorum; Henry, Archdeacon of Huntingdon, ed. and trans. Diana Greenway (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), p. lvii. Henry also tells his patron that ‘Tuo quidem consilio Bede uenerabilis ecclesiasticam qua potui secutus historiam, nonnulla etiam ex aliis excerpens auctoribus, inde cronica in antiquis reseruata librariis compilans’ [on your advice I have followed the Venerable Bede’s Ecclesiastical History where I could, selecting material also from other authors and borrowing from chronicles preserved in ancient libraries]; HA, Prologue. Greenway also comments: ‘…for Henry, Bede’s authority, resting on the sure foundation of the Church’s approval, is unimpeachable;’ HA, p. lxxxvi.

15 HA 2.2–3. Greenway notes that ‘…Henry tends to expand on the Chronicle, adding imaginative details and explanations…according to the rhetorical practice of embellishment;’ HA, p. xcvi.

16 The historicity of the ninth-century HB with regard to fifth-century events is beyond the scope of this article. Various studies by David Dumville have convinced many scholars that it has little, if any, historical relevance before about 550; see in particular David Dumville, ‘Some aspects of the chronology of the Historia Brittonum,’ Bulletin of the Board of Celtic Studies 25 (1972–74): 439–45. See, as well, David Dumville, ‘Historical Value of the Historia Brittonum,’ Arthurian Literature 6 (1986): 1–26.

17 Although the HB lists only three battles, it clearly reports the number fought by Vortimer as four: ‘Et Guorthemir contra illos quattuor bella avide gessit’ [Vortimer fought four keen battles against them]. The first battle listed above therefore



follows this logic; Nennius: History of the Britons and the Welsh Annals, ed. and trans. John Morris (Chichester: Phillimore, 1980), pp. 31, 72.

18 HRB 6.101–2, pp. 132–3.19 Nicholas Brooks sees the two battle lists as related, not as a chance coincidence;

Nicholas Brooks, ‘The creation and early structure of the kingdom of Kent,’ in The Origins of Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms, ed. Steven Bassett (London: Leicester University Press, 1989), p. 64 [55–74].

20 Gildas, The Ruin of Britain and Other Works, ed. and trans. Michael Winterbottom (Chichester: Phillimore, 1978), p. 28. Dumville addresses Gildas’ chronology in detail in ‘The chronology of the De Excidio Britanniae, Book 1,’ in Gildas: New Approaches, ed. Michael Lapidge and David Dumville (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1984), pp. 61–84. See also Patrick Sims-Williams, ‘Gildas and the Anglo-Saxons,’ in Cambridge Medieval Celtic Studies 6 (1983): 1–30.

21 Nennius, pp. 31, 72.22 What little that does survive is also of very questionable historicity: see David

Dumville, ‘The Origins of Northumbria: Some Aspects of the British Background,’ in Bassett, Origins, pp. 213–222.

23 ‘Tria milia ex Armoricanis iussit equis adesse….Demetas in collibus, Venedotos in prope sitis nemoribus locauit’ [He ordered three thousand of the Bretons to remain mounted….He placed the Demetae on the hills, and the Venedoti in nearby woods]; HRB 8.121, pp. 164–5.

24 Both Thorpe and Tatlock accept the equation of Kaerconan with Conisbrough; Tatlock, Legendary, p. 21; Thorpe, History, p. 338.

25 HRB 8.127, pp 170–1. Geoffrey’s phrase: ‘amissas auorum possessiones nepotibus distribuit’ [restored to grandchildren their grandparents’ lost possessions] implies a Saxon occupation of Northumbria lasting at least a generation, which makes little sense within the story he is attempting to tell. He has previously said that these particular Saxons were expelled from Northumbria by Vortimer and have only recently recaptured York, following Hengist’s treacherous murder of the British ambassadors. Indeed, the single British survivor, Eldol, is eager to avenge the recent atrocity. Likewise, it seems less than logical that Vortimer’s earlier victories on the Darent and at Thanet would force Saxons to abandon Northumbria.

26 HRB 8.120–30, pp. 162–75.27 Tatlock notes that ‘Menavia, St Davids, one of the most historic places in Wales,

cuts a slim figure in the Historia’; Tatlock, Legendary, p. 66.28 HRB 8.123–37, pp. 164–87.29 Tatlock comments that ‘the name Verolamium was hardly used except historically

in Geoffrey’s day, suggesting that this may be a deliberate anachronism on the latter’s part’; see Legendary, p. 77.

30 HRB 8.139–42, pp. 188–93.31 HRB 66, pp. 39, 80. ‘Et a regno Guorthigirni usque ad discordiam Guitolini et

Ambrosii anni sunt XII, quod est Guollopum, id est Catguoloph’ [And from the reign of Vortigern to the quarrel between Vitalinus and Ambrosius are twelve years, that is Wallop, the battle of Wallop].


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32 Legendary Poems from the Book of Taliesin, ed. and trans. Marged Haycock (Aberystwyth: CMCS Publications, 2007), pp. 505–6.

33 Bromwich notes this in Trioedd Ynys Prydein: The Welsh Triads, ed. and trans. Rachel Bromwich, 2nd edn. (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 1978), p. 521.

34 It is also generally conceded that the dragon gloss is by a later hand: Bromwich, Triads, p. 521, n. 1. The Mydwyf Merweryd (conventionally by Taliesin) uses dragon in the sense of a military leader; Haycock, Taliesin, pp. 260–72. For a discussion on whether dragon derives from the legendary creature or late Roman military standards, see Bromwich, Triads, pp. 93–5.

35 Bromwich, Triads, p. 522. Note also the Welsh word for archbishop, pen esgob; Jenny Rowland, Early Welsh Saga Poetry: A Study and Edition of the Englynion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), p. 134.

36 Rowland, Saga, p. 184. That the Saxon Penda was a worthy leader to follow was remembered long afterward among the Welsh. The ‘Elegy for Cynddylan,’ or Marwnad Cynddylan, tells how this Welsh ruler was summoned by Mabpyd (‘the son of Pyd’), i.e., Penda, son of Pybba. In the same place Rowland notes a personal communication from Patrick Sims-Williams, hypothesizing that Mabpyd may involve a deliberate corruption of Pybba’s name, in favor of the Welsh word for ‘danger’: pyd.

37 Nennius, pp. 46, 86.38 Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People, ed. Bertram Colgrave and R.A.B.

Mynors (Oxford: Clarendon, 1991), 2.20, pp. 202–3.39 D.P. Kirby, The Earliest English Kings (London: Routledge, 2000), pp. 71–2; Leslie

Alcock, Arthur’s Britain (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1973), pp. 139–40.40 Frank Stenton, Anglo-Saxon England, 3rd edn. (Oxford: Oxford University Press,

1971), pp. 80–1.41 HE 2.20, pp. 204–5; Kirby, Kings, p. 72.42 HE 3.1, pp. 212–3; N. J. Higham, The Convert Kings: Power and Religious Affiliation

in Anglo-Saxon England (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1997), pp. 202–3.

43 Bede, A History of the English Church and People, ed. Leo Sherly-Price (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1968), 3.2, p. 143.

44 That the Uther section of the HRB gives no parallel story for Penda’s victory over Oswald is readily explained by the fact that Oswald subsequently became a saint venerated by both the Welsh and the newly converted Mercians. No positive account of Penda could claim this as a laudable deed; Kirby, Kings, pp. 73–6.

45 Few academics have focused on Penda in recent times, with the notable exception of Damian Tyler. He presents a ruler not dissimilar to Uther: ‘Penda was an overking who exercised imperium over numerous tributary kings’; Damian Tyler, ‘An Early Mercian Hegemony: Penda and Overkingship in the Seventh Century,’ in Midland History 30 (2005): 3 [1–19]. See also Nicholas Brooks, ‘The Formation of the Mercian Kingdom,’ in Bassett, Origins, pp. 159–70.



46 ‘645 an. Percussio Demeticae regionis, quando coenobium David incensum est’ [645: The hammering of the region of Dyfed, when the monastery of David was burnt]; Nennius, pp. 46, 86.

47 Kirby, Kings, p. 79.48 Kirby, Kings, pp. 76–9.49 Nennius, pp. 46, 87.50 Kirby, Kings, pp. 76–9; Andrew Breeze, ‘The Battle of the Uinued,’ in Northern

History 41 (2004): 381 [377–83].51 HE 3.18, pp. 171, 183.52 Nennius, 65, pp. 59, 80.53 The Chinese nomenclature of hui would rule out a nova; Ho Peng Yoke, ‘Ancient

and Medieval Observations of Comets and Novae in Chinese Sources,’ Vistas in Astronomy 5 (1962): 168 [127–225].

54 HE 3.1, pp. 212–3.55 Tatlock, Legendary, p. 21.56 Personal communication from Andrew Breeze.57 Kirby, Kings, p. 79.58 Curley, Geoffrey, p. 20.59 Ho, ‘Comets,’ 168.60 I am grateful to Daniel McCarthy for pointing out this objection in a personal

communication.61 Nennius, pp. 46, 87.62 Higham, Convert, p. 205; see also Henry Mayr-Harting, The Coming of Christianity

to Anglo-Saxon England (London: Batsford, 1972), pp. 6–7, 99–100. For a more ‘secular’ view of Penda, see Tyler, ‘Penda,’ 10–11.

63 Bromwich, Triads, p. 56.64 Rosemary Morris sees Uther’s loss of his role as an enchanter to Merlin as Geoffrey’s

own change to the story; see ‘Uther and Igerne: A Study in Uncourtly Love,’ Arthurian Literature 4 (1985): 74 [70–92].

65 Curley sees Brittany as the most likely meaning for ‘Britannia’ in this case; Curley, Geoffrey, p. 10.

66 Thorpe, History, pp. 14–19.67 HRB 9.190–201, pp. 260–77.68 Wright, ‘Gildas,’ p. 8.69 Parry and Caldwell, ‘Geoffrey,’ pp. 74–5. Christopher Brooke sees the HRB report

of three ancient sees for Britain (London, York, and Caerleon) as supporting no contemporary ecclesiastical claim. This is taken as an indication that Geoffrey can ‘have intended nothing but mockery and mischief ’; Christopher Brooke, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth as a Historian’ in Church and Government in the Middle Ages, ed. C.N.L. Brooke (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976), p. 82 [pp. 72–91].

70 Life of Merlin: Geoffrey of Monmouth: Vita Merlini, ed. and trans. Basil Clarke (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 1973).


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71 Aneirin, Y Gododdin, Britain’s Oldest Heroic Poem, trans. A.O.H. Jarman (Llandysul: Gomer, 1988), p. 30.

72 Nennius, p. 45.73 Curley, Geoffrey, pp. 113–118; A.O.H. Jarman, ‘The Merlin Legend and the Welsh

Tradition of Prophecy,’ in The Arthur of the Welsh, ed. Rachel Bromwich, A.O.H. Jarman, and B.F. Roberts (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 1991), pp. 117–9.

74 VM, pp. 68–71. See also Jankulak, Geoffrey, pp. 78–87; and O. Padel, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth and the Development of the Merlin Legend,’ in Cambrian Medieval Celtic Studies 51 (2006): 37–65.

75 VM, pp. 82–3.76 VM, pp. 108–9.77 VM, pp. 92–103, 104–113; Parry, ‘Geoffrey,’ pp. 91–2.78 VM, pp. 130–1.79 Brooke, ‘Geoffrey,’ p. 86.80 Curley, Geoffrey, p. 114.81 Jankulak, Geoffrey, p. 87.


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