Via Francigena: Day 4 Campagnano to La Storta (24 km)

Posted on May 23, 2026 by M. Roland

May 12, 2026 (Tuesday). Primavera/ Regeneration

Oh glorious new day and the regeneration of both sleep and springtime! Paul worked on my back and we have new energy for the day and walk ahead.

Notice that the map of Campagnano di Rome includes the surrounding bosco, forest. A surprising aspect of being in these stone medieval towns is that they are in conversation, spatially, with the surrounding forests in a way that is incredibly beautiful, affording expansive views and a sudden transition from cityscape to landscape. And it is springtime here in Italy and so so green . . .

We read on the Via Francigena app that the trail for the second portion of today’s walk, from the town of Formello, about half-way through, to La Storta, our destination, has been washed out due to a landslide from the recent rains. We set off for Formello for the first half of the walk; rather than walk the busy road that is offered for the second part of today’s walk we plan to . . . take another bus! Good for the recovering back as well.

After walking up steep country roads into the Parco Vero in the Sorbo Valley, we come to the hilltop Santuario del Sorbo, a former convent with a wide vista of the surrounding forest and countryside. On the alter is perched an 11th c icon of the Madonna and child, serene and placid over these many centuries. In the apse, is a fresco of the ascension of Mary (my Catholic upbringing comes in handy for interpreting the various scenes depicted in medieval art). What captures my attention is the earthly city (presumably Jerusalem?) that she is leaving behind. Notice the close interchange between town and landscape, a feature that we are experiencing today.

Outside the church, we eat a cheese sandwich and take in the glorious view on this sunny but temperate and slightly breezy day. Oh to be walking the Via Francigena in spring!

Before we leave this mountaintop sanctuary, we notice a sign: Eccomi, which translates as “Here I am.” Exactly. We feel present and touched by the quiet spirituality of the various churches along the way as well as of the landscape and friendly welcomes we have received at the various inns and trattorias. As we begin to walk back down the steep driveway, we notice a series of signs declaring five virtues: gioia, bonito, austeria, servicio, sacrificio (joy, goodness, austerity, service, sacrifice). We reframe them within our sensibilities to joy, kindness, simplicity, service, and . . . consideration of the needs of others?

We cover a few more kilometers in the Sorbo Valley and come into the town of Formello. Here we say hello to a group of pelligrini that we saw this morning. They are a high-spirited group from Poland and are camping along the way. We eye their heavy backpacks and are glad to be waking inn to inn.

We drink a coke with a few cubes of ice (which is hard to come by) then criss-cross the town trying to find the bus stop to take us to La Storta. The Polish pelligrini laugh in friendly camaraderie as we pass by them four times (!!) due to our phone map’s arrow getting confused among the medieval walls.

At last we get on a bus going somewhere that turns out not to be where we need to go! The driver kindly stops to let us off and we just have a good laugh at the ridiculous last hour of aimless wandering. Finally, we resort to modern technology and summon an Uber to take us from a bus stop somewhere on the side of the road outside Formello to La Storta, a quick 6 mile ride.

After days of solitude and the open spaces of farms and forests, we arrive at the busy, commercial strip of the Via Cassia which our guidebook describes as “charmless.” Tomorrow, the last leg of the journey will bring us into Rome; it looms large in our imagination and we wonder what this culmination of our Via Francigena walk will mean to us.

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Via Francigena, Day 3: Sutri to Campagnano di Roma Officially 28-31 km, but we walked about 18km (11 mi)

Posted on May 22, 2026 by M. Roland

May 11, 2026 (Monday).

Hubris. We woke from a night’s rest after our long, rainy walk yesterday stiff and achey. We both exercise daily, but we did little or nothing to prepare for this walk. And this morning–we feel it. Oooff! Being generally fit does not prepare you for walking 15 to 18 miles a day carrying a light backpack. Yes, hubris.

We stretch and feel better. After checking the All Trails app, we see comments from previous hikers that the first 10 km is along a busy, trafficy road with no shoulder. They warn that it is dangerous and a bad route. Our alternative is to ADD a 3.2 km detour that we already walked by mistake yesterday (and back).

We consider the “purity” of our walk–does it “count” if we don’t walk every kilometer? With a certain liberation, we opt to take a local bus through the first dangerous kilometers. We shoulder our backpacks and groan but are relieved that it will be a shorter walk day.

This option gives us time to explore the medieval hill town of Sutri, have a cappuccino in the town square, notice the “Arthurian” town logo, and visit the Roman amphitheater carved out of rock (rather than built of concrete).

Can you see my relief at being on the bus? The narrow, dangerous road road did justify our decision–when that bus passes the oncoming car the only option would be a leap into the bushes–but the relief is mostly for choosing joy over pain, letting go of an external “should.”

On we go past large fields, olive groves, white sheep and white cattle. My back hurts and my toes are blistered. We climb in elevation to Monte Gelato where there is a refreshing stream and cascata (waterfall). I speculate that Italian words starting with “gel-” must mean cold or icy: gelato (ice cream), ghiaccio (ice) and here, a mountain with icy-cool cascades.

That last kilometers to our destination are slow-going. I have to stop every half hour to take off my backpack and stretch. I wonder, for the first time, if I’ll be able to keep up the daily walk. At last, the bell tower of Campagnano di Rome rises from the landscape like a vision of Oz. I think of the phrase from Malory’s Roman War episode in which the Roman ambassadors reach Sandwich and “were never so blithe” [happy] at arriving at their destination. It’s been a tough day of walking and we have a very steep ascent up into the medieval hill town, but I am feeling “blithe” to reach the day’s destination.

I wonder if the “testimonia” that we will receive when we finish the pilgrimage is like a certificate from Oz, simply confirming the strengths we already have? What is the affirmation we are seeking?

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Via Francigena, Day 2: Vetralla to Sutri, 24 km + an additional and unplanned 6 additional km (18 miles)

Posted on May 21, 2026 by M. Roland

May 10, 2026 (Sunday)

Intention

Before we began our Via Francigena pilgrimage, we reflected on our intentions and aspirations. Rome, as the Catholic center of the world, does not hold a religious force for either of us. I grew up Catholic and was once married in the Catholic Church, but I journey now, as does Paul, with the Lutheran community and with Buddhist teachings.

Medieval pilgrims were drawn to Rome as the center of their faith. Jerusalem was often unsafe or impossible to reach for European Christians in the Middle Ages, so Rome became a kind of stand-in for the Holy Land: it was the site of the martyrdom of St. Peter and of St. Paul and had become the holy city of Christianity.

For us, our intentions are not relief from purgatory, absolution of sins, or earning credits toward salvation (though perhaps we need them!). Influenced by Buddhism and its emphasis on mindfulness, our intentions are to be present — to walking, to the landscapes, to spirit within us and those we meet, and to each other. With gratitude for being able-bodied, we are animated by this ancient route, trod by generations of traders, soldiers, emissaries, and pilgrims before us. Andiamo!

We start out from Vetralla under overcast skies. Along the way, we stop into any church with an open door and are particularly drawn to images and statues of Mary (my Catholic upbringing!) or to ones of Mary as Mother with child. Paul has a new grandson so babies on our on minds. A light drizzle comes and goes, so the 2 Euro poncho becomes essential.

We are soon out of the town area and pick up a trail into the thickly wooded oak forest of Bosco Montefogliano Park where we hike for an hour or so. With the spring rains, it is incredibly lush with every possible shade of spring green, both in the tall forest canopy, in the verdant undergrowth, in the tangle of wildflowers, and in the open meadows. We see two pelligrini this morning, heading out of town, and two more coming from the direction of Rome; other than that, we have this incredible bosco on this Sunday morning to ourselves, awash in birdsong.

After the forest, we travel through landscapes shaped by human culture: acres and acres of hazelnuts (we are in the land of Nutella, and Italy, after Turkey, is a major producer. Coming from Oregon, I chauvinistically thought the Willamette Valley was the hazelnut capital of the world, but I learn that it is the hazelnut capital of the U.S. and only a small part of world production.) We pass by an iconic country villa driveway, lined with Italian cedars and umbrella pines, and, in the town of Capranica, see that a wedding happened earlier in the day.

In the afternoon, I become aware that I have thrown out a rib or pulled a muscle (by frequently twisting around to get my camera out of my backpack). By now, a deluge has started and we two pilgrims scurry through a dark woods in pouring rain, mimicking Tolkien’s hobbits hurrying through the foreboding Mirkwood Forest. The rain is pummeling down in earnest now. Ponchos on, head down, about 5 miles to go til we get to Sutri.

At last, we see the clock tower of Sutri ahead and experience the relief pilgrims must have felt in coming out of the forest and into a town. But we are so downward focused due to the rain that we walk right by our inn and trek an additional 2 miles past and then 2 miles back. We arrive cold and stiff.

Still, the rains enforced our intention of being present–we could do nothing more than walk, step by step.

[We can] learn to live in an awakened way, living deeply every moment of our life, treating those with who are close to us with gentleness and respect . . . Living in the present moment we are able to be in touch with life’s wonderful, refreshing, and life-giving phenomena, which allow us to heal the wounds in ourselves. Every day we become more wonderful, fresh, and healthy.

— from Thich Nhat Hahn, “Deep Seeing,” The Pocket Thich Nhat Hanh

The wisdom of the Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hahn, is reflected in this sign along the muddy forest trail:

Sign in photo: Ambulo Ergo Sum. Translation from the Latin: I walk, therefore I am.

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Via Francigena – Day 1: Viterbo to Vetralla, 23 km (14.5 miles)

Posted on May 20, 2026 by M. Roland

May 9, 2026 (Saturday). We leave Viterbo under sunny skies and with high spirits!

We start on the Viccolo dei Pelligrini, the traditional route out of Viterbo to Rome, and are outside the city walls in just a short time. We are soon walking along the mysterious Etruscan cave-road, then past fields edged with wildflowers and an abundance of poppies.

After about an hour and a half of walking, we detour to the Terme Tuscia, adding a few kilometers to the day’s total. The Lazio region is volcanic so there are many hot springs. Even though we haven’t “earned” a rest yet, we have to sample the local soaking culture!

Along the way, we pass farm fields, trek uphill past olive orchards, and are barked at by the large, white Maremmano dogs, traditional in this area for tending flocks of sheep. The general area we are walking in is known as Tuscia Viterbese, rich in Etruscan (pre-Roman) history. So far, we have seen just three other “pelligrini” (pilgrims) and have spent most of the day in rural areas without seeing another soul.

In the late afternoon, we visit Santa Maria di Foro Cassio, an 11th century church along the roadside, then walk up hill to the village of Vetralla, in the foothills of Monte Fogliano.

Map from ForWalk website

Our pilgrim passports have been stamped in Viterbo, Terme Etrusia, and at Santa Maria di Foro Cassio, satisfyingly validating our sense of accomplishment at the end of the day. Ever a gold-star sticker kid!

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Pre-walk: a day to get our bearings in Viterbo

Posted on May 19, 2026 by M. Roland

The presence and imagery of pilgrims, “pelligrini” in Italian, along the towns of the Via Francigena is centuries old, as the reproductions of medieval pilgrims, above, represent.

Viterbo has a sizable medieval quarter, an astonishing and beguiling portal to another era. The medieval “profferlo,” above right, is a beautiful architectural structure unique to the Viterbo area, a ground-level commercial space with a curved stairway up to the living quarters.

Two small packing “cubes” will stuff into each of our daypacks, all that we are carrying for the next week. Two shirts, one pair of pants, one skirt, a light sweater, and a “Houdini” (a compressible wind- breaker). We are leaving our suitcases with the hotel.

The greeting to fellow pelligrini is either “buon viaggio” (have a good journey, in Italian) or “buen camino” (have a good walk, in Spanish, adopted from the more famous walk to Santiago de Compostela in Spain, known as the Camino de Santiago or Way of St. James).

Tomorrow morning, we will start our walk under the lace-like arches of the Palazzo dei Papi, the complex where 13th century popes left Rome for a safer situation and cooler climate. For us, a cool May offers a forecast of 60 to 70-degree temperatures mixed with rain. We buy Paul a 2 euro plastic poncho, just in case. We’ve got our pelligrini “passports” to collect stamped imprints along the way that will validate that we made the 112km journey to Rome. Will we make it??

Guidebook (check), All Trails app (check), phones (check), water (check), ponchos (check!)–backpacks on! Andiamo a Roma.

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Walking the Via Francigena! An interlude

Posted on May 9, 2026 by M. Roland

Friends–I’m interrupting this narrative journey to walk a part of the Via Francigena, from the amazing medieval city of Viterbo (the largest intact medieval quarter in Italy) to Rome! When done, I’ll post a daily capture of the journey.

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Towards Sandewyche . . .

Posted on May 9, 2026 by M. Roland

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Ryght so [Arthur] sought, and his knyghtes, towarde  Sandewyche where he founde before hym many galyard [sturdy] knyghtes—for there were the moste part of all the Rounde Table redy on tho bankes for to sayle whan the Kynge lyked.

Despite its historic and literary pedigree, I’m glad to leave the crammed city of Canterbury behind.  I trundle my rolling suitcase past the busy tourists’ shops to the bus station, waiting in the glorious late-afternoon sun for the bus to Sandwich.  At last, as winter-weary English folk have sung for centuries: Summer is icumen in [Summer is a coming in], possibly the oldest known English song (13th c). 

No one seems to know when the bus is due, so I perch atop my suitcase and wait alongside the elderly women with their shopping bags and students in school uniforms heading home.  The “queue” is long, and I’m nervous about not getting on the bus, but we all manage to squeeze on. After many local stops at country roads and corners in small towns, the bus pulls in at last to Sandwich.

The bus driver directs me to the New Inn, a pub where I have booked a room up on the second floor, one of the few accommodations in this small town.  The entry door to the pub is stuck and when it gives way to my insistent pressure, I burst into a small-town pub filled with men enjoying a pint at the end of the workday.  All heads turn my way to assess this unlikely addition to the scene.

My entry to the New Inn pub is a gender-inflected moment: pubs are still predominantly male spaces.  I step up to the bar and, while waiting to get my key, easily chat with three young men and an older gent, asking for directions to the river.  Their directions are hopelessly confusing, but it’s fun to have an excuse to be in a space that I would not normally feel able to enter on my own.

Despite the convoluted directions, I find my way to the peaceful River Stour and take an evening walk on this long, northern-summer’s evening..  In contrast to the intensity of York, London, and Canterbury, Sandwich is a quiet town and the tree-lined banks afford a solitary amble. The July sun is low in the sky and a brisk breeze with a slight tang of salt and sea disturbs the surface of the water.  

The placid, curving river is lined with rushes and small pleasure boats; pathways, marshes, and small woodlands form part of the river’s geography.

In the town, there are quaint half-timbered, medieval houses and shops that lean over narrow cobble streets.

A surgeon’s office, I kid you not, is located on Butchery Lane.

Of course, Sandwich is not only an idealized town, but part of the modern British landscape. The town has an authentic ‘self-ness,”with practical shops that sell shoes and bread boxes, flowers and groceries. In the distance, I can see the massive cooling towers of a nuclear plant, but the juxtaposition of modern energy production doesn’t perturb the bucolic ethos and textual geography. Walking alongside the river, it is easy to feel immersed in a landscape with a far past, textual and geographic. I can still enter Malory’s text.

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Go by Watlynge Strete

Posted on April 29, 2026 by M. Roland

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Source: Antony McCallum, on Wikipedia

Canterbury is in the general direction of Sandwich, and I couldn’t resist the minor detour. As a professor of medieval literature, I’ve often taught Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales with its inimitable characters—the pious, the bawdy, and the loathsome. Who doesn’t love the Wife of Bath and her humorous tirade about her five husbands? 

The justly famous Cathedral at Canterbury, rich in ecclesiastical history, is the destination of Chaucer’s motley pilgrims in The Canterbury Tales.  The opening of the Canterbury Tales form one of the most amazing poetic single sentences in English literature, ending with these lines:

And specially, from every shires end

Of Englonde, to Canterbury they wende

The hooly [holy] blissful martyr for to seke [seek]

That hem hath holpen [who had helped them] whan that they were seke [sick]

As the train “wends” its way from London to Canterbury, I review essays I am carrying by Arthurian scholars Drs. Peter Field, Thomas Crofts, Edward Donald Kennedy, Kevin Whetter, Ralph Norris, Masako Tagaki, and Takako Kato—wonderful medievalists who research the manuscript and printed text versions of Malory’s Le Morte Darthur. We are on panels together at the Congress next week about the editorial and interpretive questions that arise as a result of the two versions of Malory’s Roman War episode.

This English book, Le Morte Darthur, has traveled to the quiet, lamp-lit offices of scholars in Europe, Canada, Australia, Japan, and the far west coast of America: to my home in Portland, Oregon. My wheelie suitcase is crammed with professional clothes and my briefcase is heavy with a laptop and work papers for the upcoming International Arthurian Congress in Rennes, France.

As I near Canterbury, the Kent countryside is dotted with woodlands and large oak trees that spread their broad canopies over the landscape.

~ ~ ~

Canterbury, like many English cities with cathedrals or colleges, is packed with tourists and lively groups of youngsters studying English for the summer. It makes for an intense crowd experience and shapes the space of these cities such that, at a certain level, they feel almost indistinguishable.

I stash my heavy bags at a tourist shop, then wander through the hushed twilight of the Cathedral interior, craning my neck to see the exquisite fan vaulting. English pilgrims came seeking healing from St. Thomas a’ Becket, once archbishop of Canterbury.

It is also the home cathedral of the 9th century Archbishop Siguric who was the first to record the itinerary of what is now known as the Via Francigena, the route between England and Rome that I am roughly following. For more on Siguric, see this post.

As I amble around the town, I happen to see a nondescript sign on a nondescript building: it reads: Watling Street. 

Hey!

Do you recall Arthur’s injunction to the fleeing Roman ambassadors?

loke ye go by Watlynge Strete and no way [else]

Come to find out — Watling Street was one of the first and most important Roman roads in Britain! It once stretched across the width of the island running west from Dover through Canterbury, London, and on to Wroxeter in the northwest.

A map of Watling Street overlaid on the 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica map of Roman Britain. Annotated to show Winchester, London, and Canterbury. Source: Wikipedia

On the map above, Winchester, London, and Canterbury are circled in orange. The red line marks the length of Watling Street (we don’t know what the Romans called it; the name derives from Anglo-Saxon). From London it would be a straight shot to Sandwich, near the Roman fort at Richborough (it was a Roman road, after all).

No wonder the Roman ambassadors in Le Morte Darthur “so blithe [relieved] were they never” upon arriving at Sandwich! It is a formidable journey to cover from Winchester to London and then on to Sandwich in just seven days (almost 150 miles). Once they arrived, the ambassadors breathed a shaky sigh of relief and boarded their ships, leaving Britain behind.

To get from London to Canterbury to Sandwich to the ferry crossing to France without a car is not a simple journey. Train to Canterbury, local bus to Sandwich where I’ll spend the night. Train to Dover, ferry to Calais in France, rental car to Rennes. I realize I don’t have a map . . . just a copy of Le Morte Darthur with its Roman War itinerary as a guide.

For Further Reading:

John Higgs, Watling Street: Travels Through Britain’s Ever-Present Past (2017)

Walking Britain’s Roman Roads: Watling Street (You can watch for free with commercials or buy the episode for 99 cents.)

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Passe unto Sandwyche

Posted on April 20, 2026 by M. Roland

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All Roads Lead to Sandwich!
The route in orange is that of the Roman Ambassadors: “go by Watling Street and no way else.” Source: Google Maps, annotated.

Meanwhile . . . while Arthur was in York taking counsel, the Roman ambassadors were hustling out of England, in fear of their lives. After Arthur refused their demand for taxes, he sent them packing:

And I shall gyff you seven dayes to passe unto Sandwyche.  Now spede you, I counceyle you, and spare nat youre horsis [horses], and loke ye go by Watlynge Strete and no way [else].

And [if any] be founde a spere-lengthe oute of the way . . . there [is] no golde undir God [that will] pay for youre raunsom. . .

The Roman ambassadors took the threat seriously and fled to Sandwich, a port from where they could cross the English Channel.

The southeast coast of England during Roman times.
Source: English Heritage

I have no idea if “Watling Street” still exists, but I’ll head to Sandwich, a small town on the southeast coast of England, as well.

Thus they passed from Carleyle unto Sandwyche-warde, that hadde but seven dayes for to passe thorow [through] the londe . . .but the senatours spared for no horse, but [hired] hakeneyes frome towne to towne, and by the sonnee [sun] was sette at the seven dayes ende they come unto Sandwyche –so blithe [relieved] were they never! 

And so the same nyght they toke the water and passed into Flaundres, Almayn, and aftire that over the grete mountayne [called] Godarde, and so aftir thorow [through] Lumbardy and thorow Tuskayne [Tuscany]. And sone[soon] aftir they come to the Emperour Lucius, and there they shewed hym the lettyrs of Kynge Arthure, and how he was the gasfullyst [most terrifying] man that ever they on loked. (117)

“Gastful” Arthur will pretty much follow this same route to Rome. Upon completion of the ‘parlement at Yorke,’ he will marshal his troops at Sandwich then cross the English Channel to embark on the overland campaign to Rome.

 . . . there they concluded shortly to areste all the shyppes of this londe, and within fyftene days to be redy at Sandwych.

I return from York late at night and spend another day in London to meet up with colleagues from the map seminar. We attend two searing short plays, “The Lovers” and “The Collection,” both by Harold Pinter and both about the dysfunction of marriage. We emerge from the theater shaken, then steady ourselves with a pint at a nearby pub. As we consider our own marriages, I calmly share a bit of austere wisdom from my mother, the kind you grow up with in an Irish-American Catholic family: “Well, no one gets everything in this life.”

I seem so centered as I say this. But I have had dreams of late in which my house teeters on the brink of a precipice, about to slide over the edge. 

For now, I’m following the geography of a book, and it’s taken hold of my imagination. Could I follow it all the way to Rome? It seems an outlandish thought. At any rate, I am making plans to follow it to Rennes, in northwestern France, where my conference begins next week and where my husband and sons will meet up with me. But first, I’ll passe unto Sandwich, along with the Roman ambassadors, Arthur, his troops, and every ship they can commandeer.

Looking at a map, I see I could stop over in Canterbury on the way to Sandwich. Though not expressly stated as part of Arthur’s fast-paced route from York to Sandwich . . . it is on the way from London. I decide to briefly visit this site of the much more famous literary journey, The Canterbury Tales.

For Further Reading:

Harold Pinter, The Lover; The Collection.

All citations are from Thomas Malory, Le Morte Darthur, P. J. C. Field, editor (2013).

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Yorke II: “Constantine our kinsman”

Posted on April 13, 2026 by M. Roland

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~ ~ ~

Constantine our kinsman conquered [Rome], and dame Helena’s son of England was Emperour of Rome.

I spend the day wandering inside the cavernous Minster (a cathedral that was, at one time, part of a monastary) and taking refuge from the crowds by walking the ramparts of the city walls, a kind of urban greenspace. The Minster is beautiful and soaring, its stained-glass windows cast shadows of red and blue across the stone floor. Outside, the city ramparts create a leafy, summer green space where I can walk and think.

Source: Friends of York Walls

Towards afternoon, I double back alongside the exterior of the Minster and come upon . . . a statue of the Roman Emperor Constantine, considered the first Christian emperor of Rome!  Constantine leans back with an easy authority in front of the medieval Minster: the power of Rome juxtaposed with what came to supplant it: medieval Christianity.   

I read the inscription and a theory starts to form. The 1998 sculpture commemorates the proclamation of Constantine as Roman Emperor in 306 AD — at York! Ah. 

Constantine was on campaign in the north of England with his father, battling the Rome-resistant Picts [of present-day Scotland], when his father was killed or fell ill. The Roman troops affirmed Constantine’s right of succession as emperor right here in York. A complicated struggle for the title ensued, with Constantine advancing from York to Rome to claim sole title of Emperor and famously converting to Christianity at the Milvian Bridge.

Could Constantine’s march to Rome be a possible template for Arthur’s Roman War route? In Malory’s tale of the Roman War (drawing on Geoffrey of Monmouth’s account),[1] Arthur’s claims that:

Constantine our kinsman conquered [Rome], and dame Helena’s son of England was Emperour of Rome.

It is thought that Constantine mother, Helena, was British. Perhaps for Malory and his medieval readers, holding a parliament in York represented, geographically and symbolically, Arthur’s right to the emperorship of Rome vis-à-vis the figure of Constantine, aka a “son of England.”  In fact, Arthur had earlier told the Roman ambassadors that “all his trew auncettryes [true ancestors] sauff [except] his fair Uther were emperours of Rome.” A bit of alternative history, but the claim is gathering strength by merely repeating it, a common power trick today as well.

Constantine legalized Christianity in the Roman Empire in 313 (known as the Edict of Milan). Since then, York has proudly claimed Constantine as the only Roman emperor crowned in England. 

Here is the benefit of walking a text’s geography: a passage that seems easy to disregard while reading–such as Arthur’s big detour to York–becomes key, connecting the reader to a richer reading of the text. As Elizabeth F. Evans writes, “Literature explores and gives expression to the myriad ways in which space impacts human experience.” I’m reading the geography of Malory’s Le Morte Darthur in a new way.

The result of Arthur’s parliament in York is a resounding affirmation by his gathered lords to take on the fight against Rome.  Arthur had stated back in Winchester that he would consult his “most trusty knights and dukes” and not be “over-hasty” [yes, Tolkien borrowed that phrase for his Ent tree elders]. But now, after the deliberations, it is time for action.

In York, his assembled liege lords“concluded shortly to arrest all the shyppes of this londe, and within fyftene dayes [15 days] to be redy at Sandwych.

At an average rate of travel of 20 to 30 miles a day on horseback, they have a very short time to prepare to depart for the greatest campaign of Arthur’s reign.

Source: Google Maps.

The day after tomorrow, I’ll depart from London, after my dream week of studying maps at the London Rare Book School, and continue this Roman War-inspired journey. Guided by Malory’s text, I’ll head southeast to the coastal town of Sandwich, 270 miles southeast of York. Sandwich is not far from the ferry port at Dover, and from there I can catch a ferry to Normandy, rent a car, and find my way to Rennes, where the International Arthurian Congress begins in a few days.

Looking at the map, I notice . . . Canterbury is on the way to Sandwich. Hmmm. Being a medievalist as well as a reader and teacher of Chaucer’s famed Canterbury Tales, I can’t resist a stop over! To do so, I’ll need to take a train from London to Canterbury and then catch a local bus to the small town of Sandwich. Figuring it out as I go.

[1] For information on the cleric and writer Geoffrey of Monmouth, see my earlier post.

Further Reading:

Elizabeth F. Evans, Introduction, Space and Literary Studies (2025).

Meg Roland “Malory’s Sandwich: Marginalized Geography and the Global Middle Ages,” in Marginal Figures in the Global Middle Ages and Renaissance (2020).  

All citations are from Thomas Malory, Le Morte Darthur, P. J. C. Field, editor (2013).

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