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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A parlement at Yorke, within the wallys [walls]

Posted on April 6, 2026 by M. Roland
John Speed’s 1610/11 Map of York. Note the city walls.
Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons

Once the parliament in York is gathered, Arthur speaks to his noble followers: “I purpose me to passe many perelles [perilous] ways and to ocupye the empyre [empire] that myne elders afore have claymed. There I pray you, counseyle me that may be best . . .”

As I ride the early morning fast-speed train from London to York, the two-hour journey gives me time to mull over why Malory’s fictional Arthur took the long trek from Winchester 200 miles—north— to York to hold a “parlement” before heading—south—toward Rome. Was there a bishop that needed to be consulted? A powerful noble whose men and arms would be essential? Was York the ancient or symbolic starting place for campaigns? It’s perplexing to me as a reader of Malory, perhaps confounded by being an American; I don’t know my Roman British history well enough to grasp a reason for this big detour. 

The train has a lovely tea trolley that comes through the aisles. As a tea drinker, I love this!

The train is filled with vacationers, including many children. There is an air of festivity and a great stir each time we enter a tunnel: the fast-speed train causes an air pressure change and everyone’s ears pop.  “Whoo!” shout the children amid laughter, tunnel after tunnel.

Triangulated between the River Ouse and the River Foss, York was long considered a center of government in the north—from the Romans, to the Anglo-Saxons, to medieval kings. York is known for its incredible “Minster,” an 11th century cathedral . . .

York Minster

A well-preserved medieval “shambles” district . . .

York “Shambles” with timber-framed houses and shops

And massive 13-foot-high city walls, some with foundations dating to Roman times but most built during the 13th-14thcentury (just before Malory’s time). The walls surround the historic city center are the longest town walls in England.  

Before the medieval period, York was a Roman provincial capital, Eboracum, the northernmost city of the Roman Empire. Rome withdrew from England in the 5th century, the historical moment that gave rise to the legends of King Arthur. 

If York represents the far reach of Rome, could Arthur’s campaign in Malory’s tale be seen as traversing from the furthest periphery of the Roman empire to its center? I am grasping at straws and decide to see what unfolds in York.

The train is so fast that it is difficult to look out the window as the nearby trees and hedge rows fly past at a dizzying rate. As in life, the distant views seem discernible, but the near view is disorienting. 

Following the geography of Malory’s Roman War episode is a full-body reading experience akin to stepping through the wardrobe door of Narnia, a portal where a reader can enter the landscape of the book. Looking out to the distant fields, the same feeling from yesterday rises up in me: “Could I be any happier?”  

~ ~ ~

To my surprise, I do not love York. As I wander the city center, it is packed with large groups of Italian school children, as is every historic town in England in the summer. The kids are pretty hilarious—they link arms, sing songs, and stamp around town. But, with the many tourists and school groups, the streets are crowded and claustrophobic. The summer that would not come has now arrived, hot and slightly humid.

But I do discover in York what I came for—a possible answer as to why Arthur went north to York before embarking on the Roman War campaign. See next post!

Further Reading:

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

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Time in the Roman War: The Utas of Seynte Hillary

Posted on March 30, 2026 by M. Roland

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Now leve we Sir Lucius and speke we of Kyng Arthure . . .

Source: Space.com

Mikhail Bahktin refers to the chronotope—the interplay of time and space in literature. In following this journey, I’m breaking out of—or into—the time and space of the book. 

On the train back to London, I idly wonder– in what season is Malory tale set? It seems to be around Christmastime.

The Roman ambassadors, who had traveled to Winchester on behalf of the fictional Roman emperor Lucius, intrude upon the festivities with the emperor’s demand. The young King Arthur counters that he has read the “cronycles of this londe,” drawing on Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia, in which the Breton kings Belinus and Brennius conquered Rome before Julius Caesar even thought about invading Britain. So, no, Arthur is not going to comply. With his “ferse [fierce] men of armys [arms]” he will, instead, reclaim and conquer Rome for Britain.

The sense of time is expansive here. The episode draws upon a reading of the ancient past to justify the present and to make a claim about the future. 

St. Hillary, Feast Day Jan. 13. Source: CatholicCulture.org

Arthur gives the Roman ambassadors just seven days to depart Britain; they must travel from Winchester to the port town of Sandwich and on to Rome to deliver Arthur’s message. The narrative describes the simultaneous-in-time actions of the Roman Emperor Lucius’ once he hears of Arthur’s refusal. Lucius masses an army, filled with allies from places such as “Arabé” and “Turké,” and marches out of Italy intending to meet Arthur’s forces on the plains of Burgundy.

The text then returns to Arthur: 

Now leve we Sir Lucius and speke we of Kyng Arthure that commanded all that were under his obeysaunce [rule], aftir the Utas of Seynte Hyllary that all shulde be assembled for to holde a parlement at Yorke, within the wallys [walls].

Utas? I have to look up it.

It turns out that the term “utas” refers to the eighth day of a feast day (related to the term octave), and, as St. Hillary’s feast day is January 13th, this means the parliament is to be held in York on January 20th. Therefore, the festive gathering for the wedding had indeed been held during the Christmas and New Year holidays.

While much of Le Morte Darthur is set in a hazy, unspecified ‘romance’ time, Malory brings in touches of emerging realism in terms of geography. By the mid-fifteenth century, ideas about mapping were undergoing a transformation based on the work of the second-century Alexandrian cosmographer Claudius Ptolemy. In these new maps, distance is represented as a function of time (that is, latitude and longitude). These principles mark the beginning of our modern cartography practices.

World map from Florence, Italy, based on Ptolemy’s 2nd century Geography. 1450s. If you look closely, you can see the grid of latitude and longitude. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

Literature, much like maps, is concerned with time and place. Malory is renowned for how he took myriad French and English tales of the adventures of Arthur or his knights (think of the Star Wars’ episodes, prequels, tangents, sequels) and shaped them into a single, linear narrative of “the birth, life, and death” of King Arthur. Malory also tries to wrangle mystical romance time into specific mileage between locations and provides specific town names, telling us, for example, that Arthur’s Camelot “ys [is] in Englysh called Wynchester.”

Based on the “utas of Seynte Hyllary” reference, it is early January in the tale and, by the end of January, Arthur will hold his parliament in wintry York. Be there, in other words, by January 20th. For me, it is a cool and damp July. I arrive back at Waterloo train station and purchase a next-day ticket to York.

Further Reading:

Ptolemy, The Geography, Cosimo edition, (2011).

Elizabeth Evans, ed. Space and Literary Studies (2026).

Meg Roland, Mirror of the World: Literature, Maps, and Geographic Writing in Late Medieval and Early Modern England (2021).

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

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The Trace of Rome II (St. Giles Hill, Winchester)

Posted on March 24, 2026 by M. Roland

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Now, the clouds around the hill have solidified to a leaden presence, closing off the views. I head down to town for the warmth of a cup of tea by way of a deep green wood where I would be no less surprised to encounter Merlin than an aged World War II veteran carrying a gnarled wooden cane with a burnished burl at its top. 

I join up with High Street and come across a statue the Veteran told me about—but it is not King Arthur, as he suggested. It is a statue of King Aelfred, the great Anglo-Saxon king! 

Aelfred reigned from 871 to 899, renowned for his love of education and law. He made Winchester his capital. Had our Veteran meant Aelfred or Arthur? Was it a matter of confusion between our American and British accents? I look around for my otherworldly guide, but he has disappeared into the labyrinth of wooded pathways.

My photo of the King Alfred statue, under a darkening sky
King Alfred statue. Photo credit: Visit Winchester

Well, this is how the Arthurian legend seems to develop: fragments of the historical become interwoven with the mythical and the personal, becoming the story of a place. 

Cathedral, College, Round Table, traces of Rome—Winchester forms a potent starting place for Malory’s tale of Arthur’s Roman War. And something of the journey has coalesced for me, as well. 

At home, my marriage is frayed and fragile. My husband and our high school sons will be meeting me in France, but just before I left for this trip my husband told me that when we returned home, he would be moving out. It is not the first time he has expressed this, but we have been married 23 years and are Catholics so despite the increasing feeling of despair, we simultaneously love our family life, and soldier on—a duality of our domestic space.

What began in the morning as a wild idea has now taken hold in my imagination, creating the emotional potency of saying yes to something unplanned. As I head to the train to return to London, I think, “Could I be any happier?” Walking this landscape, momentarily unfettered, releases emotion. The geography is generative to me as a reader of Malory and restorative to me personally. I might tentatively call it joy.

Winchester is in southern England, about 70 miles southwest of London. From here, Malory’s Arthur announces he will hold a parlement in York, over 200 hundred miles north, to determine his strategy in contesting Rome. Why set Arthur on this inexplicable route toward York? It’s hardly on the way to Rome. I’m already checking the train schedule from London to York.

Source: Google Maps

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The Trace of Rome I (St. Giles Hill, Winchester)

Posted on March 15, 2026 by M. Roland

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In Thomas Malory’s Le Morte Darthur, Arthur meets with his knights in a tower to determine how to respond to the Roman ambassadors’ demand that Arthur pay “truage” (taxes but also allegiance) to Rome. One of Arthur’s knights encourages him to resist: “when the Romaynes rained [reigned] upon us . . . [they] put this londe to extortions and taylis [taxes]. Therefore . . . I shall be avenged upon the Romans . . .”

Arthur concurs and delivers his decision to the Roman ambassadors “Now sey ye to youre emperour that I shall in all haste me redy make with my keene knyghtes . . . And I woll brynge with me the beste peple of fyftene [fifteen] realms, and with hem ryde over the mountaynes in the maynelondis [mainlands] . . . and syth [then] ryde unto Roome with my royallyst knyghtes (147).

In other words, the young Arthur will not only NOT pay Rome but will, instead, attack it. He held a council with his noble knights in a nearby fortified tower to make the decision. 

In addition to placing Arthur in Winchester at the start of the Roman War episode, Malory also establishes Arthur as having Roman ancestry to legitimize Arthur’s rebuff of Rome’s demand. Arthur intended to out Rome Rome.

4th c. Roman Mosaic floor, Winchester City Museum
Photo credit: Hampshire Cultural Trust

Not surprisingly, traces of Roman culture permeated medieval Winchester, including Roman mosaic floors such as those now displayed at the Winchester City Museum. I find myself mesmerized by the detail and pattern of the mosaics. They provide a glimpse of the domestic side of the Roman Empire’s occupation of Britain: people’s feet trod this floor daily! I learn there is an earthen outline of a Roman fort on St. Giles Hill, so I let my curiosity lead and decide to hike up to find it.

As I begin the hike, I meet a World War II veteran. How delightful to come upon an older person when out walking; they are often open and willing to spend a few minutes chatting. Our Veteran takes his daily walk here on the trails. In his right hand, he clutches a burnished wooden walking stick with a gnarled top. “Where are you going?” he asks.

A former navy man, he tells me that his first tour of duty took him around the world but, he adds, “I wouldn’t live anywhere else but here in Winchester.”

“You are too young,” I venture, “to have been in World War II?”

My own father was a young, fit seaman in WWII and, at 86, passed away two years ago. This veteran tells me his well-rehearsed response to my question: “When I joined up, Hitler capitulated.”

We laugh, and I rejoin, “Britain has you to thank.”

He asks me once again, reminding me of my own father’s struggle with Alzheimer’s, “Where are you going?”

“Up to the top,” I say.

He again points out the path that I should take. I am grateful for his guidance as the trails between city and hill are not well marked and, with bits of urban debris strewn about and overhanging bushes, the trail is a slightly disconcerting space for a woman walking alone.

He tells me there is an outline of a Roman fort at the top. “This was once the capital of England,” he says with pride, “and King Arthur was the first king.”

Though he had forgotten where I was going, he had not forgotten Arthur—a mythical presence from almost 1500 years ago. Arthur may be the “first” king in our modern conception of English history, but he is not the historical first king of Britain. In Geoffrey of Monmouth’s 12th century History of the Kings of Britain, you can read a quasi-historical record of the rise and fall of pre-Anglo-Saxon kings. In that text, Arthur is just one of the legendary rulers.

High above the city, under a sky threatening rain and lightning, the hilltop affords sweeping, panoramic views of the town and landscape. No wonder the Romans chose this lofty site from which to survey and dominate the lush surrounding countryside, and no wonder it served as a plausible location for Camelot in Malory’s imagination.

But at the top I find no trace of the Roman fort—only a softly mounded green hill, fringed with trees. Looking down on the city, I see the limestone Cathedral, a bright contrast to the red brick of the modern town buildings. 

At first, I am the only one in this green monument of the past, but soon I see an older woman sitting on a park bench, looking out onto the rolling hills. Her white hair and light-yellow jacket create a bright patch of color in the gathering gray of this July day, a summer that will not come. She sits pensively, ignoring the misty clouds.

The Roman centurions could not have imagined her, lightly sitting on a bench built on ground they trammeled underneath, amidst the clamor of sword and horse and sweat. In the moment, I feel a sense of the uncanny: she an older shade of my solitary self, or I a younger version of her solitary self. She is a hummingbird in a moment of stillness. 

For further reading:

Charlotte Higgins, Under Another Sky: Journeys in Roman Britain (2014).

Guy de la Bédoyère, Roman Britain: A New History (2014).

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Just out! “Arthurian Literature and the Global Middle Ages” in The Cambridge History of Arthurian Literature and Culture

Posted on March 12, 2026 by M. Roland

Exciting news! I wrote a chapter, “Arthurian Literature and the Global Middle Ages,” for The Cambridge History of Arthurian Literature and Culture, just out from Cambridge University Press (2026). Related to this blog, I explore the global economic links of various luxuries that are an integral part of medieval romances: silks, spices, armor, golden grails, lapis lazuli, etc. In turn, the stories (romances) that reference these lux items created greater demand for these global goods as well as interest in the faraway places from which they came.

Even in medieval times, there was a global economy. Merchants, diplomats, itinerate storytellers, warriors, slaves, pilgrims–medieval people did not all stay in one place!

The two-volume series is titled The Cambridge History of Arthurian Literature and Culture, ed. by Raluca L. Radulescu and Andrew Lynch (Cambridge University Press, 2026), 2 vols. There are many wonderful essays in this collection. Perhaps you can request it for your library?

You can find a summary of my essay, “Arthurian Romance in the Global Middle Ages,” here.

In brief: Arthurian romance is quintessentially a literature of mobility–one that explores the ephemeral nature of love but that is also an apex of unnamed long-distance economic networks. Medieval romances celebrated and accelerated the exchange of prestige goods through the networks of the Global Middle Ages.

For further reading:

Anthony Bale, A Travel Guide to the Middle Ages: The World Through Medieval Eyes (2023).

Margery Kempe, The Book of Margery Kempe (1400). This is an “as told to” book from around 1400 and isn’t easy to read–it is digressive, a little crazy, religious–there are episodic crying jags– but it is also the first autobiography written in English. It is written by a woman who was a brewer, a wife, had 12 children, possibly suffered a psychotic break after one of her childbirths, and then . . . took off for a pilgrimage to Rome. Wouldn’t you??

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The Table Round, at Winchester

Posted on March 10, 2026 by M. Roland

[Reader, if you are just joining this journey, click on the “About” tab for context. The chronological posts begin in January 2026.]

If Malory’s references to Winchester as Camelot, his locating the start of the Roman War campaign there, and the presence of the 15th century manuscript of Le Morte Darthur at Winchester weren’t ENOUGH to tightly link Winchester to the Arthurian legend, there is also a massive and magnificent “table rounde!”

Probably no greater icon of the Arthurian story exists than the Round Table, a symbol of Arthur’s investment in fellowship and in preserving the peace through an equality of knights. In literature, the Round Table has its earliest appearance in Wace’s 12th century Le Roman de Brut and over time its significance was adapted. John F. Kennedy loved the 1960’s musical Camelot which amplified the Round Table as a symbol of democratic idealism. Monty Python’s Holy Grail version, of course, has a more cynical take.

Here are two references to the Round Table in Thomas Malory’s Le Morte Darthur:

“I shall gyff [give] hym [Arthur] the Table Rounde [said King Lodegreanus,] which Uther hys fadir gaff me. And whan hit ys fulle [it is full] complete there ys an hondred knyghtes and fifty . . .” And so Kynge Lodgreaunce delyverd hys doughtir [daugheter] Gwenyvere unto Merlion, and the Table Rounde with the hondred knyghtes . . . (77).

Hyt befelle whan Kyng Arthur had wedded Quene Gwenyvere and fulfilled the Rounde Table, and so aftir his mervelous knyghtis and he had venquyshed the moste party of his enemyes . . . he rested and helde a royall feste and table rounde with his alyes of kynges, prynces, and noble knyghtes all of the Rounde Table (145).

Note: spelling was flexible in the Middle Ages!

An illustration by Évrard d’Espinques for a manuscript of the Prose Lancelot, 1470. Bibliothèque nationale de France, BNF 112.

Thought by some to be THE round table, the Winchester round table has ultimately been shown to be made of oak from the 13th century. Too late to be Arthur’s–but still an impressive, heavy, medieval round table! Measuring 18 feet in diameter and weighing over a ton, the table is now displayed in the Great Hall of Winchester Castle and has been part of the town’s history for centuries.

In Malory’s story, the ‘Table Rounde’ was a gift from Guinevere’s father to Arthur in celebration of the marriage (he “delivers” Guinevere and the table, minimizing the distinction between bride and furniture delivery!). There is a sense in Malory’s Roman War account that the table creates a convivial setting during a period of relative peace and joyfulness.

Although not nearly as old as the presumed time of King Arthur (approximately 6th century), its mystique inspired an association with the King Arthur legend and may have inspired Malory to identify Winchester as Arthur’s Camelot. During the reign of Henry VIII, just 50 years after Malory had written his great Arthurian story, the table was painted in the scheme that is seen today: a bold green and white patterning with the names of famous knights of the Arthurian court. 

The massive table is now hung at one end of the Great Hall, visually linking the city of Winchester with Tudor kings and the legend of King Arthur. I peer through an archway to find a lovely reconstructed medieval garden.

A 2010 excavation at the cathedral city of Chester suggested to archeologists that Chester, not Winchester, may have been the “Camelot” of the historic English warrior-king and that a Roman amphitheater there may have been the inspiration for the legendary symbolism of a round table. But Malory’s textual reference to Winchester, the manuscript, and round table all accumulate a mythology that Arthur’s sparkling court began in Winchester.

In my own family, my husband, Vietnamese foster sons (Nam and Long) and biological sons (Conor and Nico) have gathered around our common dinner table (a farmhouse rectangle) for years, sharing the highs and lows of the day. Nam and Long now have jobs and children of their own while Conor will be starting his last year of high school come fall. Nico will be a freshman, the one year the brothers will spend together at Central Catholic High School.

In Tennyson’s Victorian poem Idylls of the Kings, the young knights of the Round Table are dispersing, in search of the grail and adventure. Our young men are also heading out on adventures of their own. And like Tennyson’s wistful Arthur, we are wistful at the thought of changes and uncertain how they impact us. These dinner gatherings are dear to us, and each impending vacancy keenly felt.

There are plenty of hours left on this July day, so I depart the Table Round and head for St. Giles hill, where I hear a trace of Winchester’s Roman past remains.

Further Reading:

Jon Whitman, “National Icon: The Winchester Round Table and the Revelation of Authority” in the journal Arthuriana 18:4, Winter 2008.

Peter Field, editor, Thomas Malory: Le Morte Darthur (2013). All Malory quotations are from this edition.

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The Once and Future Manuscript

Posted on March 2, 2026 by M. Roland

[Reader, if you are just joining this journey, click on the “About” tab for context. The chronological posts begin in January 2026.]

Walter F. Oakshott, the former librarian at Winchester College, tells a fascinating and delightful story of the manuscript’s discovery.

The great story of Arthur’s birth, life, and death was compiled by Sir Thomas Malory from an array of French and English poems and tales sometime in the 1460s. Malory, imprisoned at Newgate in London due to sectarian politics or perhaps his lawlessness, wove a tale from the threads of French stories of Arthur, Lancelot, Guinevere, and Merlin.  He also drew upon English sources such as the Alliterative Morte Arthure, which contains the story of Arthur’s campaign against Rome, and the quasi-historical Chronicles by John Hardyng. Malory wrote his great book just before print technology came to England. In turn, a scribe hand-copied his massive work onto vellum pages.

For 500 years, no manuscript version of the work was known to exist. All that survived the usual use, tattering, and lost pages that mark the material life of a book were two copies of the printed version, made by England’s first printer, William Caxton, in 1485. (A complete copy is held at the Pierpont Morgan Library in New York City and an incomplete copy at the John Rylands Library in Manchester.)  

Then, in 1934, in Winchester—mythic city from whence Arthur began his Roman War campaign—a manuscript was found at Winchester College. Both images below are from the Malory Project, a joint project of the British Library and Keio University.

Winchester Manuscript (Add MS 59678), British Library, Malory Project.

The Warden of the College had asked Dr. Oakshott to put together an exhibit of some of the manuscripts the college owned. To do so, Dr. Oakshott went to the Warden’s rooms where the rarer manuscripts were held. There, he came upon a manuscript that was missing its first pages. But the distinctive red ink used by the scribe for names and places of the Arthurian story caught his eye: Kynge Arthure. 

First page of the Winchester Manuscript; the first folios are missing.

With a flush of recognition, Oakeshott realized what he held in his hands might be the lost manuscript of Malory’s great tale. The news was a scholarly sensation, and made headlines in the British press. Throughout the remainder of the 20th century Malory scholars poured over the manuscript in comparison to the printed book. 

Of particular interest was the fact that the manuscript version of the Roman War tale is almost twice as long as the print version. I could go on and on about this—oh wait, I did—I wrote my whole dissertation on this topic!

Based on the incredible find, Professor Eugene Vinaver edited a new and highly respected edition, Malory: Works, based on the newly-discovered manuscript (1947), and Dr. P. J. C. Field revised and added his scholarship to a new critical edition published in 2013. However the manuscript came to Winchester College for safekeeping, there it remained for centuries, in keeping with the Arthurian myth, awaiting its return to readers.

Le Morte Darthur is, to many minds, the great national legend of England. The manuscript discovery, during the period between the two World Wars, connected English writers and readers to a mythic past. J. R. R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, Mary Stewart, and T. H. White were all deeply inspired by Malory’s Le Morte Darthur.

I have had the privilege to study both the medieval manuscript and the early printed book of Le Morte Darthur, one of the greatest pleasures of my scholarly life. To turn the pages of a fifteenth-century manuscript is a mystical experience.Medieval manuscripts and books have, to use a term coined by the scholar Walter Benjamin, a kind of aura that is unique and not reproducible. The thick feel of manuscript pages, the musty smell of a very old book, both create an exquisite sensory moment, worth every exam taken or paper written in graduate school. The act of reading brings author and reader into a moment outside the boundaries of time. 

Nota Bene: While general readers might not be able to request to read Malory’s manuscript, rare book libraries have become much more welcoming to the public. The British Library and the John Rylands Library (in Manchester) actively welcome general readers to access their reading rooms.

Further Reading:

Peter Field, editor, Thomas Malory: Le Morte Darthur (2013).

Walter F. Oakshott, “The Finding of the Manuscript,” in Essays on Malory (1963).

Meg Roland, Material Malory: the Caxton and Winchester documents and a parallel-text edition (2002).

Lev Grossman, The Bright Sword: A Tale of King Arthur (2024).

C. S. Lewis. The Chronicles of Narnia (1950).

Mary Stewart, The Crystal Cave (the first of her Merlin trilogy) (1970).

J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit (1937), The Lord of the Rings (1954).

T. H. White, The Once and Future King (1958).

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Of Cathedral and College

Posted on March 2, 2026 by M. Roland

[Reader, if you are just joining this journey, click on the “About” tab for context. The chronological posts begin in January 2026.]

An intriguing aspect of Winchester Cathedral, aside from its beautiful interior, medieval nave, and as the resting place of Jane Austen, is the manicula (pointing hands) carved onto an exterior wall in 1633. To. me, the carving forms a kind of map: roughly translated, it states, “That way thou who comest to pray. This way thou who are pursuing thy walk.” Apparently, a bishop at that time wished to instill a more reverent atmosphere in the churchyard, but the grammar “this way” seems to encourage the more secular choice and leads, coincidentally (??), to where Malory’s great work lay hidden for centuries.

Exterior, Winchester Cathedral.
Winchester Manuscript, British Library; Keio University Humi Project.

The inscription calls to mind an incident when I was about six at the Catholic school I attended in Rio de Janeiro. The nuns in their imposing full habit—it was 1963—were strict, meting out a swift and severe justice. A concrete play area fronted both the school and church chapel. One day, holding hands with a kindergarten friend, we blithely skipped alongside the exterior of the chapel. Spotted by one of the nuns, we were chastised with the same seriousness of the inscription on the Cathedral. No skipping– or joy–near a solemn house of prayer! The rules are absolute.

With that experience seared into my young heart, I veer away from the Cathedral (though, in truth, it is a beautiful, welcoming space) and follow the pointing hands in the direction of a grassy garden area, then turn left onto a quiet street that runs nearby, past Jane Austen’s one-time home. I come to the heavy wooden doors of Winchester College, a boys’ college preparatory school founded in 1382, where the manuscript of Malory’s Le Morte Darthur was discovered in 1934. On the manuscript pages, the manicula point out a knight’s death or important narrative point.

Winchester College gate. Photo credit: Duncan Toms

Standing outside the college’s massive wooden door, I look up to the left to see the Warden’s lodging, the place where Malory’s manuscript rested for 500 years. Pushing the heavy door, I stepped inside and checked in for my tour at the porter’s gate.

Note: Yes, there is the pop tune from the 1960’s that now maybe lodged, unfortunately, in your brain. It has nothing to do with Malory or manuscripts or manicula (the lyrics blame the cathedral for the singer’s lover leaving him–seems the cathedral suggests lifepath choices).

Further Reading:

To see a digital facsimile of the manuscript and of printed book of Thomas Malory’s Le Morte Darthur, the British Library’s Malory Project, digitized by Keio University’s HUMI Project is a treasure trove.

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