The England Of King Arthur His Actual Existence Aside, The Legend Of King Arthur Is Very Much Alive

“Ask every person if he’s heard the story,

“And tell it strong and clear if he has not,

“That once there was a fleeting wisp of glory called

Camelot.”

-King Arthur in the Broadway musical “Camelot.”

It was a time of honor, chivalry, justice and courage. It was 1,500 years ago, yet still its time is recalled with wistful fondness.

When we need them most in an era of violence and hatred, the virtues of England’s King Arthur, his knights of the Round Table and Camelot seem lost in the mists of time. But have they really vanished?

When President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in 1963, America mourned not only the passing of the president but the loss of Camelot - that most idealized of worlds - that he had come to represent.

So surely some fragment of Arthur’s and his knights’ nobility must remain - that spark of gallantry that took them on quests to restore a rightful ruler to his throne, to rescue a princess from a fallen knight, to slay a dragon who had been ravaging the countryside, and the greatest of all quests, the search for the Holy Grail.

Perhaps their essential goodness could be found in the land where Arthur once reigned. Perhaps not. So I went to England on a quest of my own to see if I could find an echo of the magic that inspired the Arthurian legend and the comparisons to JFK.

But Kennedy was real; Arthur, some say, was not.

No one can prove that King Arthur existed. No one can prove he didn’t.

I decided this dispute over Arthur’s existence was a matter for scholars, not me, while walking along the Glebe Cliff hiking trail in Cornwall on the approach to Tintagel Castle, Arthur’s legendary birthplace. When I saw that solid hunk of rock on which the ruins sit, jutting out into the Atlantic, I expunged the word “legendary.” This IS where Arthur was born.

What Arthur was like has baffled scholars for centuries. Historians, handicapped by a paucity of solid information, and fiction writers, helped by that same paucity of solid information, have been adding to the tale. Now a movie about King Arthur called “First Knight,” starring Sean Connery, Richard Gere and Julia Ormond, is scheduled for July release. It will further muddy the mix of fact and fiction.

All the books, pamphlets and brochures on Arthur, first Christian king of England and first ruler to give Britain a sense of national identity, contradict each other in one way or another.

Put the debate aside. Accept the story as fact.

Here’s the skeleton version of the legend I adopted and followed on a four-day quest for the magic of King Arthur’s England through the West Country, heart of Arthur country: Arthur Pendragon was born in the 6th century at Tintagel Castle in Cornwall. Armed with the magical sword Excalibur, given to him by Druids, he rose to be a powerful king, surrounding himself with the best and noblest warriors in the land, among them Sir Lancelot, the handsomest and bravest.

Arthur married the beautiful Guinevere. It was a marriage of state, but in the fullness of time, they grew to love each other deeply. Finally, Arthur drove off the Saxons and then, aided by the sorcerer Merlin, he established his court at Camelot. A 12-year period of peace and harmony ensued.

Ironically, Camelot, founded on a spirit of universal love, was brought down by love, for while love can elevate the soul, so, too, can it destroy. Guinevere, devoted to Arthur, fell in love with her champion and Arthur’s dearest friend, Lancelot.

Arthur’s nephew, Sir Mordred, forced the public acknowledgment of the affair and war ensued. In the end, Arthur killed Mordred and, mortally wounded, was taken to the sacred Isle of Avalon, where he died.

That’s the version I like. There are plenty to choose from.

But if you go to England seeking the essence of Arthur, you’ll have to bring it with you, in your heart and in your mind, for there are no monuments or markers that state categorically that he passed this way. Even the English have taken a pragmatic view of the matter. “King Arthur, I suppose, is our Loch Ness Monster,” one hotel manager said with a philosophical shrug.

The soul of Arthur and Camelot is in the West Country’s fertile farms and forests. It’s in the sight of cows and sheep taking their ease on verdant hills that roll into the misty distance like frozen waves on the ocean, in villages that look like they were modeled on storybook illustrations.

Four days is enough to see only the five major Arthur sites in the West Country. You’ll have to skip the 50 other places associated with him there. (There are about 110 more sites in England, Scotland, Wales and even France.)

Even my short quest involves 500 miles on the road, but when that’s all the time you’ve got, you make the best of it. Fly into London’s Heathrow, train to Bath, pick up a rental car and start driving.

Adjusting slowly to the intricacies of English roads, we survived the trip to Winchester, 75 miles from Bath. Winchester, though technically not part of the West Country, is close enough for quest purposes.

There, hanging on a wall in the Great Hall, all that remains of Winchester Castle, is “the” Round Table around which Arthur and his knights dined at Camelot. It’s a reproduction. But the massive 18-foot oak structure is still impressive.The Winchester table was built in the 13th century and painted in the 16th during the reign of King Henry VIII. The figure at the top of the table depicting Arthur looks suspiciously like Henry.

The mere existence of this table is significant. It proves that 700 years after Arthur’s time, someone felt compelled to create an imitation of that plain but glorious table, and a full 1,000 years after Arthur was dust someone else felt moved to paint the story on it.

Glastonbury, 65 miles away, has a considerably more solid claim on King Arthur: It’s where he and Guinevere were buried.

In Arthur’s time, Glastonbury was known as the sacred Isle of Avalon. It was here that Arthur died after being wounded in battle with the evil Mordred. (Depending on which version of the story you prefer, Mordred was Arthur’s nephew or son, or nephew AND son, or no relation at all.)

Glastonbury is not an island today, but in the 6th century it was. Over time the surrounding marsh was drained and it ceased to be an island. So in Arthur’s time, Glastonbury and Avalon were one and the same.

Taking its cue from the mysticism of the Arthur legend, Glastonbury has become the New Age capital of England.

The village is a throwback to the ‘60s, minus the global aspirations of that period. Instead, the crystalgazers, fortune-tellers and stargazers who have made themselves at home here are more inward-seeking. Interested in Karmic astrology? Polarity therapy? All that and more is here.

His grave is the logical place to end a quest for Arthurian sites, but geography dictated that we move next to his birthplace, Tintagel Castle on the Atlantic coast, 125 miles southwest.

There, residents of the small village of Tintagel have embraced King Arthur with entrepreneurial zeal.

Arthur is for sale in many forms: refrigerator magnets, coffee mugs, posters, miniature teapots, coins, posters, books and more.

If you don’t make any stops, you can stroll through Tintagel in eight minutes, and beyond the town is the reward: Tintagel Castle ruins protected from exploitation by English Heritage.

Skip the shuttle van from town to the castle if you can. Take the hiking trail along Glebe Cliff and walk to the ruins, listening to the waves crashing against the rocky shore 100 feet below and savoring the scent of salt air.

The ruins can only hint at the castle’s long-gone grandeur. Battlements have crumbled to virtual nubs; all that remains of the inner ward is one dramatic archway and several sections of walls pocked with holes that used to support building timbers.

Be prepared to do some serious climbing at the ruins. You don’t need to be a mountain goat, but the stairs are steep and long, and about halfway up you’ll wonder how even horses made it up there burdened with armor-clad knights.

A picnic lunch will come in handy if you set out to find nearby Slaughter Bridge, where Arthur and Mordred fought their fatal battle, and Dozmary Pool in Bodmin Moor, where Arthur’s loyal knight Sir Bedevere cast Excalibur at Arthur’s bidding. At both places, well off the trodden track, it’s easier to pull off the road for a picnic than find a restaurant.

Camelot, about 120 miles from Tintagel at South Cadbury, at first is disappointing. It’s just a hill over which cows and sheep reign. But look closely: Those long ridges and shallow dips in its broad, undulating top are remnants of the excavations more than 20 years ago that turned up a large room that “could have been” - no, WAS the great hall of Camelot.

It’s up a fairly steep slope to the top, but the effort is soon forgotten when you look over the rolling countryside and imagine what lay deep within the hill. It stirred an eerie sense of the “ghost” of King Arthur within me.

This was the view he enjoyed when he, with his arm around the beautiful Guinevere, looked out over the battlements of Camelot. That simple country lane there once was a highway that carried colorful caravans of merchants and nobles to the castle. These valleys once rang with the clang and clatter of everyday life, children’s laughter, festivals and jousts.

It is a sweet, sad place, and without embarrassment I thought again of Arthur’s song from “Camelot”:

“Don’t let it be forgot,

“That once there was a spot,

“For one brief, shining moment that was known as

Camelot.”

MEMO: This sidebar appeared with the story: IF YOU GO England’s West Country holds a pleasant surprise: It has very un-English weather. When much of the rest of the country is putting up with “the odd shower,” as the BBC weather forecaster puts it, the southwestern tip of the island could well be basking in sunshine and pleasant temperatures. This, say locals and regular visitors, is typical. Even without rain to muck things up, there are a few driving hazards you should be aware of. No, not that one. Driving on the left is something you get used to surprisingly quickly. Roads are well marked, but which way to go on them is not so obvious. Rare is the road marked “A30 (or whatever) north (south, east or west).” Instead, the signs indicate something like “A30 to Yeovil.” You may not be going to Yeovil, but you’d better know if that town lies in the direction you want to go. When negotiating back roads, it is not necessary to drive on the left. There you drive in the center. The reason for this is that the roads are too narrow to even have a left or right lane. It makes approaching a curve at the top of a hill, on a road hemmed in by hedgerows, an adventure worthy of Sir Lancelot. Don’t attempt a quest for Arthur’s England without knowing anything about him or his times. Even “Tales of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table” or similar children’s fare will do. Or check out “The Once and Future King” by T.H. White (the musical “Camelot” was based on it). For a serious, scholarly approach, read “The Quest for Arthur’s Britain,” 1987 edition edited by Geoffrey Ashe. More information For general information on travel in England, contact the British Tourist Authority, 551 Fifth Ave., New York, NY 10176; (212) 986-2266. For information on travel in the West Country, contact the West Country Tourist Board, 60 St. Davids Hill, Exeter Ex4-4sy, England; from the United States, dial 011-44-1392-76351.