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Arthuriana, Volume 25, Number 2, Summer 2015, pp. 44-66 (Article)

3XEOLVKHGE\6FULSWRULXP3UHVV DOI: 10.1353/art.2015.0018

For additional information about this article http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/art/summary/v025/25.2.bruso.html

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The Sword and the Scepter: Mordred, Arthur, and the Dual Roles of Kingship in the Alliterative Morte Arthure

steven p.w. bruso The poet of the Alliterative Morte Arthure complicates the traditional depiction of Mordred-as-traitor in order to show how both Mordred and Arthur struggle to negotiate the dual roles of kings publicly emblematized on coins, seals, and regalia—king-as-warrior and king-as-governor. (SPWB)

n much of Arthurian literature, Mordred is portrayed in a negative Ilight, and he is always figured as a traitor. Scholars like Peter Korrel, and most recently, Judith Weiss, have shown how Mordred’s depiction became progressively and deliberately blackened over time.1 Indeed, his name is frequently prefaced with, or followed by, epithets of treason: in Geoffrey of Monmouth, for instance, Mordred is called ‘sceleratissimus proditor ille Modredus’ [that most foul traitor]; in Wace, we learn ‘Tut sun regne li ot livré / E en guarde tut cumandé . . . Modred fei ne li portot’ [he wanted to take {the whole realm} all away from {Arthur} and . . . bore him no loyalty]; in Laæamon, he is ‘forcuthest monnen; / treouthe nefde he nane to nauer nane monne! . . .his aeme he dude swikedom’ [the basest of men {who} never kept faith with any man . . . and committed treason against his uncle!]; and in Malory, he ‘had ever a prevy hate unto the Quene, Dame Gwenyver, and to Sir Launcelot,’ and was a ‘false traytoure.’2 In the late fourteenth-century Alliterative Morte Arthure, however, this blackening is less in evidence. I argue that the poet complicates the traditional depiction of Mordred-as-traitor in order to shine a light on problems surrounding kingship in late fourteenth- and early fifteenth-century England. More specifically, the poet recasts Mordred in a more sympathetic light as a man who struggles, like Arthur, to negotiate the dual roles of kings publicly emblematized on coins, seals, and regalia—king-as-warrior and king-as- governor. But unlike Arthur, who emphasizes his role as king-as-warrior to the exclusion of governance, Mordred is better able to balance these two roles, suggesting that in some ways, Mordred might be a more effective ruler than Arthur. While I do not argue that the poet justifies usurpationper se, he does

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consider how a good ruler and a usurper might coexist in one person; this is a paradox that Henry IV would encounter later. In particular, I argue that the poet of the Alliterative Morte Arthure suggests that kings ought to concern themselves with matters at home in the kingdom, rather than aspiring to accumulate territories abroad to create an empire, which was an endeavor of uncertain outcome and extreme expense.3 Indeed, by the time that Robert Thornton copied the Alliterative Morte Arthure (around 1420–1430), and by the time that the poet had written the original (sometime between 1396 and 1403), England had experienced magnificent gains, and then losses, in its continental acquisitions.4 However glorious the wars had been for the English in the first half of the fourteenth century, those glories would not be lasting. The English victories at Sluys in 1340, Crecy in 1346, Calais in 1347, and Poitiers in 1356—resulting in English control over much of France’s northern territories and coast—were gradually lost by 1396, leaving the English with few net gains, but with considerable debts. Nigel Saul, for instance, has claimed that ‘from 1377–1381, £250,000 had been spent on war. Yet there were no victories at sea or on the field, and no territorial gains to show for it.’5 The treasury of the crown was under heavy strain, and there was heightened tension with parliament as it became increasingly reluctant to accede to royal demands for additional taxation to fund the war effort.6 Before proceeding to an analysis of Mordred’s and Arthur’s respective modes of kingship in the Alliterative Morte Arthure, it will be useful to consider the ways in which the arrangement of the text in the manuscript in which the narrative survives signals a concern about kingship and modes of kingship. As we have it, the Alliterative Morte Arthure is extant in one manuscript: Lincoln Cathedral Library MS 91, a miscellany also known as the Lincoln Thornton Manuscript, compiled by Robert Thornton sometime between 1420 and 1450.7 Within the range of texts included in Thornton’s miscellany, the Alliterative Morte Arthure comes second, after a Prose Alexander (in the portion of the manuscript that scholars have called the romance section); this section also includes Octavian, Sir Ysambrace, The Earl of Toulouse, Sir Degreaunt, and Sir Eglamour.8 In following the Prose Alexander, the Alliterative Morte Arthure’s placement allows it to highlight similar themes: both narratives are interested in kingship and the tragic fall of a ruler whose dual role as governor and fighting-man seem to clash. This tension between the seemingly conflicted roles embedded in kingship is indicated by a corresponding discord between the illustrations present in the Prose Alexander and the Alliterative Morte Arthure and the outcomes of the narratives. Philippa Hardman has argued that much of the imagery around the Alexander, for instance, recalls the imagery associated with English kings, such as that on the Great Seal and English coins.9 Such images suggest an interest in royal power and encapsulate the dual roles of kings: showing, on 46 arthuriana

the one hand, the military role of the king by depicting him as a knightly figure mounted on horseback, while on the other hand, showing the king as a governor, enthroned and with scepter in hand.10 It is notable, though, that while the illustrations and areas marked for pictorial representation in the manuscript suggest a strong interest in kingship and royal authority, as Hardman and Fredell suggest, the narratives themselves signal the ruptures that arise when a ruler moves too far into one mode of kingship. Both Alexander and Arthur fall, in part because however fantastic and noble their military successes are, they fundamentally overextend themselves in this pursuit, and in doing so, they neglect important managerial responsibilities for their holdings. In this vein, I submit that the poet of the Alliterative Morte Arthure shows us that while military leadership and knightly prowess are important attributes, kings must also be good governors and maintain a strong presence at home in order to effectively rule their kingdoms.

mordred as ruler: loosening links to treachery In many medieval Arthurian narratives, Mordred features prominently as a malevolent villain and a traitor. Given this long history, it is notable that the poet of the Alliterative Morte Arthure departs from this tradition in order to complicate this perspective. Indeed, while other poets like Geoffrey of Monmouth, Wace, Laæmon, and Malory explicitly describe Mordred through the lens of treachery and villainy, often figuring him as a malicious traitor from the start, the poet of the Alliterative Morte only links Mordred with treachery much later in the narrative. I argue that this notable change calls into question the extent to which we should decide, a priori, to read all of Mordred’s actions as being informed by treachery and wickedness. In fact, the first time the poet names Mordred as a traitor occurs toward the end of the Morte, when Mordred stands on the English beach-head, opposing Arthur’s amphibious assault: ‘Yitt es the traytoure one londe with tryede knyghttes, / And all trompede they trippe one trappede stedys’ (ll. 3712-3713).11 This first moment where the poet identifies Mordred as ‘traytoure’ appears only after the audience has consumed something like eighty-five percent of the text—a stark contrast to other medieval writers like Monmouth, for instance, who hardly finishes introducing Mordred before branding him a traitor.12 Likewise, I suggest that we must carefully consider the poet’s unique contribution to Arthurian tradition in Mordred’s response to his appointment as ‘soueraynge,’ where he displays none of his traditional characteristics of treachery or opportunism that we see from Geoffrey of Monmouth through Malory and beyond.13 After Arthur surprises the council and Mordred with his choice and names him sovereign, Mordred immediately kneels before him and says, sword and scepter 47

I beseke yow, sir, as my sybbe lorde that ye will for charyte cheese yow another, For if ye putte me in this plytte yowre pople es dyssauyde; to present a prynce astate my power es symple (ll. 681–684).

Here, Mordred makes it clear that he does not want to rule Britain and begs Arthur ‘for charyte’ to choose someone else, for he is not princely enough to warrant this position. Mordred, then, appears keenly aware that his royal and princely qualifications are lacking, and that others are better suited and better qualified, perhaps, to receive this appointment. In considering the lordly requirements for the position and claiming his own lack of princely estate, Mordred displays an awareness that members of English government ought to have certain qualities and talents to govern effectively, and he humbly confesses that he does not think he is the best qualified person for the job. Although it was indeed customary for recipients of honors to demur and reject their own worthiness to receive such accolades, the poet of the Alliterative Morte Arthure complicates the notion that Mordred has kingly aspirations and actively covets Arthur’s power because there is no such mention—as there is in much of the earlier Arthurian tradition—that Mordred actually wants to rule. Instead, what he does want is to fight alongside his brethren of the Round Table, so that he can achieve honor and glory through deeds of arms: ‘When other of werre wysse are wyrchipide hereaftyre, / Than may I for sothe be sette bott at lyttill’ (ll. 685–686). Here, we see not an ambitious Mordred who desires Arthur’s power, but a knightly Mordred who yearns to serve with his brethren in battle. By intervening in the Arthurian tradition of explicitly affirming Mordred’s desire for power, the poet signals his departure from the corpus and asks us to reconsider Mordred outside the shadow of prefigured treason. Early in the Alliterative Morte, one of the ways that the poet complicates the traditional reading of Mordred as traitor is by excising Mordred’s personal enmity with Arthur and revising the conflict to frame it as a problem with political language. As we shall see, the main problem here revolves around Arthur’s terminology and the implications of his choice to identify Mordred as sovereign.14 In this scene where Arthur has announced his intention to make war on Rome, Arthur tells Mordred that he is ‘soueraynge’ and ‘leutenaunte’ (ll. 644–646). According to the Middle English Dictionary, ‘soueraynge’ can be defined as ‘one who is superior to or has power over another; an immediate master’ and ‘a sovereign ruler of a realm or people, king, queen . . . to be recognized as king.’15 And under ‘leutenaunte,’ the word can be defined as ‘one who acts for another, one who takes the place of another.’16 Arthur’s choice to name Mordred as sovereign is curious here because the terms taken together are rather confusing. Indeed, the two terms conceptually pull in 48 arthuriana

opposing directions, since soueraynge indicates an immediate master with no superior, while leutenaunte suggests a deputy, which is implicitly subordinate to another power. Moreover, the terms do not precisely limit Mordred’s power, nor do they clearly invoke the sense of temporary-ness that Arthur perhaps intends. Other terms, like regent and governour, were not only available in the Middle English lexicon around the poem’s date of composition, but they are also more precisely suited to underscore the limited nature of Mordred’s power and his role, since they more closely evoke the sense of a temporary ruler.17 But the main problem here, as for medieval contemporaries, was that the precise meaning—and indeed, the multivalence—of the terms used to describe this kind of position could be troublesome, especially when it came to understanding the scope of time and powers that the term implied. For example, in the minority of Henry VI, the duke of Gloucester claimed to have been made tutelam et defensionem principales in King Henry V’s will, but this turn of phrase was disagreeable to Parliament because ‘the Roman tutor was in fact first and foremost the controller of the property of his ward in the time of the latter’s incapacity to administer it himself,’ and it seems that parliament did not want Gloucester to have such power.18 In ways that perhaps echo such near-contemporary problems with defining and clearly delineating political power, the poet of the Alliterative Morte shows how Arthur’s word choice has the effect of obfuscating the temporary-ness of Mordred’s appointment, whatever Arthur’s intentions may have been. By naming Mordred as both ‘soueraynge’ and ‘leutenaunte,’ Arthur’s words have the effect of enlarging, rather than limiting Mordred’s power, suggesting that Mordred should act as sovereign of England and that he should be recognized by all his subjects as such. As we shall see, Mordred will take his role as sovereign king seriously and will both refuse to recognize Arthur as superior—since kings who do not recognize superiors are sovereign—and will also exercise imperial powers in England—since kings are to act as emperors within their own realm.19 In revising the focal point of their strife, the poet recasts the conflict between Mordred and Arthur as one informed by the instability of political language, as I’ve suggested, but he also stages Arthur’s appointment of Mordred as a public affirmation and recognition of Mordred’s sovereignty, which also seems to be affirmed by the larger political community. In this way, the poet highlights Arthur’s own role in establishing Mordred in his position of power, which further distances the narrative from the traditional depiction of Mordred as unjust usurper.20 According to Lee Manion, medieval conceptions of sovereignty ultimately come down to acts of recognition and contest, in order to ‘[establish] the (fictional) origins of political power through ceremonial and legal acknowledgment.’21 Such acts of recognition were performances essential to determining and contesting power relations between rulers and sword and scepter 49

other rulers, and between superiors and subordinates, and Manion argues that, ‘Late medieval kings in general and English ones in particular defined and contested sovereignty with emperors, popes, their subjects, and each other through a discourse based on acts of recognition, which operated both verbally and ceremonially.’22 Significantly, the poet of the Alliterative Morte includes both of these elements of sovereign recognition, showing, on the one hand, verbal acknowledgment through Arthur’s own naming of Mordred as sovereign, and on the other hand, ceremonial affirmation by the larger political community of England.23 Although the poet of the Alliterative Morte Arthure does not zoom in to show the audience the particulars of Mordred’s parliamentary recognition, the poet reveals the polity’s support of Mordred by investing him with the political signs of kingship and sovereignty that are bestowed through ceremony. For example, the poet tells us that Mordred possesses Clarent, ‘that crown . . . of swordes’ (l. 4202), which Arthur says was ‘kepede for encorownmentes of kynges enoynttede’ (l. 4197), indicating its formal and ceremonial usage for recognizing kings and its concomitant semiotic link as a signifier of kingship in England.24 This sword, according to Lee Manion, represents ‘the essential capacities of the “imperial” sovereign-- the creation of lesser kings and dukes,’ which further imbues Mordred with sovereign authority, since a sovereign possessed such imperial powers within his own realm, according to medieval jurists.25 Though Arthur suspects that Mordred attains it because he had ‘my wardrobe at Walingford . . . destroyed,’ (l. 4203) it seems equally likely that he is in possession of this sword because he has been made king of England, named sovereign by Arthur himself and then perhaps ceremonially recognized as such by Parliament.

mordred and kingship: balancing the dual roles of kings In order to suggest that Mordred has been an attentive regent from a managerial standpoint, the poet provides careful attention to the details of Mordred’s duties in his appointment scene. Such detailing serves to complicate the complaints made against Mordred by Sir Craddock later in the narrative because Mordred’s reported actions seem to accord with Arthur’s discussion of Mordred’s responsibilities. When Sir Craddock brings word of Mordred’s actions to Arthur after Arthur wakes up from the second dream, Craddock says that Mordred has ‘castells encrochede, and . . . / Kaught in all the rentis of the Rownde Tabill’ (ll. 3525-3526). But is this not more or less the sovereign powers that Arthur passed on to Mordred? When Arthur named Mordred sovereign, Arthur told him that he should ‘weilde al my landes’ (l. 650), and that he should ‘luke [that] my kydde castells be clenlyche arrayede’ (l. 654). In telling Mordred that he should ‘weilde’ Arthur’s lands, he is telling him to rule his kingdom and take control over all his lands. And by telling him that the castles should be ‘clenlyche arrayede,’ Arthur is instructing Mordred 50 arthuriana

to make sure that all the castles are fully and completely equipped. Both of these, of course, necessarily involve finances. Thus, while Craddock implies that Mordred has unjustly seized the castles and claimed all the taxes and rents of the Round Table, these seem to be precisely the powers that Arthur bestows on Mordred by making him sovereign. As a ruler, Mordred’s first task is the challenging job of stabilizing the kingdom and its economy in the wake of Arthur’s imperial war ambitions. Although Craddock tells Arthur that Mordred ‘devisede the rewme and delte as hym likes’ (l. 3527) and proceeds to list the ways that England has been subdivided, Mordred might not have had many other choices available to him, given the limited human and material resources left to him because of Arthur’s war preparations.26 Indeed, the poet takes pains to underscore the considerable drain that the war imposes on England’s human and material resources. After making Mordred sovereign, Arthur commands that all his lords should ‘kayere to your cuntrez and semble your knyghtes, / And keepys me at Constantine, clenlych arayede, / . . . with yowre beste beryns’ (ll. 627–630), stressing that his lords should return completely arrayed with their knights and all of their best men. There appears to be no consideration to leave any good fighting men behind to attend to England’s defenses, leaving Mordred with what seems like few soldiers to defend the kingdom, and even fewer lords to help manage the governance of England. Thus, while the notion of dividing the kingdom into fiefs might seem odd, Mordred has not been left with much of a choice, and resorts to enfeoffing lands to compensate for the vast number of men and resources Arthur took with him. This would shift the financial burden of maintaining the lands and castles onto the magnates, who would then owe military service and/or financial contributions to Mordred, though he would be obligated to protect his vassal. Indeed, the poet draws particular attention to the enormous human and material resources Arthur removes from England in order to pursue his continental war abroad. At Sandwich, where Arthur’s ships await departure, the poet does not tell us the number of the men composing Arthur’s troops, and through this absence of a fixed number, the men seem to step outside physical enumeration, suggesting a truly massive army. As if to underscore its massive size, Arthur has his sights set on Rome and he must cross—and in the process, conquer—all of Western Europe to do so. At Sandwich, the poet tells us that:

the grete ware gederyde wyth galyarde knyghtes, . . . Dukkes and duzseperez . . . Erlez of Ynglonde with archers ynewe. Schirreues scharply schiftys the comouns, Rewlys before the ryche of the Rounde Table (ll. 721–726). sword and scepter 51

What this suggests is that Arthur has almost emptied the kingdom of its resources, ranging from fighting men to the supplies—food, funds, weapons, armor, horses, and harness—needed to sustain them. Late medieval warfare was very expensive, as English kings—like Edward III—and citizens knew all too well. While these resources may be a good thing for Arthur, ensuring that he has sufficient men and supplies to sustain the forward momentum of his imperial ambitions, their removal does not bode well for Mordred and England because necessary resources for the maintenance and governance of the kingdom are being deployed elsewhere. Although the poet of the Alliterative Morte is not interested in detailing the processes of Arthur’s requisitions for his army, it seems likely that this process involved a combination of seizure of property and the purchase of property for the army. These practices were not especially popular among the English public in the fourteenth century. Indeed, this very subject of scanty resources and poor restitution is addressed in William of Pagula’s Mirror for King Edward III: The cause of the people’s sorrow at your arrival is the fact that your ministers seize many goods against the will of the owners for a smaller price than they wish to sell it for, since the goods are thus seized from them . . . at a fixed price . . . Another cause is that the scouts for your court, servants, and others seize men and horses working around the fields, and animals that plough the earth and carry seed to the field, so that the men and animals work . . . in your service.27 The kingdom of England in the Alliterative Morte Arthure, left in the hands of Mordred, may have felt a bit like the English public during Richard II’s reign at the end of the fourteenth century, which had become increasingly war-weary and reluctant to fund the war effort. If they grumbled about seizure of property during Edward III’s time—when English military power waxed on the continent, but nonetheless granted additional taxes for war preparations—Parliament was even more contentious and resistant to raising taxes during Richard II’s time, when English military power waned, dwindling to a fraction of what it once was. As Saul has observed, ‘Three of the four parliaments from 1381 had refused to make any grant of direct taxation, and the grants made thereafter were usually small.’28 For them, taxes were burdensome and war was seen by Parliament as not being to the common advantage—the costs were simply too great, and the returns too small to justify financial investment. In Mordred’s first actions as sovereign in England, I have suggested that he attends to the management of the kingdom, fulfilling the king’s role as governor, but Mordred is also able to perform the military role of kingship. Where Arthur finds himself overemphasizing his role as warrior and abandoning governance in order to pursue his war abroad, Mordred’s conduct shows that the king’s dual roles are not mutually exclusive and that 52 arthuriana

a king can be a warrior, fighting in defense of his kingdom against external forces, and still serve as its governor. In some ways, where Arthur and Mordred differ here is how they understand defending their kingdom: where Arthur responds to a threat by going on the offensive (which I will discuss later), Mordred responds to threats by preparing defenses. In showcasing Mordred’s preparations against Arthur’s invasion, the poet reveals Mordred’s capable military planning and leadership. Anticipating that Arthur will need to invade by sea, Mordred prepares for this eventuality by assembling ‘Att Southampton on the see . . . seuen skore chippes / Frawght full of ferse folke . . . / For to fyghte with thy frappe when thow them assailles’ (ll. 3546–3548), in order to ensure that the sea passages are defended as best as they can be, given the few resources Mordred has left.29 And although Arthur appears to have emptied England of the best of its fighting men and the resources to sustain them, Mordred is able to muster a noteworthy defense against Arthur’s amphibious assault, suggesting considerable defensive preparations and respectable leadership—military attributes notably lacking in Malory’s narrative, where he is simply ‘a convenient knight to be unhorsed when the prowess of another knight had to be demonstrated.’30 One of the aspects of Mordred’s military capabilities that the poet highlights is his grasp of tactical planning. Although Arthur’s army was able to defeat the men in Mordred’s blockade and make it to the shore, Mordred seems to have chosen his ground—and perhaps his timing—rather well, for Arthur’s army lands on unfavorable ground: Be this the folke was fellyde, thane was the flode passede; Thane was it slyke aslowde, in slakkes full hugge That let the kyng for to lande, and the lawe watyre Forthy he lengede one laye, for lesynng of horsesys (ll. 3717–3721).

Being marshy and waterlogged from the receding tide, the beaching point poses a hazard to the horses and hinders Arthur’s men when they try to advance in their heavy armor and equipment. Meanwhile, Mordred and his ‘tryede knyghttes’ await (l. 3712), fully assembled and ready ‘on the schire bankkes,’ (l. 3714) taking advantage of the higher terrain to make a defensive stand and forcing Arthur’s men to advance across cumbersome ground, placing them at a disadvantage. And we know that Mordred’s efforts to defend the area against Arthur are effective because the poet shows us Sir Wycharde advising Arthur to pursue Mordred no further and to await reinforcements, saying ‘. . . we are faithely to fewe to feghte with them all / that we see in his sorte appon the see bankes’ (ll. 4031–4032), suggesting that the cost of Arthur’s advance was too great to warrant pushing forward any further.31 sword and scepter 53

arthur as ruler: loosening links to exemplarity In problematizing the traditional depiction of Mordred as traitor in order to show how Mordred functions in his role as a king, the poet of the Alliterative Morte similarly complicates the typical portrait of Arthur as a tragic but ideal king, a move that allows the poet to highlight problems with his performance of kingship.32 One of the ways the poet accomplishes this is by showing that Arthur does not seem interested in listening to counsel; instead of looking for advice, Arthur appears to be looking for agreement, and he looks only to those who seem to already share his perspective for their ‘advice.’33 The poet identifies this problem early in the Alliterative Morte Arthure, when Arthur holds a Round Table, but the festivities are interrupted by a senator from Rome, sent by the emperor, Lucius, who demands that Arthur pay tribute and homage to Lucius.34 Though Manion stresses that Lucius’ demands entail an assault on Arthur’s sovereignty, Lucius’ demands also assault Arthur’s honor and invite an action in return.35 However, it is important to note that Arthur does not lose control, unlike Gawain’s response later in the narrative to equally trying words.36 Instead, Arthur refuses to respond to Lucius’s demands until he has taken counsel ‘off dukes and duspers and doctours noble, / Offe peres of the parlement, prelates and other, / Off the richeste renkys of the Round Table’ (ll. 145–147). As Dorsey Armstrong has argued, this decision to take counsel before responding ‘implies that some sort of choice can be made, that there are options.’37 In this sense, Arthur appears to be acting prudently, reassuring the messengers that despite their insulting demands, they will not be harmed, and declaring that before making any decisions on the matter, he will be taking counsel from wise and respected men in Arthurian government. Rather than advising Arthur on the best course of action, however, all of the participants—Arthur included—seem to have already made up their minds that waging war against Lucius is really the only option worth considering.38 Armstrong rightly notes that here ‘Arthur and his men [are] wholly and almost univocally embracing a narrow ideology of kingship, one in which warfare and conquest take precedence over peaceful rule.’39 Thus, while Arthur and his ‘counselors’ are all of one mind, the council does not serve as a sounding-board to weigh a plurality of options and decide upon the best course of action for the kingdom, but functions more as what we might call an interest group. Indeed, despite Arthur’s earlier claim that he must consult with a diverse group of men, ranging from dukes to scholars, the poet only shows Arthur consulting with a small group of magnates, ‘that to hym selfe langys’ (l. 244), suggesting that Arthur really only seeks counsel 54 arthuriana

from a small group of men who have probably offered continual support for Arthur, since they ‘belong’ to him. Arthur, like all of his knights, seems set upon military action, and after he briefly mentions the need to consider a truce, his subsequent rhetoric acts to make war the only option. Of the advisers, Sir Cador of Cornwall is the first to vocalize his military enthusiasm, urging Arthur to start a war because ‘We hafe as losels liffyde many longe daye / . . . And forelytened the loos that we are layttede’ (ll. 252–254), underscoring the need for knights to constantly affirm and reaffirm their chivalric identity through deeds of arms, necessitating a continual cycle from peace to war. Arthur gently rebukes Cador’s military enthusiasm by saying that his: concell es noble; But thou ...... countez no caas, ne castes no forthire, But hurles furthe appon heuede as thi herte thynkes. I moste trette of a trew towchande thise nedes (ll. 259–263).

Arthur’s words suggest that he can appreciate the sentiment, but that Cador is being too hasty by only considering military options. Arthur’s claim that he ‘moste trette of a trew towchande thise nedes’ implies that non-military options are also on the table for consideration, but as it will become clear, Arthur appears to be only paying lip-service to this claim. Indeed, immediately after claiming the need to consider a truce, Arthur begins this rhetorical process by expressing his anger, saying that the messengers spoke ‘heynyous wordes, / In speche disspyszede me’ (ll. 268–269), which rendered him temporarily mute with rage: ‘I myght noghte speke for spytte’ (l. 270). Then Arthur moves on to note the injustice of the demands and calls Lucius an unjust ruler, saying that ‘he askyd me tyrauntly tribute of Rome, / That tenefully tynt was in tym of myn elders’ (ll. 271–272). Having established the injustice of Lucius’ demands, depicting him as a villain, and telling of Arthur’s own emotional response to such demands, resulting in a mixture of anger and shame, Arthur’s rhetoric has a palpable effect on his ‘counselors,’ inciting them to anger as well. In fact, the first responder to Arthur’s words, King Aungers, bursts out enthusiastically, ‘Thow aughte to be ouerlynge ouer all other kynges’ (l. 289), no doubt pounding his fist on the table while doing so. The flood gates thus opened, the baron of ‘Bretayne the lyttyll’ (l. 304), the king of the Welsh, and Sir Ewain immediately follow suit. This culminates in Arthur’s stated intention to, ‘By the kalendez of Juny . . . encontre ones / Wyth full creuell knyghtez, so Cryste mot me helpe’ (ll. 345–346). Whatever happened to that talk of a treaty? What about defending the kingdom against Lucius, if it came to that? Does Arthur’s military response sword and scepter 55

really need to be a war of offense, of conquest? Scholars like Armstrong have rightly noted that Arthur does have options—some of which might involve the kind of warfare so important to chivalric self-definition without becoming conquest: ‘Arthur could have chosen to remain home: [this option is] one in which he rejects the Emperor’s summons to do obeisance, surely, but resists this order through simple defiance, rather than aggressive warfare, assembling an army for defense [of the kingdom] rather than conquest.’40 But whatever other options existed—including exploring the diplomatic solutions Arthur initially claimed needed to be considered—all of them are discarded before they have actually been considered. Arthur’s words have the effect of inciting his men to confirm his desires rather than actually advise him. Arthur’s unwillingness to listen to advice is a problem to which the poet continues to point as the narrative continues. Shortly after pledging to wage war on Lucius and the Romans, Arthur begins planning for the war, telling his counsel that he intends to seize Rome and that: I set you here a soueraynge, ascente yif you lyks, That es me sybb, my syster son sir Mordrede hym seluen, Sall be my leutenaunte, with lordchipez ynewe Of all my lele legemen that my landes yemes (ll. 644–647).

In these lines, as before, there seems to be very little in the way of seeking counsel. But, whereas the scene referred to earlier at least goes through the motions of seeking counsel and performs as such, this scene reveals no attempt at all by Arthur to meet with his advisors on this matter. Additionally, while he says, ‘ascente yif you lyks,’ his words are delivered offhand, as though it does not really matter much what his advisors think; as before, Arthur has already made up his mind. Such rash decision-making and making such decisions without seeking and then acting upon good advice proved to be very dangerous for English kings in the late Middle Ages. Indeed, failing to heed advice, listening to bad advice, and damaging the common weal were common charges to level against such kings: Edward II, for instance, was specifically charged with listening to bad counsel, which in turn damaged the common weal; Edward III was accused of listening to bad advice and violating his coronation oath, and he was reminded that his father had been deposed for similar things; and finally, Richard II was accused of heeding poor advice and playing favorites and rewarding them disproportionately, and he was threatened twice—once in 1386, and again in 1387—with deposition before he was actually deposed in 1399.41 By situating Arthur’s nomination of Mordred as a decision made without counsel, the poet suggests a willful and headstrong king, not unlike some contemporary English kings. 56 arthuriana

arthur and kingship: emphasizing the sword In the poet’s depiction of Arthur as a king, we see that not only does Arthur seem uninterested in counsel, but he also distances himself from the responsibilities of governance, fundamentally abandoning England, in order to pursue his war ambitions abroad.42 In this way, the poet shows us that Arthur chooses to overemphasize his role as king-as-warrior to the exclusion of his role as king-as-governor. This concern about Arthur’s fixation on his military role and his abandonment of governance first manifests itself early in the Alliterative Morte Arthure, after Lucius’ representative has relayed his message and Arthur has decided that war abroad is the best option. As I suggested earlier, Arthur’s army and its acquisitions seem to drain England of much of its human and material resources, and Arthur does not seem to give it a second thought. Instead, he passes the responsibility of caring for the kingdom and managing it on to Mordred and makes him ‘soueraynge,’ and from his instructions to Mordred, it sounds very much like Arthur is uninterested in England. Arthur tells Mordred he will be ‘kepare . . . of kyngrykes manye, / wardayne wyrchipfull to weilde al my landes’ (ll. 649–650), and then tells him to ‘chaunge as the likes’ (l. 660) any ‘Chauncelere and chambyrleyn’ (l. 660) or any ‘Audytours and offycers . . . / . . . jureez and juggez and justicez of landes’ (ll. 661–662). Not only does this listing enumerate the powers and responsibilities that Mordred will have, as I argued earlier, but it also suggests some of Arthur’s distancing from governance even at this state, as his words to ‘chaunge as the likes’ indicates a troubling lack of concern for stability. The remark is delivered off-hand, as though it matters little to Arthur whether or not the men that he had appointed remain in their positions.This brings up the question of competency, for if Arthur seems to care little, we should wonder why they were appointed in the first place; and Arthur’s remark also implies that he does not care who Mordred chooses to appoint, if he does choose to replace an official with another candidate. From his instructions to Mordred, then, it sounds very much like Arthur does not want anything to do with the kingship and governance of England, nor does he wish to be consulted about anything—Mordred is to rule as sovereign and to make all decisions pertaining to England and its governance. Arthur, for his part, simply does not seem to care because all his attention is focused elsewhere: on his continental war. Indeed, the impression of distancing and the sense of Arthur’s disconnect with England is underscored later in the narrative, when Sir Craddock arrives to bring word of Mordred in England. At this point in the Alliterative Morte Arthure, the poet has focused our attention on Arthur’s continual push to the south and the east, with never a backward glance. In fact, Arthur is rarely linked with ‘England’ sword and scepter 57 or ‘Britain’ as its king; more frequently, he is referred to as ‘conquerour,’ or the ruler of ‘the renkes of the Rounde Table,’ which emphasizes his warrior role, stressing his acquisitions and forward-momentum, and distancing him from the kingdom he supposedly governs. In always moving forward in his campaign, Arthur shows himself to be a capable military leader of effective fighting men, but this over-emphasis on his military role comes at a cost: by choosing to remove himself so effectually from governing England, he is out of touch with his own kingdom. As I suggested earlier, Mordred’s power was not acquired all at once, and it is likely that he had support from officials at home in England, but Arthur, on the other hand, is so far removed from governance that he only learns about Mordred’s supposed usurpation of power after everything has already happened. As much as we might be tempted to blame Mordred for all of this, it is Arthur’s kingship that is implicated here, for English kings warring abroad often took pains to stay connected with their insular holdings, even while absent. Rulers like Richard I and Edward III, for instance, though overseas and away from their kingdom in England, nevertheless maintained more or less constant contact with the officials in place at home, and did not simply abandon everything to do with the kingdom’s governance, as Arthur has done. Sir James Holt has shown that Richard I, for instance, not only remained in continual contact with his kingdom, but also took personal interest in the governance of England, even while abroad. Holt argues that ‘even during [Hubert Walter’s] justiciarship the stream of brevia regis reflects that Richard intervened frequently and persistently in the control of English affairs.’43 Similarly, Edward III was also well-informed of affairs at home, for after hearing that his regency administration was not running the kingdom effectively, Edward returned home in secret and initiated what W.M. Ormrod has called ‘the most far-reaching and ruthless purge of government conducted in his long reign’ to remove the inept—and possibly treasonous—officials from power.44 Edward announced that he would hold a general inquiry of the regency administration, inviting all those with grievances to ‘send their bills to officers whom the king would appoint specifically for the task.’45 In this context of English kings who also warred abroad while simultaneously balancing the demands of governing their kingdoms, Arthur stands out, but not as a model of excellence; instead, the poet shows us what happens when English kings overemphasize their roles as fighters and neglect their roles as governors. Ultimately, the poet of the Alliterative Morte Arthure does not suggest that either Mordred or Arthur functions as an exemplary ruler in negotiating the dual roles of kingship, but the poet shows us that Mordred comes closer to the mark because his military actions as a ruler are in accordance with his duties as a governor, whereas Arthur’s military role is privileged over his 58 arthuriana

managerial responsibilities, which are equally important. In the end, our impression of Arthur is that of an aspiring empire builder, but the poet shows us that such aspirations—while enticing for rulers—are not often lasting. Arthur’s military gains, like England’s in the late Middle Ages, do not endure. Where Arthur stresses his role as a knight to the exclusion of his role as governor, Mordred is not only able to balance the dual roles of kings more successfully than Arthur, but he also appears to consider the effects of war on England more substantively than Arthur. In the wake of Arthur’s invasion, for instance, Mordred recognizes the costs of war on a larger scale, and weeps and laments for the loss and damage to the kingdom.46 Arthur, on the other hand, experiences and recognizes loss only in personal terms, and propels himself on a zero-sum course of self- and communally-destructive vengeance.47 In this way, the poet suggests that English kings ought to be able to function as warriors and governors for their kingdoms, as Mordred tries to do, and that however appealing it may be to acquire additional territories on the continent through warfare, English kings should instead attend to matters in the insular kingdom, for territorial gains abroad are not lasting, but they are costly, as the experience of contemporary English kings and Arthur attest. For this poet writing at the end of the fourteenth century, stability and growth at home in England are perhaps more important than expanding territories abroad, especially when such expansion comes at the cost of strength at home.

fordham university

Steven Bruso is a Teaching Fellow at Fordham University, where he is writing his dissertation on the knightly male body and violence in Middle English romance, exploring how these bodies and identities are ‘translated’ in contemporary fantasy.

notes A version of this essay, titled ‘False! Traitor!: The Marginalization of Mordred and the Ambiguities of Kingship in the Alliterative Morte Arthure’ was presented at the 46th International Congress on Medieval Studies at Kalamazoo, MI in 2011. Many thanks are due to a great number of people. In particular, I would like to thank my mentor, Daniel Contreras, for his unwavering support; SunHee Gertz for her continued faith and encouragement; and for their valuable insight and suggestions, I thank the anonymous reader(s), Jon Sherman, Mary Erler, Thomas O'Donnell, Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, Samantha Sabalis, Leslie Carpenter, Allison Adair-Alberts, and Carla Thomas. sword and scepter 59

1 See Peter Korrel, An Arthurian Triangle: A Study of the Origin, Development and Characterization of Arthur, Guinevere and Mordred, (Leiden: Brill, 1984), and Judith Weiss, ‘Mordred’ in Heroes and Anti-Heroes in Medieval Romance, ed. Neil Cartlidge (Woodbridge: D.S. Brewer, 2012), pp. 81–98. 2 See Geoffrey of Monmouth, History of the Kings of Britain, ed. Michael D. Reeve, trans. Neil Wright, (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2009), pp. 248–249; Wace Roman de Brut A History of the British: Text and Translation, rev. edn., ed. trans. Judith Weiss (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 2002), 326–327; Laæamon, Layamon’s Arthur: The Arthurian Section of Layamon’s Brut, eds. trans. W.R.J. Barron and S.C. Weinberg (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1989), pp. 176–177; and Sir Thomas Malory, Le Morte Darthur, ed. Stephen H.A. Shepherd, (New York: Norton, 2004), p. 646; 642. 3 To a considerable extent, I think the narrative indicates late fourteenth-century concerns about kingship in a way that is less restricted to the reigns of particular kings. In this sense, I follow Juliet Vale, who noted that the poet of the Alliterative Morte ‘sets his characters in a distinctly fourteenth-century milieu without reproducing any particular historical situation’; ‘Law and Diplomacy in the Alliterative Morte Arthure,’ Nottingham Medieval Studies 23 (1979): 36 (31–36, emphasis mine). Rosalind Field has articulated a similar view, arguing that while historical inquiry can do much to increase our understanding of medieval texts, hunting down the specific particulars reduces literature to a fact-finding mission. Instead, Field proposes that ‘the elusive historicity of such romance[s] may be an essential feature of its literary nature’; ‘Romance as History, History as Romance,’ in Romance in Medieval England, ed. Maldwyn Mills, Jennifer Fellows, and Carol M. Meale, (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1991), p. 167 (pp. 163–174). I would agree and suggest that it is less important whether the Morte is referring in any specific way to Edward III or Richard II’s reigns. In a sense, the narrative explores themes and concerns that would be readily accessible to contemporaries in either period, being concerned as it is with such ideas as kingship, warfare, and governance. Thus, while recent scholars like Patricia DeMarco, Christine Chism, Geraldine Heng, and others have discussed the poem in light of the rule of specific English kings—usually Edward III or Richard II—I suggest that the narrative is less about a contemporary English king than it is about late medieval English kingship. See Patricia DeMarco ‘An Arthur for the Ricardian Age: Crown, Nobility, and the Alliterative Morte Arthure,’ Speculum 80.2 (2005): 464–493; Christine Chism, ‘King Takes Knight: Signifying War in the Alliterative Morte Arthure’ in Alliterative Revivals (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2002), pp. 189–236; and Geraldine Heng ‘Warring Against Modernity: Masculinity and Chivalry in Crisis; or, The Alliterative Morte Arthure’s Romance Anatomy of a Crusade’ in Empire of Magic: Medieval Romance and the Politics of Cultural Fantasy (New York: Columbia University Press, 2003), pp. 115–180. 4 I follow Mary Hamel’s dating, and she argues that Thornton’s copy ‘is as many as five stages removed from the poet’s prototype’ (p. 13). For a much more detailed 60 arthuriana

assessment of the manuscript, see Mary Hamel’s introduction to Morte Arthure: A Critical Edition (New York: Garland, 1984), pp. 3–99. 5 See Nigel Saul, Richard II, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997), p. 48. 6 W.M. Ormrod points out that in 1368, Parliament agreed to raise funds for the war, but only on three conditions: ‘Borrowing was to be kept to a minimum, no direct taxes were to be levied on the laity, and as much expenditure as possible would be assigned to revenue from the customs system’ (525). See W.M. Ormrod, Edward III (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011). Most significantly, perhaps, is the concession that it seems that Edward III had to make in order to secure an extension of the wool subsidy; namely, that his private cash reserves that he acquired as war booty from ransoms and spoils of war would be converted to revenue for the war effort. For a discussion of the power dynamics between king and parliament, specifically in regards to taxation for the war effort, see Gerald L. Harriss, ‘War and the Emergence of the English Parliament, 1297–1360,’ in The Wars of Edward III: Sources and Interpretations, ed. Clifford J. Rogers (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1999), pp. 321–341. 7 As a member of the middling gentry, Thornton was also part of a highly literate class with wide reading tastes and apparently had little trouble in securing the numerous texts to copy in his book project or the materials necessary to do so. Indeed, Ralph Hanna III shows that during the time of Thornton’s compilations, Thornton was able to secure at least fifteen exemplars—and possibly up to twenty—from which to copy, concluding that Thornton’s ability to acquire this many different exemplars for copying indicates ‘considerable acquisitiveness [and] there is some suggestive evidence to suggest that this was practiced at a very narrow range and that Thornton participated in a lively local literate culture . . . most of the materials in the two manuscripts [Lincoln Cathedral Library MS 91 and British Library MS Additional 31042] do not seem to show signs of having come from other dialects[, which] implies that Thornton obtained them locally’ (61); See Hanna’s ‘The Growth of Robert Thornton’s Books,’ Studies in Bibliography 40 (1987): 51–61. Hanna’s findings accord well with those of George R. Keiser, who notes the thriving literary culture and industry at and around York, pointing out that ‘the Freeman’s Register of York . . . attests to the fact that the book trade was a steady and prosperous one in York at this period. Among those who specified their trades in entries in the Freeman’s Register between 1327 and 1473, we find 38 parchment makers, 1 stationer, 35 scriveners, 13 limners . . . and 6 book-binders’ (165). See George R. Keiser, ‘Lincoln Cathedral Library MS 91: Life and Milieu of the Scribe,’ Studies in Bibliography 32 (1979): 158–179. While it is generally agreed that Robert Thornton copied from his exemplar of the Alliterative Morte Arthure around 1420–1430, Mary Hamel has argued that Thornton’s copy ‘is as many as five stages removed from the poet’s prototype’ (13) and suggests ‘with some confidence’ (56) that the original ‘was completed between 1396 and 1403 at the outside, and most likely between 1400 and 1402’ (p. 56). For Hamel’s assessment, see her introduction in Morte Arthure: A Critical Edition, pp. 3–99. P.J.C. Field has recently proposed a revision of Hamel’s dating, arguing for a composition sword and scepter 61

date between 1375–1378. See ‘Morte Arthure, The Montagus, and Milan’ Medium Aevum 78.1 (2009): 98-117. 8 As a miscellany, the subject matter of the texts included in the Lincoln MS varies widely, ranging from romances to medical treatises in a bilingual context. A revised catalogue of the contents of Lincoln Cathedral Library MS 91 has recently been made available online, as part of the Geographies of Orthodoxy Project, and can be accessed at: http://www.qub.ac.uk/geographies-of-orthodoxy/resources/?secti on=manuscript&id=67. Last accessed April 30, 2015. 9 See especially pages 252–256 of Philippa Hardman ‘Reading the Spaces: Pictorial Intentions in the Thornton MSS, Lincoln Cathedral Library MS 91 and BL MS Add. 31042’ Medium Aevum 63.2 (1994): 250–274. 10 Hardman observes that ‘it is notable that none of the many marvels of the story— the fabulous beasts and Wild Men of the East, the Brahmans, the earthly paradise, the basilisk, the trees of the sun and moon, Alexander’s aerial and submarine journeys—is selected for illustration, while these episodes figure prominently in Alexander picture cycles’ (255). Likewise, Hardman says we can detect a similar interest at work in the Morte: ‘If we compare the pattern of emphasis and lack of emphasis created by the choice of subjects for illustration in the Alexander, we find the same disregard for the marvelous, and the same interest in incidents which confirm the status of the king as conqueror’ (256). Joel Fredell, writing in the same year as Hardman, draws a similar conclusion, noting that while we do not know what Thornton’s exemplars were, in order to assess whether his program of decorated initials merely follows the exemplar or if they were initiated by himself, ‘close analysis of the decoration itself provides strong evidence that Thornton had a particular interest in kingship and used a decorative hierarchy to develop this theme in the opening poems of his miscellany’ (79). See ‘Decorated Initials in the Lincoln Thornton MS,’ Studies in Bibliography 47 (1994): 78–88. 11 All quotations from the Alliterative Morte Arthure, unless otherwise noted, are from Mary Hamel, Morte Arthure: A Critical Edition (New York, Garland: 1984). 12 This pattern of prefiguring Mordred’s wickedness is evident in post-medieval Arthurian narratives as well. In Tennyson’s Idylls of the King, Mordred ‘Lay couchant with his eyes upon the throne, / Ready to spring, waiting a chance’ (‘Guinevere’ ll. 11–12), and Tennyson is not alone among post-medieval Arthurian narratives in rendering Mordred this way. In Rosemary Sutcliff’s novel Sword at Sunset Mordred is ever the sneaky and malicious traitor. He confesses to have ‘learned more of hate than of love’ (p. 338), and Arthur, looking upon him, notes that ‘as [Mordred] could blend into the surroundings of his life, so it seemed that he could take on the color of one’s own thoughts, so that I could never be quite sure whether I saw Medraut, or only what I imagined Medraut to be’ (pp. 455–456). See Rosemary Sutcliff, Sword at Sunset, (Reprint. Chicago: Chicago Review Press, 2008). For other recent and similar treatments of Mordred in postmedieval Arthurian narratives, see Bernard Cornwell’s The Winter King (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1995), Enemy of God (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1996), and Excalibur (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1997); and Hellen Hollick’s The 62 arthuriana

Kingmaking (U.S. Ed., Naperville: Sourcebooks Landmark, 2009), Pendragon’s Banner (U.S. Ed., Naperville: Sourcebooks Landmark, 2009), and Shadow of the King (U.S. Ed., Naperville: Sourcebooks Landmark, 2009). 13 Indeed, as far as I can tell, there is no comparable scene anywhere else in the medieval Arthurian tradition. Malory made use of the Alliterative Morte Arthure, but consciously chose not to include this segment within his work. 14 My understanding of ‘sovereignty’ is greatly informed by Francesco Maiolo, who has urged for a more nuanced understanding of the term. He defines sovereignty as ‘the condition of political supremacy in a community ordained to the attainment of . . . [the] commonwealth’ (25). Sovereignty thus entails political power directed in accordance with the public weal or commun profit. See Francesco Maiolo, Medieval Sovereignty: Marsilius of Padua and Bartolus of Saxoferrato (Delft: Eburon, 2007). 15 Electronic Middle English Dictionary, s.v. ‘soueraynge,’ n. sense 1a; see also n. sense 2a. 16 Ibid, s.v. ‘leutenaunte,’ n. sense 1a. 17 Ibid , s.v. ‘regent,’ n. sense 1b; ‘governour,’ n. sense 1b. See also ‘justice’ n. sense 7a; ‘seneshal’ n. sense 1a. Regent, for example, is attested by the Middle English Dictionary as having this usage ca. 1415, governour ca. 1390, justice ca. 1300, and seneshal ca. 1400. Other Latin terms could be used to describe such a position, including justiciar, rector, protector, and tutor, just to name a few. 18 See E.F. Jacob, The Fifteenth Century, 1399–1485, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987), p. 214 19 Mordred certainly seems to understand himself to be sovereign, since in many ways his behavior accords with contemporary juristic language defining sovereignty, in which the sovereign power of kings is defined through two coordinating phrases, according to Lee Manion: rex qui superiorem non recognoscit [the king who does not recognize a superior {is sovereign}] and rex in regno suo est imperator regni sunt [the king in his own kingdom is emperor]; ‘Sovereign Recognition: Contesting Political Claims in the Alliterative Morte Arthure and the Awntyrs off Arthur,’ in Law and Sovereignty in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, ed. Robert S. Sturges (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011), pp. 72–73 [pp. 69–91]. The scholarship on medieval sovereignty and political thought is large, but see J.H. Burns, ed., The Cambridge History of Medieval Political Thought, c. 350–c. 1450 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988); Anthony Black, Political Thought in Europe, 1250–1450 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992); J.P. Canning, ‘Law, Sovereignty, and Corporation Theory, 1300-1450,’ in The Cambridge History of Medieval Political Thought, c. 350–1450, ed. J.H. Burns (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 454–476. 20 Of all of Arthur’s subjects in England, for instance, only Sir Craddock comes to complain to Arthur about Mordred, claiming that ‘Mordred [has] marred us all!’ (l. 3555). Since only one subject makes such an effort, it would seem that Craddock is in the minority opinion here. 21 Manion, ‘Sovereign Recognition,’ pp. 70–71. 22 Ibid, p. 72. sword and scepter 63

23 This development is not unique to the Alliterative Morte Arthure, as it is also present in the near-contemporary Stanzaic Morte Arthur and later finds expression in Malory’s Le Morte Darthur as well. For the Stanzaic Morte Arthur, the poet is clear that Mordred’s kingship is supported by the magnates and by Parliament: ‘They said with hym was Ioy and wele, / And in Arthurs time but sorow and woo . . . / Mordred let crye a parlement; / . . . And holly throwe there assente / They made Mordred kynge with crowne’ (Le Morte Arthur, ed. J. Douglas Bruce, Early English Text Society {London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co., 1903}, ll. 2964–2981. All quotations from the Stanzaic Morte are from this edition). Here, Mordred’s kingship is made legitimate by the members of Parliament, who recognize Mordred as their king because they grew tired of the constant war under Arthur’s reign. In both the Stanzaic Morte and later in Malory’s Morte, these scenes of parliamentary recognition are explicitly invoked as criticism for Parliament, by staging the acts as indications of fickleness and suggesting that the members of parliament are motivated by their own self-interest. For the poet of the Stanzaic Morte, for instance, Mordred acquires his power through bribery, as ‘Festes made he many and fele / And grete giftes he gave also’ (ll. 2962–2964), and Malory is especially emphatic about fickleness, saying, ‘Lo, ye, all Englysshemen, se ye nat what a myschyff here was? For he that was the moste kynge and nobelyst knyght of the world . . . and yet . . . thes Englyshemen [myght nat] holde them contente with hym . . . Alas, thys ys a greate defaughte of us Englyshemen, for there may no thynge us please no terme’ (680). In the Alliterative Morte, however, the poet offers no such criticism of Parliament, suggesting that we should perhaps be cautious about reading Mordred’s approval from Parliament as a sign of its inefficacy. 24 Armstrong has observed that, ‘Nowhere else in the Arthurian tradition is there mention of a sword of peace equal in status but distinct in use to Excalibur . . . Arthur’s sword of war’ (85). For Armstrong, Clarent’s role as a sword of peace is to serve as an instrument of community-building, as it is used only in ceremonies that celebrate or bring in a new member to the chivalric community. I would like to extend Armstrong’s claim about Clarent’s function one logical step further and suggest that as such an instrument of community-building, the sword also serves as a signifier for kingship, since many of the tasks Arthur has used it for are expressions of royal power and have always been initiated by the king himself. The item, then, takes on the associations of kingship and royal power and becomes a signifier for sovereignty in England. See ‘Rewriting the Chronicle Tradition: The Alliterative Morte Arthure and Arthur’s Sword of Peace,’ Parergon 25.1 (2008): 81–101. 25 Manion, p. 83. 26 See ll. 3541–3545. 27 William of Pagula, Mirror for King Edward III, in Political Thought in Early Fourteenth-Century England: Treatises by Walter of Milemete, William of Pagula, and William of Ockham, ed. trans. Cary J. Nederman, Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies 250 (Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2002), pp. 63–139; p. 108. 28 Saul, p. 206. 64 arthuriana

29 Indeed, while it is true that many of the groups of men who serve in Mordred’s army might be perceived as outsiders, ranging from ‘Sarazenes and Sessoynes’ (l. 3530) to ‘Peyghtes and paynymms’ (l. 3533), recent scholarship by Kathy Cawsey has suggested that ‘Saracen’ as an identity category does not necessarily correspond to markers of race or ethnicity. She argues that ‘while race is often involved in questions of nationalism, colonialism, and so on, in medieval times it may not have been the defining characteristic of such issues (as it often is today).’ See ‘Disorienting Orientalism: Finding Saracens in Strange Places in Late Medieval English Manuscripts,’ Exemplaria 21.4 (2009): 380–397; 382. Cawsey goes on to argue that for the texts she is considering, ‘Saracen’ as an identity category is predicated upon religion, not race, but in the Alliterative Morte, I would suggest that ‘Saracen’ may be functioning as a marker for cultural difference, especially since much of the named groups in Mordred’s army hail from regions of England, ranging from Cornwall, Wales, and Ireland to the North. Significantly, many of these groups have a ‘pre-English’ history with insular culture, and so rather than serving simply as a marker of foreignness, the poet reminds the English audience of their own multicultural ‘British’ past, and thus figures these groups as being already a part of ‘England.’ 30 Korrel, p. 276. 31 Mordred appears to get the best of Arthur again later in the narrative, where Arthur pursues Mordred’s trail to Cornwall and finds him by the river Trent. After dismounting, perhaps joyful that he has found Mordred at last in the forest, the poet implies that Arthur has sprung an ambush that Mordred had prepared, for shortly after Arthur’s men dismount, ‘Now isschewis his enmye vndire the eyuys / With ostes . . . full horrebill to schewe: / Sir Mordrede the Malebranche with his myche pople / Foundes owt of the foreste appon fele halfes / In seuen grett batailles semliche arrayed—/ Sexty thowsande men, the syghte was full hugge!—/ All fyghtande folke . . . / Faire fettede one frownte be tha fresche strondes’ (ll. 4060–4067). Arthur is once again outnumbered, surprised, and on unfavorable ground. It sounds like the forest is behind Mordred and that Arthur is more or less surrounded, with the river Trent now behind him, making it difficult for him to withdraw and position himself on more favorable terrain. 32 J. Eadie argues that the strand of scholarship which finds the poem to be critical of Arthur is ‘quite wrong’ (2) and that ‘the poem at no point offers any condemnation of Arthur’s conduct, which it presents throughout as entirely consistent and entirely praiseworthy. Arthur’s life and conduct are presented as examples of what a man can accomplish in this world and still be saved. The limitations on Arthur’s achievements are simply the limitations which are imposed upon the life and actions of any human being’; The Alliterative Morte Arthure: Structure and Meaning,’ English Studies 63, (1982): 2 (1–12). ‘I take issue with such polemical positioning, as much of the debate amounts to differing interpretations of the poem, which are often equally valid. Instead, I follow scholars like Larry D. Benson, who has said that the poem invites ‘contradictory viewpoints, sincerely admiring and just as sincerely rejecting [its] ideals’ (76–77) and scholars like Armstrong, who has sword and scepter 65

cogently and convincingly argued that the poem tells two tales simultaneously: one in which Arthur is criticized for his actions, and another in which potential positive outcomes are not realized. For Armstrong, ‘the poem manages to hold a positive and negative Arthur side by side throughout its progression. A critique is effected not so much in that the poem characterizes as wrong what the king does, but rather, and more interestingly, in how it lamentingly points to those things that he does not do’ (86). See, respectively, Larry D. Benson, ‘The Alliterative Morte Arthure and Medieval Tragedy’ Tennessee Studies in Literature 11 (1966): 75–89; and Armstrong, ‘Rewriting the Chronicle Tradition.’ 33 On didactic literature for governance and the speculum regis genre, see especially Judith Ferster, Fictions of Advice: The Literature and Politics of Counsel in Late Medieval England, (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1996). 34 See ll. 86–103. 35 Manion has argued that the confrontation is far more ‘than “an invitation to action” and an “insulting demand for tribute” that impinges on Arthur’s honor, as some scholars have asserted. [In essence,] the homage that Lucius demands would “disprove” [Arthur’s] sovereignty,’ (80) as Arthur would be implicitly acknowledging Lucius’s overlordship. 36 In particular, compare with the scene where Gawain is sent as a diplomat by Arthur to deliver a message to Lucius, and is then provoked by the insults of Lucius’ uncle, and subsequently lops off his head in rage. See ll. 1291–1355. 37 Armstrong, 92. 38 The fact that only one option is even presented might register as problematic for a contemporary audience, for one of the singularly important tasks kings ought to be able to do, according to the speculum regis genre, was being able to weigh carefully and choose which course of advice to accept. The genre also advised kings to be careful of sycophants and advisers who simply agree with what the king says. For a similar critique of baronial advice in an Arthurian text, see Louis Boyle, ‘Ruled by Merlin: Mirrors for Princes, Counseling Patterns, and Malory’s “Tale of King Arthur,”’ Arthuriana 23.2 (Summer 2013): 52–66. 39. Armstrong, 93. 40. Armstrong, 93. 41. Ferster, 70. 42. Numerous scholars, like Elizabeth Porter, have claimed that Arthur’s continental war is justified and that Arthur is able to supply two legal reasons to go to war with Rome: ‘The first is in defense of his kingdom and the upholding of its sovereignty in the face of an unjust aggressor . . . that is a just war of defense. The second is to pursue his own inherited claim to the throne of the Roman Empire . . . To make war for the recovery of things lost, whether material objects or rights, was acknowledged as a just cause for undertaking war’; ‘Chaucer’s Knight, the Alliterative Morte Arthure, and the Laws of War: A Reconsideration,’ Nottingham Medieval Studies 27 (1983): 59 (56–78). I argue, though, that the poet is less interested in debating whether Arthur has the right to wage such a war and 66 arthuriana

is more keen on thinking about the problems that arise when a king emphasizes his role as warrior, somewhat to the exclusion of his role as governor. 43. ‘Ricardus Rex Angolorum et Dux Normannorum,’ Magna Carta and Medieval Government (London: Hambledon Press, 1985), pp. 67–83; p. 82. 44. Ormrod, p. 231. Ormrod has noted that ‘someone at the king’s side . . . [had] expressed a distinctly dim view of the way in which the regency administration was running the realm . . . [and] The well-informed French Chronicle of London goes much further, claiming that an unnamed member of the home government decided to expose his fellow councillors to the king as “false traitors”’ (pp. 229–230). 45 Ibid, p. 232. 46 See ll. 3886–3910. 47 See ll. 3956–3964. Note the repeated use of the first person possessive pronoun.