by Bob Curran
In accordance with its prominence in Christian iconography, the lost Grail was generally supposed to be located somewhere in Western Europe where Christianity had taken hold. Some traditions, of course, held that it was still somewhere in the Holy Land, but the general consensus was that it had been brought to Europe by returning Crusaders or perhaps by someone much earlier.
Indeed, some legends state that the Grail was brought to England (then the far-flung corner of the Roman Empire) by Joseph of Arimathea, who had fled from the Middle East to avoid Roman persecution in the days after Jesus’ crucifixion. Other legends state that it was brought to England by Jesus himself following the Resurrection. Some English traditions state that it was taken to Glastonbury in Somerset and placed somewhere near the Tor, which, at the time, was an island called Ynys-witrin, or Glass Island. In Arthurian tradition this was given as one of the sites for the mythical land of Avalon. This, however, was probably no more than a legend made up by the monks of Glastonbury Abbey in later years to raise funds for their foundation; they also claimed that King Arthur was buried there. Joseph of Arimathea was said to be the founder of Glastonbury Abbey, and a tree that blossomed close by was said to have grown from his staff that he had planted in the ground. In a variant of the Grail legend it was in fact King Arthur who had brought the sacred cup to Glastonbury, and few monarchs are as closely connected with the quest for the Grail as he.
If the Grail did indeed come to England, then its first guardian was not Arthur, but a giant Celtic warrior named Bron. In most variants of the tale, Bron was primarily a Christian warrior, but it is, of course, evident that he was based upon the legend of Bran in the tale from the Mabinogion, who was given the magic cauldron by the giant hag. In some versions of the tale, Bron was also considered to be the guardian of life and death who could, through the power of the Grail, restore the dead to life. In fact, he may have been a Christian representation of a much more ancient Pagan god.
A later custodian, dating from medieval times, was the Fisher King who dwelt in a castle in the middle of a wasteland. He was partially crippled because of a wound on his side that never healed, and he supposedly served as the custodian of a number of religious objects—one being a spear, the point of which ran with blood (the spear of the Roman centurion Longinus, which had pierced the side of Jesus as he hung on the Cross perhaps), and another being the Grail. This was often borne by a maiden and was a supernatural source of nourishment for all those around, as well as being restorative and able to resurrect from the dead. In some versions the Fisher King’s father dwelt in another room from his son, subsisting on a single Mass wafer, which was placed daily at its door. There are some who equate the person of the Fisher King with Joseph of Arimathea himself, declaring that he drank from the Grail and therefore could not die. No one knew where the Fisher King’s castle lay except that it might lie somewhere within the British Isles.
The quest for this castle and for the Grail became a central theme of later Arthurian romance. According to legend, Sir Perceval accidentally stumbled upon the Fisher King’s caste, which supposedly lay within a remote part of King Arthur’s realm. He brought back the tale of the mysterious fortress and its bizarre inhabitant to the monarch’s court at Camelot. Seated at a meeting at the famous Round Table, Arthur and his knights then received a vision of the Grail that formed the basis of their quest for the sacred vessel. In Christian tradition, the gathering was of course evocative of Jesus and his disciples, gathered around the table at the Last Supper or even of the disciples themselves gathered together in a house when the Holy Spirit descended upon them. Such Christian symbolism was not lost in Arthurian legend. In other versions of the story Arthur was old and close to death, and it was considered that perhaps the Grail might rejuvenate him and restore him to life. He would then reward the knight who found it. Only one knight at the Table, however, would do so. This turned out to be Galahad, son of Lancelot, who was the only one of the company without sin, so was pure enough to see and hold the cup.
Much of the cohesive Arthurian romance derives from the works of Thomas Malory (c. 1405–1471), whose Morte d’Arthur collected a number of both French and English traditions; however, the story had been around long before that. Indeed in the earliest known tale by Chrétien de Troyes, a French troubadour and poet of the early 12th century, what Percival saw at the castle of the Fisher King was not a holy goblet but simply a deep and womb-like dish or pot similar to a cauldron, remindful of the Cauldron of Rebirth, which could raise the dead. According to Chrétien, the graal that Percival saw was a supernatural object with special powers, but those powers are not disclosed in the work. In many of the early writings (such as those of Robert de Boron that appeared around 1200) the graal is not thought of as a particularly holy relic in the same way that some fragments of the True Cross were perceived. Nevertheless, it was said to have supernatural powers (though whether or not these were explicitly connected with Christianity is unclear), which may have been linked to older fertility magic and may have included the power to restore life to the dead. Perhaps it is for this reason that the Church never formally accepted the idea of the Grail as a Christian relic, and instead consigned it simply to the areas of popular medieval romance.
The chivalric search to find the Grail—popular at many medieval courts—was probably based on older quest tales concerning the Cauldron of Rebirth. The most famous of these was Arthur’s quest to find the “Spoils of Arawn,” which is recounted in the First Branch of the Mabinogion. In this tale, Pwyll, Lord of Dyfed in Wales, traded places with Arawn, Lord of the Underworld, and received from him a magical cauldron that would not boil the food of a coward, but would miraculously restore the dead to life. In this version, women of exceptional wisdom and power guard the Cauldron, and only a fraction of Arthur’s knights return from the quest. This story was probably the template for the romance of the Grail, thus linking the holy artifact of later Christian legend with the Pagan tradition.
Whether it was the Holy Grail or the Cauldron of Rebirth that restored the dead to life, the idea of bodily resurrection from the tomb had been established in the human psyche. The tradition had begun in the early Semitic and Arab worlds with the corporeal restoration of ancient gods after a period in the Underworld. These beliefs later became firmly rooted in the Christian tradition through the physical Resurrection of Jesus, which, in many respects, seems to have been a furtherance of that earlier belief. Gods and great heroes, it seemed, might return from the grave at any time. The notion of such returns was linked with the idea of immortality and of continuing at least some form of existence even after death had claimed the individual. Of course, there were similar notions in some other cultures as well, and we shall look at these shortly. However, the established tradition of physical return from the grave would grow and develop as the centuries progressed, particularly in Western Europe, incorporating a number of other ideas into that belief; it is to that cultural continuation that we now turn.
2
When Churchyards Yawn
It was not only the gods and heroes of the ancient world for whom death was not really the end. As time passed and civilizations became more sophisticated, there was also an emerging tradition that certain ordinary people might also escape the clutches of the grave, return in a corporeal state. Indeed, in some cultures, death was viewed as something akin to sleep, where the body lay in a suspended state, but might arise at any time to resume a kind of sporadic quasi-life in general society. In parts of the Nordic world where such beliefs were held, small houses were often built where the body of the deceased “lived” in a suspended condition. These “dead houses” were often made of stone and were usually constructed by a community to contain the bodies of great warriors or powerful local chieftains. From time to time, these great and mighty men would rise from their houses either to return to their earthly homes or to wander about the countryside, either alone or in the company of others who were similarly dead. Many of these wanderings occu
rred at night, and encounters with them often seem to have been incredibly dangerous and violent. Although sometimes counted as ghosts, they were not the insubstantial wraiths of later centuries of which most of us are familiar, but rather they were corporeal in nature and could usually inflict very real harm to those against whom they took a spite or a dislike.
Draugr and Other Legends
Such wandering dead were known to the Vikings as draugr. The name itself may have been Icelandic in origin and may have initially referred to powerful magicians who seemed to be able to return after death to their homes for limited periods. (Iceland was famous for its magical traditions and allegedly boasted a number of secretive “black schools” where the magical arts were taught by necromancers and others.) The idea, however, quickly spread across the Scandinavian world and became associated not only with magicians, but also with warriors and berserkers. The majority of the tales that have come down to us were initially written by Icelandic monks, but have been adapted to fit locations in other Scandinavian countries and other parts of the Viking world, such as France and Britain. Draugr were often instantly recognizable by the color of their skin, which was either black as death (a sign of purification perhaps) or corpse-white. Many of them appear to have gone around in groups creating panic and mayhem wherever they went—just as they might have done when alive—and should not be approached for any reason. As soon as it was daylight, however, they returned to their “dead houses” in order to rest before the next night’s activities.
Stories of this form of walking dead have come down to us in a series of great sagas (which were actually collections of tales that had been told by local skelds—historians, folklorists, or bards), which circulated in Scandinavia around the 11th and 12th centuries. The most famous of these is the Eyrbyggja Saga, which was probably written at the Icelandic monastery of Helgafell around the early 11th century.
One of the central tales concerns a dead warrior by the name of Thorolf Halt-Foot who had been greatly feared during his lifetime. Even in death, he would not “lie still” and took to rampaging around the countryside. Indeed it had been widely expected that, because of his wild lifestyle, death would not restrain him, and it was taken as an evil omen when, during the summer months directly after his death, cattle grazing near his dead house began to sicken, then went mad and died. It was further noted that birds that landed on the roof of the tomb also fell down dead. Shortly after Thorolf had been interred, a herdsman was found dead a little ways from the tomb site, and it was assumed that the draugr had now risen from his grave and was wandering about. The dead man’s body was completely blue and every bone in his body had been broken by an incredibly violent assault. There was no doubt in local minds that this was an attack of a draugr and that the animated corpse was that of Thorolf.
All through the winter, the walking cadaver terrorized the surrounding countryside, appearing outside several houses in the district. He was allegedly seen close to the house of the herdsman that he allegedly killed, driving the dead man’s wife mad with fear. She subsequently collapsed and died with the stress of it all and ironically was buried close to the dead house where Thorolf himself lay. After this, the draugr became even more lively and violent, actually breaking into the surrounding houses and assaulting the inhabitants as they lay sleeping. At some stage he seems to have been joined by several more undead companions, forming a kind of “gang” that roamed around the countryside, causing distress and mayhem. This could not be tolerated and, in the end, the community, led by members of the Church, made stern representations to his son, Arnkel, to have something done about the riotous revenant of his father. Together with a posse of friends Arnkel went to the barrow where Thorolf lay, broke it open, and removed the body, placing it in a yoke between two oxen. They had intended to take the corpse to a lonely place and destroy it, but Thorolf’s corpse was heavy, and they were all exhausted. They took him instead to a distant headland, and there they laid him into the earth with Arnkel himself building a little wall to keep the cadaver restrained in case he should rise again. The place was almost inaccessible, and it was thereafter shunned by decent folk.
Although the tale of Thorolf Halt-Foot is one of the most complete stories that has been passed down to us, it is by no means the only one. The Laxdoela Saga, for instance, includes the story of a warrior named Hrapp who returned from the grave as a violent and animated corpse. In Gettir’s Saga, Gettir had to fight with a draugr that emerged from the tomb of a chieftain named Kar the Old. Gettir finally defeated the corpse, but exhuming the body, striking the head off with a single blow of his axe, and burning the body together with Kar’s artifacts in a great bonfire was far from the end. It is worth noting that great carte had to be taken not to inhale the smoke from any of these fires, for those who did might become draugr themselves when they died. This method for destroying the walking dead and preventing them from rising again was exactly the same as those traditionally used for destroying vampires in parts of Eastern Europe in the Middle Ages.
Vikings
Viking stories of the walking dead often had a profound influence on the areas that they visited and settled. Consequently, tales of the walking dead—fostering a belief in the subject—also appear in the texts that emerged from a number of European monasteries as well. In parts of England that had been under Viking rule, medieval “ghost stories” were recorded by the monks, detailing the horrendous activities of walking cadavers in local communities. Many of these early clerical writers used the term sanguisuga to describe such mobile corpses, which seems to imply that they were considered to be blooddrinkers or vampires. The Yorkshire canon, William of Newburgh (1136–1198), for example, accused them in his Historia Rerum Anglicarum, of wandering about wrapped in their shrouds, attacking God’s servants and of drinking blood. He also charges them with spreading diseases that they brought with them from the grave. Wandering revenants were, according to William, agents of the devil, or were inhabited by a malign spirit that sought to do mankind harm. Such things were wholly evil in William’s learned opinion.
Accounts of these malignant revenants or variations of the Viking draugr also appear in a number of other writings from the early medieval period. For example, a Cistercian father, known only as the Monk of Byland, based at the monastic house at Byland in Yorkshire during the 14th century, collected several fragmentary tales in which walking cadavers appear. The monk tells of the revenant of one James Tankerlay, a former rector of Kereby, who despite being a holy man and a cleric, was rather lax in his mortal attitudes and ways. He had procured a number of female concubines and was also reputed to have fathered a number of illegitimate children in his locality. He was laid to rest, according to the monk’s account, in the grounds of the chapter house at Bellelande, but his body refused to remain there. As soon as it was dark, he rose from the grave and began to wander about, traveling as far as Kereby in his nocturnal excursions. Here he went to the house of one of his former concubines and attacked her, gouging out both her eyes until the blood ran. Word of the wandering corpse and its activities soon reached the ears of the Abbot who ordered Tankerlay’s coffin to be exhumed and dumped in a nearby swamp at Gormyre.
However, as the coffin was being transported by oxcart, the oxen panicked and fled into the waters of the mire, pulling the cart after them. The two animals involved were almost drowned and had to be rescued. What became of the coffin and the animated corpse is unknown, but they were presumably swallowed up by the marsh. This seemed to bring the incident to an end.
The Abbot’s Tale
The monk recounted another story concerning a man who dwelled close to the monastery at Newburgh. This individual may not have been baptized according to recognized religious practice, and although it may not have affected him in life, it meant that he could not lie quiet in the grave. He subsequently rose from his tomb and began to wander around the countryside. He attempted to return to his former home, terrorizing his wife and children, who called upon some nei
ghbors to come and drive him away. Faced with an angry group, the cadaver returned to his tomb, but rose the following night intending to create more mischief. The local people approached the Abbot of Newburgh who instructed one of his monks to stay in the dead man’s house for several nights in case the cadaver should return. When the walking corpse did indeed return as soon as it was dark, the monk attacked him and wrestled with him, but was thrown to one side and was injured. (The strength of the dead man was considerable.) Seeing the holy man’s blood, the cadaver became greatly excited and tried to attack him again. Seeing what was happening, several neighbors rushed to the rescue and drove the cadaver away once more. The Abbot, now gravely concerned about the conduct of the revenant, asked that the corpse be exhumed and a Ritual of Absolution be performed over it. When the boy was dug up, it was found that the cerements in which it had been wrapped were badly torn, signifying restlessness in the grave. The ritual, however, seems to have been largely ineffective as, after lying quiet for roughly two or three days, the cadaver was back again, seeking to gain access to his former home and terrifying his family. The matter had now become so serious that it had to be referred to the bishop, who, after much reflection and advisement, instructed that the body be disposed of “in the old way” (that is, dug up, cut to pieces and burned). This was done and, seemingly, the nocturnal nuisance ceased. A similar story is credited to another unnamed churchman known simply as “The Preacher of Ely” (possibly a monk or hermit at one of the monasteries in the marshes of Ely in present-day Cambridgeshire) in a text referred to as The Book of the Preacher of Ely. The tale appears as part of a homily on the importance of the observance of the Blessed Sacraments, particularly that of baptism.