Centuries before archaeologists began linking legends to landscapes, a medieval preacher claimed to have found the tombs of King Arthur’s knights in rural Burgundy. Étienne de Bourbon’s account blurs the line between history, faith, and myth — and invites us to ask what lies beneath.
By Lorris Chevalier
In the mid-thirteenth century, the Dominican preacher Étienne de Bourbon compiled his vast Tractatus de diversis materiis predicabilibus at the convent of Lyon (c. 1250–1261). Structured around the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit—though death prevented him from completing more than five—it was a storehouse of exempla designed to enliven sermons.
One of its most striking passages appears in the first book, under the gift of Fear (de dono timoris), in the seventh section devoted to the fear of particular judgement. In the sixteenth “reason to fear death,” Étienne reflects on the putrefaction of the flesh (corruptio in carnis putrefactione et tabefactione). He reinforces the point with vivid scenes: worms emerging from corpses, a toad crawling from the tomb of a nobleman, and the dry reduction of the body to dust and ashes. After citing Saint Bernard and scriptural examples such as Sennacherib’s sudden destruction and an anchorite’s body crumbling to dust, he turns abruptly to a memory from Burgundy.
“I myself saw…”
Étienne writes that he had personally seen, in the diocese of Autun: “countless tombs” near a village he calls Aleuse. Local people said that these were the resting places of Arthur’s knights—Yvain (Divianus), Gawain (Galvanus), Erec, and their companions. Yet in most graves nothing remained but worn bones and a fine powder of dust; in some, scarcely anything at all. There, he adds, the Romans had fought Arthur’s household, and innumerable warriors on both sides had fallen, leaving many empty tombs.
This is one of the earliest recorded attempts to connect a real landscape with the legendary Round Table. For Étienne it was not antiquarian curiosity but a moral tableau: even the most handsome and valiant heroes of romance are now dust. Their supposed graves give concrete form to his meditation on death and the corruption of the body.
From “Aleuse” to Saint-Émiland
The oratory in the cemetery of Saint-Émiland. Photo by Chabe01 / Wikimedia Commons
Modern scholarship identifies Étienne’s Aleuse with the present-day village of Saint-Émiland, about fifteen kilometres south-east of Autun, in the archdeaconry of Couches. Medieval charters attest forms such as Lausia, Lausan, Lahusia, and Leusia; the vernacular Luze later became Saint-Jean-de-Luze and, on the eve of the Revolution, Saint-Émiland. The word itself may derive from the Romance luizel / luysel / luseau (from Latin locellus), meaning “coffin” or “tomb”—a telling link between toponymy and funerary practice.
Étienne probably transcribed what he heard on the spot, fusing the preposition “à” with the place name (“à Luze” becoming “Aleuse”), or confusing it with nearby Aluze (in the diocese of Chalon). Whatever the exact phonetics, his description matches the archaeology of Saint-Émiland rather than any other site.
A Land of Sarcophagi
Stone coffin in Saint-Émiland – photo by GFreihalter / Wikimedia Commons
What, then, did Étienne actually see? Between the late Roman period and the early Middle Ages, Saint-Émiland was a major centre for stone coffins. According to nineteenth-century historian Jacques-Gabriel Bulliot, it served as an entrepôt for sarcophagi hewn from local sandstone at Tintry, Vergenne, and other quarries, conveniently sited on the Roman road from Lyon to Boulogne via Chalon and Autun. More recent views favour a Merovingian cemetery ad sanctos attracting burials from a wide region. The proximity of quarries may have made stone sarcophagi affordable even for humbler folk, explaining their abundance.
Later travellers confirm Étienne’s impression. Dom Mabillon and Dom Germain (1682) noted “innumerable tombs of great size” in the parish cemetery. The Abbé Courtépée in the eighteenth century marvelled at the quantity of stone tombs in and around the village. By the late nineteenth century, the Abbé Lecreuze still counted many sarcophagi visible in the cemetery, in the presbytery garden, and in surrounding fields; fragments paved the street along the cemetery’s edge, some coffins inverted as flagstones, others embedded at ground level.
No systematic excavation has yet been carried out—overshadowed by the fame of nearby Autun—but the convergence of toponymy, historical testimony, and surviving stonework makes it almost certain that Saint-Émiland is Étienne’s Aleuse.
Legend and Moral
Where did the Arthurian legend come from? Étienne himself writes “one said”—he does not claim to have identified the bones. The simplest explanation is that a spectacular field of ancient sarcophagi inspired local tales, which a preacher steeped in the “Matter of Britain” could easily weave into his theme. By citing the names of the most famous knights, Étienne harnesses popular romance to deliver a spiritual punch: even the flower of chivalry has turned to dust.
Dr Lorris Chevalier, who has a Ph.D. in medieval literature, is a historical advisor for movies, including The Last Duel and Napoleon. Click here to view his website.
Centuries before archaeologists began linking legends to landscapes, a medieval preacher claimed to have found the tombs of King Arthur’s knights in rural Burgundy. Étienne de Bourbon’s account blurs the line between history, faith, and myth — and invites us to ask what lies beneath.
By Lorris Chevalier
In the mid-thirteenth century, the Dominican preacher Étienne de Bourbon compiled his vast Tractatus de diversis materiis predicabilibus at the convent of Lyon (c. 1250–1261). Structured around the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit—though death prevented him from completing more than five—it was a storehouse of exempla designed to enliven sermons.
One of its most striking passages appears in the first book, under the gift of Fear (de dono timoris), in the seventh section devoted to the fear of particular judgement. In the sixteenth “reason to fear death,” Étienne reflects on the putrefaction of the flesh (corruptio in carnis putrefactione et tabefactione). He reinforces the point with vivid scenes: worms emerging from corpses, a toad crawling from the tomb of a nobleman, and the dry reduction of the body to dust and ashes. After citing Saint Bernard and scriptural examples such as Sennacherib’s sudden destruction and an anchorite’s body crumbling to dust, he turns abruptly to a memory from Burgundy.
“I myself saw…”
Étienne writes that he had personally seen, in the diocese of Autun: “countless tombs” near a village he calls Aleuse. Local people said that these were the resting places of Arthur’s knights—Yvain (Divianus), Gawain (Galvanus), Erec, and their companions. Yet in most graves nothing remained but worn bones and a fine powder of dust; in some, scarcely anything at all. There, he adds, the Romans had fought Arthur’s household, and innumerable warriors on both sides had fallen, leaving many empty tombs.
This is one of the earliest recorded attempts to connect a real landscape with the legendary Round Table. For Étienne it was not antiquarian curiosity but a moral tableau: even the most handsome and valiant heroes of romance are now dust. Their supposed graves give concrete form to his meditation on death and the corruption of the body.
From “Aleuse” to Saint-Émiland
Modern scholarship identifies Étienne’s Aleuse with the present-day village of Saint-Émiland, about fifteen kilometres south-east of Autun, in the archdeaconry of Couches. Medieval charters attest forms such as Lausia, Lausan, Lahusia, and Leusia; the vernacular Luze later became Saint-Jean-de-Luze and, on the eve of the Revolution, Saint-Émiland. The word itself may derive from the Romance luizel / luysel / luseau (from Latin locellus), meaning “coffin” or “tomb”—a telling link between toponymy and funerary practice.
Étienne probably transcribed what he heard on the spot, fusing the preposition “à” with the place name (“à Luze” becoming “Aleuse”), or confusing it with nearby Aluze (in the diocese of Chalon). Whatever the exact phonetics, his description matches the archaeology of Saint-Émiland rather than any other site.
A Land of Sarcophagi
What, then, did Étienne actually see? Between the late Roman period and the early Middle Ages, Saint-Émiland was a major centre for stone coffins. According to nineteenth-century historian Jacques-Gabriel Bulliot, it served as an entrepôt for sarcophagi hewn from local sandstone at Tintry, Vergenne, and other quarries, conveniently sited on the Roman road from Lyon to Boulogne via Chalon and Autun. More recent views favour a Merovingian cemetery ad sanctos attracting burials from a wide region. The proximity of quarries may have made stone sarcophagi affordable even for humbler folk, explaining their abundance.
Later travellers confirm Étienne’s impression. Dom Mabillon and Dom Germain (1682) noted “innumerable tombs of great size” in the parish cemetery. The Abbé Courtépée in the eighteenth century marvelled at the quantity of stone tombs in and around the village. By the late nineteenth century, the Abbé Lecreuze still counted many sarcophagi visible in the cemetery, in the presbytery garden, and in surrounding fields; fragments paved the street along the cemetery’s edge, some coffins inverted as flagstones, others embedded at ground level.
No systematic excavation has yet been carried out—overshadowed by the fame of nearby Autun—but the convergence of toponymy, historical testimony, and surviving stonework makes it almost certain that Saint-Émiland is Étienne’s Aleuse.
Legend and Moral
Where did the Arthurian legend come from? Étienne himself writes “one said”—he does not claim to have identified the bones. The simplest explanation is that a spectacular field of ancient sarcophagi inspired local tales, which a preacher steeped in the “Matter of Britain” could easily weave into his theme. By citing the names of the most famous knights, Étienne harnesses popular romance to deliver a spiritual punch: even the flower of chivalry has turned to dust.
Dr Lorris Chevalier, who has a Ph.D. in medieval literature, is a historical advisor for movies, including The Last Duel and Napoleon. Click here to view his website.
Click here to read more from Lorris Chevalier
Further Readings:
Berlioz Jacques, Eichenlaub Jean-Luc. Les tombeaux des chevaliers de la Table Ronde à Saint-Émiland (Saône-et-Loire) ? Recherches sur un exemplum du dominicain Étienne de Bourbon (mort vers 1261). In: Romania, tome 109 n°433, 1988. pp. 18-49.
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