Giovanni Boccaccio uses the tale of the rise and fall of King Arthur to teach the fickleness of fortune and the peril of pridefulness. Christopher Berard and Morris Tichenor provide a new translation of this once influential but now overlooked medieval retelling of Arthur’s downfall.
By Christopher Berard and Morris Tichenor
Giovanni Boccaccio (1313–75), born in Certaldo, Tuscany, is one of the tre corone (Three Crowns) of Italian Literature. He shares this distinction with Dante Alighieri (1265–1321), about whose life and literary works he wrote treatises and delivered lectures, and Francesco Petrarch (1304–74), with whom he formed a lasting friendship (beginning in 1350). All three wrote widely acclaimed literature in the Florentine-Tuscan dialect of Italian, enabling it to become the basis for standard Italian. In addition to elevating the Italian vernacular as a literary language, they prioritized Classical Studies and were forerunners of the Italian humanist movement (c.1400–1600). Today, Boccaccio is best remembered as the Father of Italian Prose owing to the immense popularity of his Decameron (c.1349–51), a collection of one hundred short stories in Italian prose embedded in a narrative frame of a storytelling game undertaken by seven young women and three young men who fled Florence for Fiesole in hopes of escaping the Black Death.
Boccaccio and On the Downfall of the Famous
During the Renaissance (1400–1600), Boccaccio was best remembered for his De casibus virorum illustrium (On the Downfalls of Famous Men), which survives in two versions (c.1360; 1373). Written in Latin prose and divided into nine books, De casibus is an encyclopedic collection of biographical sketches of famous mythological and historical figures extending from the fall of Adam and Eve to the capture of Jean II of France at the Battle of Poitiers (1356). De casibus is part of the Mirror for Princes subgenre of advice literature, but the work also has elements of a dream vision and ghost story. The narrator’s stated aim is to recall the character (virtues and vices) and fate (rises and falls) of famous figures, both male and female, for the moral and spiritual improvement of his princely audience. From the depths of his memory, the narrator sees a series of ghosts process before him in roughly chronological order. De casibus is itself now regarded as the pioneering work of a new genre, de casibus tragedy, a moralistic tale (or collection of tales) centering on the sudden, drastic reversal of fortune (from prosperity to adversity) of a famous figure, with the aim of teaching by example the perils of pridefulness and of the inordinate love of worldly goods. Boccaccio applied Christian moral thought to a recognizably Classical genre–the biographical collection.
Boccaccio’s Account of King Arthur
In the nineteenth chapter of the eighth book of De casibus, Boccaccio covers the fall of Arthur, king of Britain (c.500). A leading source for this chapter was a Latin universal chronicle, the Chronologia magna (Great Chronology), or Compendium (c.1320–40), by the Franciscan scholar Paolino Veneto (c.1270–1344). Paolino’s Arthurian content is part of the Brut chronicle story of King Arthur that originates with Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia regum Britanniae (History of the Kings of Britain, c.1136). Boccaccio also borrowed from the Old French Arthurian prose romance tradition (c.1200–30), specifically the idea that Merlin devised the Round Table, which is attested in the Prose Merlin (c.1210) and the Prose Perceval (c.1230), and the image of daylight shining through Mordred’s chest wound, which is attested in the Mort le Roi Artu (Death of King Arthur) (c.1220) and Dante’s Inferno XXXII.61–62 (1307–14). Boccaccio also provides a seemingly original list of twelve rules of the Round Table.
Boccaccio’s chapter on King Arthur invites us to consider the moral of his story. What are King Arthur’s virtues and vices? Was Arthur an innocent victim of fickle Fortune or a culpable recipient of poetic justice? Are there parallels between the conduct of Arthur, Mordred, and Lucius of Rome? It is worthy of note that Boccaccio lists twelve rules of the Round Table and twelve acts of treason perpetrated by the regent Mordred against his king and father Arthur. Our translation is based on Giovanni Boccaccio, De casibus virorum illustrium, ed. Pier Giorgio Ricci and Vittorio Zaccaria. Tutte le opere di Giovanni Boccaccio 9 (Milan: Mondadori, 1983), pp. 726–35.
Certain Downcast Souls (VIII.18)
British Library, Add MS 35321
[1] While I was feeling sorry for the City [Rome] and our condition, lo and behold, Thraustila, king of the Gepids, and Busar, king of the Bulgars, were weeping with equal tears because they had been brought down in the first charge of Theodoric the Younger, king of the Ostrogoths.
[2] So too was sad Feletheus, king of the Rugii, cursing Odoacer, because he was robbed by him of both his kingdom and his life.
[3] After him, Marcianus Augustus [Marcian] was weeping that he was killed by a conspiracy of his soldiers.
[4] And Leo the Younger, son of Leo Augustus, in a long series of words, was condemning the cruelty of Zeno because, by his efforts, Leo, about to succeed to the principate, was compelled to grow old as a monk in a monastery.
[5] Additionally, old men came––though gloomy, still most venerable––Symmachus the father-in-law and Boethius the son-in-law, who, as I myself already knew, held the highest offices but were first relegated by a barbarian king to exile in Ravenna with a cruel sentence because they had wanted the Senate to be safe. Eventually, under the crueler threat of disgraceful execution, they were compelled to go from there to Ticinum, where the rage of the ruler grew worse and they perished condemned to a miserable death.
[6] I confess that the misfortunes of that most brilliant man Boethius were very much compelling me to write about him. On the one hand, the famous and venerable likenesses of his ancestors urged me on. Even if the wickedness of the times had brought low or diminished their shades, it had not been able to reduce the outstanding name of Manlius, much less overturn it. On the other hand, so too did the singular glory of his studies, by which his name is joined to those of other philosophers, and, with the passage of centuries, it shines brighter by the day among professors of such an outstanding Teacher of things [Philosophy].
[7] But what stood in the way was the famous tale of the Britons, King Arthur, coming forward with groans, whose greatness and fall, even if we do not know from a trustworthy source, we recognize as fact given that the opinion of the whole world seems to attest to them.
On Arthur, King of the Britons (VIII.19)
BnF MS Français 236, fol. 175
[1] The Britons, located in the western corner and nearly cut off from the rest of the world, assert in their annals that Arthur was once their king, by far the most famous of all kings of the West, and he was descended from a certain Constantine (who held the kingdom after Gratian, the local tyrant of the island, was killed), and his father Uther, called Pendragon, was king of the island. After Uther’s death, when Arthur had ascended to the royal throne, still a youth of admirable character, and he saw that the Roman Republic had come to such a point that everyone was possessing with impunity as much as he had stolen for himself, not content with the rule left to him by his father, Arthur assembled his forces and, with the greatest, rapid success, conquered Ireland, the Orkneys, Denmark, Gotland, Norway, and likewise many other provinces in the direction of Gaul.
[2] Furthermore, when it seemed to him that he had sufficiently extended the boundaries of his kingdom and the glory of his name, Arthur reckoned that he should finally put an end to war. So that virtue would not weaken through idleness, by the counsel of the prophet Merlin, who was flourishing at that time, Arthur, as it is told, set up a table which the English call the ‘Round Table.’ To this Round Table, as if to a celebrated banquet, he called together his finest men, whomever he recognized for their more noble arms and character, and he compelled those chosen into a fellowship and society with laws and orders.
Paris, BA, MS 5193, f.96v. from Laurence Premierfait’s Des cas des nobles hommes et femmes (c. 1411)
[3] Indeed, they all had a special code: not to put aside their arms; to seek out marvels; to defend, when called upon, the rights of weak with all their might; not to violate anyone; not to harm one another; to fight for the safety of their friends; to put their lives on the line for their country; to seek nothing for themselves except honor; not to break a promise for any reason; to practice their religion most diligently; to show hospitality freely to anyone to the best of their means; to reveal most faithfully and truthfully to those who had care of the annals what happened, regardless of whether it contributed to the honor or disgrace of the teller; and to practice many other things of this sort that were most worthy of praise.
[4] Preserving this code with due diligence, as much for the firmness of the knightly society as for the outstanding brilliance of their character, the royal name was bestowed such splendid glory that neither raging Fortune nor hoary old age could do anything to prevent it from reaching our own time with brilliant splendor.
[5] Therefore, now fortunate in these respects, once he had denied the Romans seeking their customary tribute, he transported his troops into Gaul and raised battle standards. He descended into battle against Lucius the consul, who was seeking the tax by means of arms. And when victory had fallen to him, Arthur, returning to his neglected desire, proceeded to capture more territory.
[6] But a downfall was already in the works for the proud one. For while he was harrying the interior of Gaul with arms, Mordred, his son by a concubine—to whom he had relinquished the seat of the kingdom to be guarded in his absence—a violent youth, boldly disposed towards every crime, for a long time enthralled by a desire for ruling, reckoned that the time was presented to him by Fortune, with the absence of the king. He began to incite to liberty those oppressed by the royal yoke, to win over with gifts the hearts of everyone, to show himself to be a most affable future king, to protect with his garrisons the cities and castles of the realm, to summon friends, to build up his strength, to contract a very great band of mercenary soldiers, to refuse to his father the king provisions and reinforcements, to provoke to rebellion all onlookers, and then when the anticipated moment had come, to demonstrate by false letters that the king had died in battle, to call himself king, and to manage all royal affairs.
[7] When fast-flying rumor brought the news to Arthur’s camp, suddenly the seat of battle shifted; and the unfortunate king was compelled to turn the arms that he had directed against the allies of the Romans towards his son. Therefore, after gathering up his troops in his fleet, he met his son in battle on the British shore.
[8] When Mordred had been unable to resist this attack, he abandoned the shore and took flight. He made his way to Winchester. There, when he had assembled all his military strength, he set out to test the fortune of battle; and he was of such obstinate perfidy that he was not afraid to descend into battle against his own father.
[9] Therefore, once the battle had begun, even though the virtue of Arthur’s armed knights and their martial discipline was distinguished, nevertheless the opposing multitude, conscious of their crime of treason and, on account of that, preferring to die rather than to be conquered, were neither able to be turned back nor routed. And, therefore, under an uncertain Mars, for a long time there was bitter fighting on this front and that. And on both sides a massacre occurred that was as huge as it was horrible.
[10] Truly, almost all the outstanding comrades of Arthur perished there. Arthur took their loss badly, and when he saw Mordred running around with, so to speak, renewed vigor and close to grasping victory with his own virtue, he put aside his paternal affection, took up his lance, and with the full charge of a fresh horse, rushed against the oncomer and impaled the chest of that most wretched one.
BL, Royal 14 E V, fol. 439v
[11] And yet he did not do so with impunity. For the youth, propelled by the pangs of death, when he had mustered his whole person into action and as the king came near to him, raised his sword high and struck the king’s head with such force that his helmet gave no resistance, and the sword cleaved all the way down to his brain.
[12] The king was carried forward on his horse, and as he retracted the lance from the chest of the dying Mordred, the wound grew so large, they say, that the rays of the sun were already shining through on the other side of him as he fell.
BnF, Manuscrits, Français 229 (f. 342 v°) (Laurent de Premierfait Arthur throws Excalibur Lyon, 1435-1440)
[13] Therefore, Mordred, dropping at once, obtained an inauspicious end to his presumption and his life. The king, now sensing that the end of his days was at hand, sprang forth without delay from his horse, climbed aboard his ship, and commanded that he, on the brink of death, be brought to the isle of Avalon. And in that place, that once most fortunate man, now a dying wretch, relinquished to his nephew Constantine dominion of his kingdom and the vengeance to be taken for his downfall.
[14] Plainly, either because his death was artfully concealed by his successor or because contemporary affairs were swept up in a very great commotion, Arthur died by himself with few conscious of his passing, and he was buried without any pomp, as if he was not dead but watched over in silence to this day, such that the Britons generally claim their outstanding and preeminent king is alive, and they assert that once his wounds have healed he undoubtedly will return.
[15] Therefore, by this smallest daring of one nefarious man, it was amplified by the passage of time that the kingdom of Arthur was dashed to pieces and carried away with that man’s life.
[16] The Round Table, shining with so many worthy men, was deserted, after they were all slaughtered, and broken and turned into the fable of the common folk. The great glory and renown of the king were erased by his downfall into shame and obscurity to such an extent that mortals, if they wish, can observe that nothing can endure in this world except humble things.
Christopher Berard is the author of Arthurianism in Early Plantagenet England (Boydell & Brewer, 2019) and The Alliterative Morte Arthure as Christian Epic Poetry (Boydell & Brewer, forthcoming 2026). He completed his PhD at the University of Toronto’s Centre for Medieval Studies (2015), and he is currently an adjunct professor at Providence College.
Morris Tichenor is Associate Lecturer of Latin at the Louisiana School for Math, Science, and the Arts. He completed his PhD at the University of Toronto’s Centre for Medieval Studies (2019).
Giovanni Boccaccio uses the tale of the rise and fall of King Arthur to teach the fickleness of fortune and the peril of pridefulness. Christopher Berard and Morris Tichenor provide a new translation of this once influential but now overlooked medieval retelling of Arthur’s downfall.
By Christopher Berard and Morris Tichenor
Giovanni Boccaccio (1313–75), born in Certaldo, Tuscany, is one of the tre corone (Three Crowns) of Italian Literature. He shares this distinction with Dante Alighieri (1265–1321), about whose life and literary works he wrote treatises and delivered lectures, and Francesco Petrarch (1304–74), with whom he formed a lasting friendship (beginning in 1350). All three wrote widely acclaimed literature in the Florentine-Tuscan dialect of Italian, enabling it to become the basis for standard Italian. In addition to elevating the Italian vernacular as a literary language, they prioritized Classical Studies and were forerunners of the Italian humanist movement (c.1400–1600). Today, Boccaccio is best remembered as the Father of Italian Prose owing to the immense popularity of his Decameron (c.1349–51), a collection of one hundred short stories in Italian prose embedded in a narrative frame of a storytelling game undertaken by seven young women and three young men who fled Florence for Fiesole in hopes of escaping the Black Death.
Boccaccio and On the Downfall of the Famous
During the Renaissance (1400–1600), Boccaccio was best remembered for his De casibus virorum illustrium (On the Downfalls of Famous Men), which survives in two versions (c.1360; 1373). Written in Latin prose and divided into nine books, De casibus is an encyclopedic collection of biographical sketches of famous mythological and historical figures extending from the fall of Adam and Eve to the capture of Jean II of France at the Battle of Poitiers (1356). De casibus is part of the Mirror for Princes subgenre of advice literature, but the work also has elements of a dream vision and ghost story. The narrator’s stated aim is to recall the character (virtues and vices) and fate (rises and falls) of famous figures, both male and female, for the moral and spiritual improvement of his princely audience. From the depths of his memory, the narrator sees a series of ghosts process before him in roughly chronological order. De casibus is itself now regarded as the pioneering work of a new genre, de casibus tragedy, a moralistic tale (or collection of tales) centering on the sudden, drastic reversal of fortune (from prosperity to adversity) of a famous figure, with the aim of teaching by example the perils of pridefulness and of the inordinate love of worldly goods. Boccaccio applied Christian moral thought to a recognizably Classical genre–the biographical collection.
Boccaccio’s Account of King Arthur
In the nineteenth chapter of the eighth book of De casibus, Boccaccio covers the fall of Arthur, king of Britain (c.500). A leading source for this chapter was a Latin universal chronicle, the Chronologia magna (Great Chronology), or Compendium (c.1320–40), by the Franciscan scholar Paolino Veneto (c.1270–1344). Paolino’s Arthurian content is part of the Brut chronicle story of King Arthur that originates with Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia regum Britanniae (History of the Kings of Britain, c.1136). Boccaccio also borrowed from the Old French Arthurian prose romance tradition (c.1200–30), specifically the idea that Merlin devised the Round Table, which is attested in the Prose Merlin (c.1210) and the Prose Perceval (c.1230), and the image of daylight shining through Mordred’s chest wound, which is attested in the Mort le Roi Artu (Death of King Arthur) (c.1220) and Dante’s Inferno XXXII.61–62 (1307–14). Boccaccio also provides a seemingly original list of twelve rules of the Round Table.
Boccaccio’s chapter on King Arthur invites us to consider the moral of his story. What are King Arthur’s virtues and vices? Was Arthur an innocent victim of fickle Fortune or a culpable recipient of poetic justice? Are there parallels between the conduct of Arthur, Mordred, and Lucius of Rome? It is worthy of note that Boccaccio lists twelve rules of the Round Table and twelve acts of treason perpetrated by the regent Mordred against his king and father Arthur. Our translation is based on Giovanni Boccaccio, De casibus virorum illustrium, ed. Pier Giorgio Ricci and Vittorio Zaccaria. Tutte le opere di Giovanni Boccaccio 9 (Milan: Mondadori, 1983), pp. 726–35.
Certain Downcast Souls (VIII.18)
[1] While I was feeling sorry for the City [Rome] and our condition, lo and behold, Thraustila, king of the Gepids, and Busar, king of the Bulgars, were weeping with equal tears because they had been brought down in the first charge of Theodoric the Younger, king of the Ostrogoths.
[2] So too was sad Feletheus, king of the Rugii, cursing Odoacer, because he was robbed by him of both his kingdom and his life.
[3] After him, Marcianus Augustus [Marcian] was weeping that he was killed by a conspiracy of his soldiers.
[4] And Leo the Younger, son of Leo Augustus, in a long series of words, was condemning the cruelty of Zeno because, by his efforts, Leo, about to succeed to the principate, was compelled to grow old as a monk in a monastery.
[5] Additionally, old men came––though gloomy, still most venerable––Symmachus the father-in-law and Boethius the son-in-law, who, as I myself already knew, held the highest offices but were first relegated by a barbarian king to exile in Ravenna with a cruel sentence because they had wanted the Senate to be safe. Eventually, under the crueler threat of disgraceful execution, they were compelled to go from there to Ticinum, where the rage of the ruler grew worse and they perished condemned to a miserable death.
[6] I confess that the misfortunes of that most brilliant man Boethius were very much compelling me to write about him. On the one hand, the famous and venerable likenesses of his ancestors urged me on. Even if the wickedness of the times had brought low or diminished their shades, it had not been able to reduce the outstanding name of Manlius, much less overturn it. On the other hand, so too did the singular glory of his studies, by which his name is joined to those of other philosophers, and, with the passage of centuries, it shines brighter by the day among professors of such an outstanding Teacher of things [Philosophy].
[7] But what stood in the way was the famous tale of the Britons, King Arthur, coming forward with groans, whose greatness and fall, even if we do not know from a trustworthy source, we recognize as fact given that the opinion of the whole world seems to attest to them.
On Arthur, King of the Britons (VIII.19)
[1] The Britons, located in the western corner and nearly cut off from the rest of the world, assert in their annals that Arthur was once their king, by far the most famous of all kings of the West, and he was descended from a certain Constantine (who held the kingdom after Gratian, the local tyrant of the island, was killed), and his father Uther, called Pendragon, was king of the island. After Uther’s death, when Arthur had ascended to the royal throne, still a youth of admirable character, and he saw that the Roman Republic had come to such a point that everyone was possessing with impunity as much as he had stolen for himself, not content with the rule left to him by his father, Arthur assembled his forces and, with the greatest, rapid success, conquered Ireland, the Orkneys, Denmark, Gotland, Norway, and likewise many other provinces in the direction of Gaul.
[2] Furthermore, when it seemed to him that he had sufficiently extended the boundaries of his kingdom and the glory of his name, Arthur reckoned that he should finally put an end to war. So that virtue would not weaken through idleness, by the counsel of the prophet Merlin, who was flourishing at that time, Arthur, as it is told, set up a table which the English call the ‘Round Table.’ To this Round Table, as if to a celebrated banquet, he called together his finest men, whomever he recognized for their more noble arms and character, and he compelled those chosen into a fellowship and society with laws and orders.
[3] Indeed, they all had a special code: not to put aside their arms; to seek out marvels; to defend, when called upon, the rights of weak with all their might; not to violate anyone; not to harm one another; to fight for the safety of their friends; to put their lives on the line for their country; to seek nothing for themselves except honor; not to break a promise for any reason; to practice their religion most diligently; to show hospitality freely to anyone to the best of their means; to reveal most faithfully and truthfully to those who had care of the annals what happened, regardless of whether it contributed to the honor or disgrace of the teller; and to practice many other things of this sort that were most worthy of praise.
[4] Preserving this code with due diligence, as much for the firmness of the knightly society as for the outstanding brilliance of their character, the royal name was bestowed such splendid glory that neither raging Fortune nor hoary old age could do anything to prevent it from reaching our own time with brilliant splendor.
[5] Therefore, now fortunate in these respects, once he had denied the Romans seeking their customary tribute, he transported his troops into Gaul and raised battle standards. He descended into battle against Lucius the consul, who was seeking the tax by means of arms. And when victory had fallen to him, Arthur, returning to his neglected desire, proceeded to capture more territory.
[6] But a downfall was already in the works for the proud one. For while he was harrying the interior of Gaul with arms, Mordred, his son by a concubine—to whom he had relinquished the seat of the kingdom to be guarded in his absence—a violent youth, boldly disposed towards every crime, for a long time enthralled by a desire for ruling, reckoned that the time was presented to him by Fortune, with the absence of the king. He began to incite to liberty those oppressed by the royal yoke, to win over with gifts the hearts of everyone, to show himself to be a most affable future king, to protect with his garrisons the cities and castles of the realm, to summon friends, to build up his strength, to contract a very great band of mercenary soldiers, to refuse to his father the king provisions and reinforcements, to provoke to rebellion all onlookers, and then when the anticipated moment had come, to demonstrate by false letters that the king had died in battle, to call himself king, and to manage all royal affairs.
[7] When fast-flying rumor brought the news to Arthur’s camp, suddenly the seat of battle shifted; and the unfortunate king was compelled to turn the arms that he had directed against the allies of the Romans towards his son. Therefore, after gathering up his troops in his fleet, he met his son in battle on the British shore.
[8] When Mordred had been unable to resist this attack, he abandoned the shore and took flight. He made his way to Winchester. There, when he had assembled all his military strength, he set out to test the fortune of battle; and he was of such obstinate perfidy that he was not afraid to descend into battle against his own father.
[9] Therefore, once the battle had begun, even though the virtue of Arthur’s armed knights and their martial discipline was distinguished, nevertheless the opposing multitude, conscious of their crime of treason and, on account of that, preferring to die rather than to be conquered, were neither able to be turned back nor routed. And, therefore, under an uncertain Mars, for a long time there was bitter fighting on this front and that. And on both sides a massacre occurred that was as huge as it was horrible.
[10] Truly, almost all the outstanding comrades of Arthur perished there. Arthur took their loss badly, and when he saw Mordred running around with, so to speak, renewed vigor and close to grasping victory with his own virtue, he put aside his paternal affection, took up his lance, and with the full charge of a fresh horse, rushed against the oncomer and impaled the chest of that most wretched one.
[11] And yet he did not do so with impunity. For the youth, propelled by the pangs of death, when he had mustered his whole person into action and as the king came near to him, raised his sword high and struck the king’s head with such force that his helmet gave no resistance, and the sword cleaved all the way down to his brain.
[12] The king was carried forward on his horse, and as he retracted the lance from the chest of the dying Mordred, the wound grew so large, they say, that the rays of the sun were already shining through on the other side of him as he fell.
[13] Therefore, Mordred, dropping at once, obtained an inauspicious end to his presumption and his life. The king, now sensing that the end of his days was at hand, sprang forth without delay from his horse, climbed aboard his ship, and commanded that he, on the brink of death, be brought to the isle of Avalon. And in that place, that once most fortunate man, now a dying wretch, relinquished to his nephew Constantine dominion of his kingdom and the vengeance to be taken for his downfall.
[14] Plainly, either because his death was artfully concealed by his successor or because contemporary affairs were swept up in a very great commotion, Arthur died by himself with few conscious of his passing, and he was buried without any pomp, as if he was not dead but watched over in silence to this day, such that the Britons generally claim their outstanding and preeminent king is alive, and they assert that once his wounds have healed he undoubtedly will return.
[15] Therefore, by this smallest daring of one nefarious man, it was amplified by the passage of time that the kingdom of Arthur was dashed to pieces and carried away with that man’s life.
[16] The Round Table, shining with so many worthy men, was deserted, after they were all slaughtered, and broken and turned into the fable of the common folk. The great glory and renown of the king were erased by his downfall into shame and obscurity to such an extent that mortals, if they wish, can observe that nothing can endure in this world except humble things.
Christopher Berard is the author of Arthurianism in Early Plantagenet England (Boydell & Brewer, 2019) and The Alliterative Morte Arthure as Christian Epic Poetry (Boydell & Brewer, forthcoming 2026). He completed his PhD at the University of Toronto’s Centre for Medieval Studies (2015), and he is currently an adjunct professor at Providence College.
Morris Tichenor is Associate Lecturer of Latin at the Louisiana School for Math, Science, and the Arts. He completed his PhD at the University of Toronto’s Centre for Medieval Studies (2019).
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Top Image: King Arthur in battle in a manuscript of De casibus virorum illustrium – Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève, Ms. 1128 f. 304v
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