That Cornwall was once ruled by a separate and unique lineage of Kings ignites a schoolboy-like excitement. It makes me think of Tolkien. It also highlights that this little chunk of land oozes with its own idiosyncratic history.
Just the names of the Kings brings to mind a wild, fierce and proud people roaming a landscape that was far wilder, more disparate and sparse than Cornwall is today: Constantine, Caradoc, Geraint, Conan (!).
King Doniert’s stone, on the edge of the Moor, is a monument to that lineage. It commemorates King Dungarth, the ruler of an 8/9th century Cornwall that was, by this time, a failing and faltering remnant of the once ferocious and lore-inspiring post-Roman, Celtic kingdom of Dumnonia. Crumbling in the 8th and 9th century, after centuries of independence, to Anglo-Saxon hegemony. Indeed Dungarth was probably the last of the line. He was also possibly an under-king.
This particular King set in stone, is said to have died a fairly insipid death – drowning in the River Fowey which flows from the moor, over the Golitha Falls and, in a somewhat disappointing end to its moorland journey, through Trago Mills.
Presumably Doniert/Dungarth/Donyarth drowned at the mouth of the river, whereupon it is actually deep enough to drown without being seriosuly inept. Nearby to Fowey town after all you can find Castle Dore. A hillfort that would have certainly been inhabited around that time. This castle was also possibly a royal seat.
The history of Cornwall (and Devon as they were intertwined) after – and even during – the Roman occupation of Britain is somewhat convoluted.
To say the least.
I suppose this would be why we refer to the departure of the Romans up to the arrival of the Normans as the ‘Dark Ages’.
Generally it is agreed upon that from what is now Cornwall, Devon and a chunk of Somerset were homogenous in culture and practice enough to be called one thing: Dumnonia.
However History, being a somewhat modern invention, has a way of compartmentalising and taxonomising things for ease of understanding. So there is always the possibility that they were a (perhaps innumerable) loosely affiliated bunch of tribes, naturally sharing such things as language or farming/building practices due to their geographical proximity.
Sub-Roman inhabitants of Cornwall, Devon and Somerset where they around to be spoken to might have obligingly raised their eyebrows at modern historians for suggesting their similarities and then smashed their head in with an axe. I suppose this somewhat like the modern Cornish in certain circles.
The reason the actual history of the Kings of Cornwall/Dumnonia is so difficult to objectively ascertain is simply the ever-expanding myth, legend and fantasy of the Arthurian Romance. A myth largely starting with the Normans, it has infiltrated the facts to a startling degree and is possibly one of the most enduring and powerful in Western Europe. That is actually quite an impressive feat when you think about it.
What we do know is that there existed a series warlords, chieftains or Kings (perhaps a later label) of an independent and warlike people, with a strong Celtic past and identity.
We can also take the position that the Romans didn’t bother too much with them. Perhaps they were more trouble than they were worth, as there is little evidence of full-scale Roman occupation west of Exeter. Perhaps they just didn’t fancy it. Although it should be noted that there are some sites however, even as far west as Gweek, possibly indicating co-operation to some degree.
Another piece of definite knowledge would be that the Dumnonii had pretty strong links (naval, economic and cultural) and possibly an identification with the Welsh and probably Irish kingdoms and Kings (I love the term ‘High King’, it is again very Tolkien, but alas this seems to be mainly applied to the Irish).
The links to Wales, and to a lesser degree Ireland, are most obvious in the similarities of language and culture, but perhaps most importantly, from the 4th and 5th centuries onwards, Christianity. Spreading out, rather frighteningly effectively and rapidly, to Cornwall and Ireland from the nucleus of St. Davids in Pembrokeshire which provided a real binding of the Celtic ‘Nations’.
Lastly, following the departure of the Romans, we can also assume, from sources of the time, that there existed a remaining Romano-Brittonic aristocracy (the Romans were not entirely arrogant, as we often assume them to be, they empowered and mingled with the many of the local tribes and indigenous power to ensure compliance) that were connected to, perhaps strongly, perhaps not, to the independent Kings of Dumnonia. This is where the seed of the Arthurian story is sown.
There was certainly a strong native resistance to the (pagan) Saxons, Angles and Jutes who started to move over incrementally through the open door left by the Romans (‘immigration’ is a better word than ‘invasion ‘for this) and gradually pushed West. It is in this resistance that we find the only historical possibility of Arthur, who might have been a warlord or prince that led a confederation of Britons, including the powerful Celtic kingdoms, against the Saxons. A confederation that, according to the accounts at the time, won an important victory at the now famous Battle of Badon.
The Saxons gradually won this century battle of attrition but the warlike Kings and people of Dumnonia almost certainly played a part in this resistance.
Doniert’s stone, fittingly crumbled and broken, symbolises the last of his line and the last of the Celtic independence from and resistance to the Saxons. Or, maybe more accurately, resistance to change in general.