One of the problems – or, perhaps, the best things – about Gothic Horror is that it does tend to be sad. Usually, there are at least one or two characters who don’t deserve whatever is happening to them, or who have done something which is being punished in a way which does not in any way fit the crime. M.R. James’s writing is perhaps a constant reiteration of the old proverb, “curiosity killed the cat”, but curiosity in itself isn’t a bad thing; while Jonathan Harker in Bram Stoker’s Dracula finds himself in the initial dangerous situation through no fault of his own. Perhaps the saddest story in this anthology is The Lady Who Dances in the Ashes , which was first published by Sley House in Tales of Sley House 2022 . Here is the story of a man who is facing professional and financial ruin as a result of suggesting that mental health patients can be treated in the community rather than institutionalised. He is one of the most sympathetic narrators you will find in the book, but he bad...
As I'm sure you know by now, one of the things I love the most about writing historical fiction is the thin line which exists between the fact of historiography and the truths of history. Throw into that my interest in Theology, and there is little surprise that a person like Amphibalus sneaks into one of my WIPs.
But who was he? And, perhaps more curiously, did he really exist?
Amphibalus is credited with the conversion of Saint Alban, who is broadly accepted as being the first British martyr. According to the legend, Saint Alban took Amphibalus' cloak and went to execution in his stead because - and this is the bit which makes it perfect for applying to a novel - no one had a clue who Amphibalus even was. He was known simply as "The Cloaked Man".
While the martyrdom of Saint Alban suggests that "cloaked" meant he wore a cloak, that isn't all it meant. After all, quite a few people probably wore a cloak in those days, it didn't really limit the hunt down very much. The Cloaked Man probably referred to camoflauge, Amphibalus was clearly able to blend in with the Roman forts with little trouble. This raises the question as to whether he was a Roman himself. Certainly, there were plenty of Roman Christians at this time (late 3rd century) and, in the western part of the empire, most of them were largely ignored. As long as they would continue in the duties which were expected of them, their Christianity did not present as big an issue as it did in the eastern empire.
During the Middle Ages, Amphibalus rose in appeal. There were shrines built to him and he reached the same lofty heights as Saint Alban himself. But it is a little unclear just how he gained this spot in the eyes of the church. He was referenced in early texts as nothing more than a priest and yet, with a little help from the notoriously exuberant Geoffrey of Monmouth, Amphibalus was now an icon more than a rolemodel, and became an intercessor for those who adhered to his growing cult. Seamless overlaps were made by the chronicler with the legacies of Amphibalus and King Arthur. Amphibalus' progression into legend was now complete.
Later he, like so many overtly Catholic saints, were dropped from veneration within Britain, and the uncertainty surrounding him also led to his falling from favour within the Roman Church. But, while the question surrounding his existence remains, perhaps the most fascinating thing from the point of view of this novelist is: does it really matter? People believed so much in him, and certainly someone had converted Saint Alban, so Amphibalus had to have existed, if only as an idea.
For the sake of my book, Amphibalus has received his name as an ordained title. I like to think he existed in some way or another, and so I took his life of servitude and interspersed it with all the unexplained happenings - or miracles - which surrounded the early church in Britain.
Ultimately, according to Matthew Paris, Amphibalus faced his own martyrdom some years later although this - like his entire story - is vague and unsubstantiated. He is surrounded by a lack of proof and enshrouded in mystery.
So, was Amphibalus a man or a myth? Quite honestly, he's both. And that is what makes him perfect for a historical fiction writer to explore...
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