In 1278 AD, a poem was written about a maiden and a knight that appeared in Glastonbury around the year 1202 AD, he was called the Green Knight; he was there visiting the grave site of King Arthur, in the small village of Glastonbury, along with King Richard I [the Lion Heart], with an escort of some 200-soldiers on horseback. The Green Knight rode along side of the King as they entered the village road that led to the Abbey site where Arthur was buried; the site being somewhat destroyed some years earlier by fire, yet many of the foundations were still standing. During this visit, the Green Knight noticed a young girl called Angelina, and the rest is history. The poem was found written on the barn door at the Abbey where King Arthur is buried nearby. The visitor who found it was a soldier who showed it to King Edward I, who paid little attention to it.

The anonymous writer left no name only the poem and the soldier wrote it down and kept it in his house for posterity. And the remains of the poem were kept on microfiche in the vaults of one of the Universities of England for safe keeping. It was not until recently that it was found by someone doing research on Mother Shipton [a prophetess] that the poem showed up. This person then went to Glastonbury to investigate, and the story you are about to read is the story that came out of the research, to include the poem.

The poem has been modified for the sake of the reader from Old English, to a clearer reading and understanding by the author, and there are no other copies of this poem in existence other than the microfiche copy the author has, and the University has. Nor can the writer [author] disclose what University the poem was taken from and given to him, after its discovery, on behalf of the request of the institution.

The Lioness of Glastonbury
[Angelina and the Green Knight]

The lion roars
I know it's true
In a tale told long ago
In a little village of old
Glastonbury
In this land where legends
Bare their souls

The Abbey and the Crusades
Two legends and two Kings
One buried, one rode through
This little village
Both heroes of Merry England
"
In a day,--a day
A lioness was born
As she glanced from eye to eye
Her kind heart was stripped then torn

Truly," ?truly, they raped her clean
But a lioness then was born

In the barn, towers high and steep
" ?so bold they made

This maiden" ?weep
She lay there strong with grace
They gave no dignity

On soil and soul
Each man laid their bodies bare
As if the tower-beams
Didn't care

And they raped at will
With laughter, smiles and seed
As blood came from her youthful soul
And upon her knees

Then two Knights left
As one Knight fell to sleep
To rest, his evil deeds

"

Now
I tell you no more of these
Great warriors of the Crusades
But warn you, if you please

Yet I dare say:

All Knights beware
Who enter this village steep?
Ride down the hill unto the Abbey
Seek King Arthur if you will
For he is in his grave

But do not bring disgrace
Dear guest
For the lioness bears her teeth

All three Knights
Found their fate
And also found their sleep

They say that no man knew
Nor found the praetor
Of Little Glastonbury

Gk

But yet the tale is told
A whisper, a glance
Came from a Soul

A Great Knight, as he was known

Came
Dashing, flashing with his mane
No armor plate, no silver sword
Just upon his handsome horse
He remained

By the side of King Richard

He rode into Glastonbury

With an Alive branch
Within his grip
And eyes for the merry maiden
(Who stood alone)

He looked upon her fair skin" ?
Her, beauty, and within her soul
Then gripped his horse

With one hand, -- dismounted
With ease
Kneeling upon one knee

For all he was renowned
Well known and fearsome
Throughout the lands
Of Franks and Muslim's

And there he knelt
From head to toe
All Dressed in Casmir Green

He whispered to this lovely maiden
With golden hair, and eyes of blue
"Will you marry me fair lady,
For my heart belongs to you~"?

And so the story's told

For there is where he lived
- In Old Glastonbury
Until his death in 1222 [AD]

AG

Chapter One

London to Glastonbury

It was April, 2002; I was in London waiting for my train to Glastonbury. I had used the Internet to find a way to get to Glastonbury; my travel Agent one that I had used for setting me up tours for some fifteen-year couldn't come up with a good way for me to visit this little village of Glastonbury while in London on a vacation, other than having a taxi pick me up some forty-miles away from there and taking me there and visiting the place for a few hours; that just was not good enough. Being a seasoned traveler I thought it would be easy but it really wasn't. That is, unless one wants to take an escorted tour of the whole of England and Scotland, but then you would only get a half day in Glastonbury anyhow. I had been to the countryside of England before, to a number of locations, but never to Glastonbury.

In any case, I did not give up, I contacted by Internet a sole proprietor tour company in Glastonbury; the owner's name was Jason, he owned a bookstore in town. He made life easy compared to the escorted tour thing, and the taxi idea; he even met me at the train station when I first arrived. But let me back up here a little bit.

I had to go to some little town I never heard of, Castle Cary, and that really would have confused my travel agent, I couldn't even find it on the map until I got one of those maps at the train station that show you every house on every block, and every stop sign almost. 'Yup,' I said, 'there it is.'

When I got there [meaning: Castle Cary] I was wondering if I was at the right place: I thought I was in some western town like Tombstone, in Arizona. He did show up, and drove me into Avalon, or as some would have me say, Glastonbury. But I think Avalon is part of Glastonbury. Or put another way, maybe it is the other way around, that being, Glastonbury is part of Avalon [which ever one was first history].

As we traveled the countryside to the town-let, it was quite beautiful, seemingly more breathtaking than I had thought it would be, as was the countryside coming in by train, rather than by bus.

As Jason drove, I was quiet impressed by the small train station yet. It was like it come right out of a western movies but it was real. I mentioned it to Jason, and he chuckled.

As I reflected as we drove through the countryside to the town of Glastonbury, I thought about how I leaped off the train onto the cement platform, and faced the brick station. The little house station was made mostly out of wood, but had its share of red brick. How charming! Like I was thinking, Jessie James style, unique: or so such an image came to me, having been in Northfield, where Mr. James robbed the bank here in the 1880s.

And then Jason standing there saying, "You must be Lee,"? as I was looking around for him, he was right in back of me.

I looked; he was pleasant looking, in his mid late forties; long hair, blue jeans, a brown vest, and a piece of paper in his hand. I had my hat on as always, one made of wool [felt], which I picked up about five years prior to this visit in the Black Hills of South Dakota. I also had on my blue jean vest on, and jean pants, with a light sweater, and a cashmere scarf I picked up in London, for there was a chill in the air.

We stood for a moment just kind of staring at one another, as I got acclimated to my surroundings, and he to me, then he invited me to his vehicle which was a van, for a ride in to Glastonbury.

And here we are sitting in the car van, on our way to the land of myths and legends, to Avalon, and the Tor. Avalon for the most part is an area that has a number of hills; some say it was at one time an island. Today it is more like a grazing field of sorts: cows roam up and down it freely. And the Tor seems to be a manmade hill in the middle of an ancient island. But everything is connected today. Meaning, it is not separated with water, that is, the island of Avalon and Glastonbury seem to blend into one another.

When we got to the town of Glastonbury, Jason drove me directly to the B&B he had arranged for me to stay at, for three days during my visit; it was on the tip of the Tor, things couldn't get much better.

He said we would be going on our tour in about forty-minutes, he was waiting for a newspaper woman, who was going to meet us on our journey today, and do an article on Avalon; my kind of guy, down to business.

Evidently, she had lived in the town of Glastonbury for several years, I thought she should know all there is to know; but maybe not. At any rate, I told myself, it will be a good experience to have some company. And she was very good company: I was not married at the time, and so I traveled the world alone.

As Jason showed us around the countryside, and the town of Glastonbury, the ancient sanctuary or Abbey should I say, where King Arthur was buried, I got goose-bumps: thinking this whole area was a sacred center overflowing with legends. This is where the Holy Grail, the chalice of the Last Supper was; King Arthur, the Round Table and the Glastonbury Zodiac; along with the Isle of Avalon, where the sacred egg-stone was. And of course there was that Abbey where King Arthur was buried, which burned in the late 12th Century, and the Tower Abbey on top of the Tor.

I had visited Stonehenge a few years back but you couldn't do anything but look from behind a fence; what a squander of time and money. I guess it is nice to say you saw it, but that is all you can say, you really can't absorb it. And the tour I was with, only allowed you to stay for forty-five minutes; what a shame, what a loss. They wanted to get you to Bath for some odd reason, look at the Roman baths, as if it could hold a candle to Stonehenge, which I did not think it could. So, this was better, Avalon in the bare; there were no fences as I noticed when we arrived at the tip of the Tor, where the B&B was. The Tour was quite informative, although I had done my research prior to this, and knew almost where everything would be located anyway.

I asked questions, and gave some of my ideas about the terraces, feeling there were entrances into the Tor terraces where one could get on his knees possibly and move around the terraces. Jason didn't disagree, he simply smiled. Many legends are stored in this area; I guess who can say for sure anything. If there were cave like tunnels, as legend would have it, maybe this was a way to the underworld, as proclaimed. Also Chalice Well nearby is said to have such an entrance also: an entrance to the underworld. After the tour I went back to the Tor. I would find myself going back five times in the three days I was there.

Chapter Two

Glastonbury-Avalon

Glastonbury to me is an outshoot of Avalon or at least that is the way I have seen it. It really couldn't be to the contrary after being there; Avalon was old with many wounds long before Glastonbury was born. But none the less, Glastonbury claims it as the Tor of Glastonbury, rather than the Tor of Avalon, not sure why. But they are proud in all respects.

This area dates back to a very old period. It is located in the Somerset area of England. An area dating back to 4,000 BC; and still if you were to look for artifacts like flints and so forth, the period would pre-date 20,000 BC, and possible 75,000 BC.

It was April of 2002, when the wind pushed me about a little bit: --,as I stood on the Tor [hill-of Avalon],-- but I found it to be most interesting standing there, that is, the power of the wind, the mystic waves in the air, the myths that were seeping into my veins, making the place come alive.

The woman who owned the Bed & Breakfast on the edge of the Tor, the proprietor that is, was also enchanted with the place; --amazingly, still after so many years. She painted the Tor on every conceivable item, for example: Glasses, cups, curtains, paintings, postcards, book markers; you name it; she drew it, in many different dimensions and colors. She also had it on the wall-rugs.

I suppose it was hard for her not to be co-dependent on such a magnetic force as the Tor being on your door steps in which the B&B was planted right on its body.

I enjoyed visiting the Glastonbury village when I wasn't on the tour or the Tor. Matter of fact, I found an Inn I had a good huge steak in. And found myself walking by the Abbey, which was for the most part destroyed, but that is what created its enchanting value, I think. You knew it tasted the hard gothic part of humanity; especially as one stood standing by the Tower on the Tor, and glanced to the Abbey area of Glastonbury, you can see the sun as it rises to the summit and over the Tor. It was the first week of April, and I am not sure if that extends beyond that time, but it was but a glimpse into the pulse of the myths.

This area at one time could have been called the wetlands; it was full of hills and sites. There was almost a magic to the area; Chalice Well being the entrance to the Underworld, was close by the Bed & Breakfast I was staying at, just a hop-skip-and-jump to its back yard gardens; and the water was as pure as any on earth. And the huge trees called Gog and Magog, after two giants of old; and relating to Biblical events. And then they have the Glastonbury Zodiac. It surely is a world of its own, the Tor being an artificial feature originating in Neolithic times, if not older.

I chose this story to add into this book because of its nature, when one reads the stories of Avalon and its surrounding area one finds out many things, such as you can notice the outline of a huge lion delineated by the river Cary and an ancient road.

King Richard the Lion Hearted of England, a warrior like King Arthur whom is buried at the Glastonbury Abbey, shares a little part of the lore of Avalon... but I do want to get into this area quite yet, the story part that is, for folklore will come alive at is own subtle pace. As I lay upon the windy thick grass of the Tor one day, an old man came by and sat by me. He said he was drawn to the Tor, like any of his comrades in the village.

He explained, "No one really knows why they come here, that is the residents of Glastonbury, which was down the hill a-ways as you leave the Tor."?

But he added, "We seem to find ourselves here, and when we wake up to that fact, we are standing here, we look around. And here I see you."?

I then introduced myself.

He asked if I wanted to know about Angelina. I asked, "Who is she?"?

"She is my great, great, great..."? then he hesitated, and finished, "She goes back a long ways to about 1199 AD, at the end of the Crusades. She was a great grandmother of sorts. I am related to her."?

I asked, "Why would I want to know about her?"? which I kind of did now want to know.

"Because it is April, and that is the month she was born in. And the month she was raped. And the month she died."?

I hesitated, he smiled, and I wasn't sure what kind of face to put on.

Then he said, "At Chalice Well, you will see a Lion's Head. Angelina was a lioness. Although people thought she was timid, and coy, she was far from it. When she died, in 1221 AD, she left her diary, and the story of the three soldiers who wanted to rape her; one did the other two... Well, that's part of the story; no one ever found out what happened to them or for that matter, how they died. But I know I got the diary. I found it in 1984, hidden in the old Abbey Barn, that place has a magnificent roof, doesn't it?"?

I told him I had seen it and it was a piece of art and an engendering feat.

"Where is the diary now?"? I asked.

"I read it, and I hid it."?

And that was all he was going to tell me about that. But I asked him to tell me about his Great...grandmother. Evidently she died about at the age of 35.

"Incidentally, my name is Arthur, you know, after the king,"? he smiled and started to tell me the story, word-by-word out of the diary, evidently he had memorized it.