The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

‘But as I told you at the beginning, Prior Wynter, it is pride that is the father of the other six sins. Oswin was proud of his knowledge and talent for summoning spirits and demons. He exalted in the glory of driving out the Devil and wrestling with angels. He could control the ministers and minions of Heaven and Hell. But his pride was to sire its own punishment.’

With shaking hands, Randal unwound the long tails of his hood and pulled it from his head. His tonsure gleamed in the firelight. He lifted his head and for the first time met the gaze of his fellow pilgrims. This time, it was they who turned their faces away as they saw the wild and haunted despair in his eyes.

‘You see, I did summon spirits and demons, just as I boasted I could. But now they come whether I call them or not and I cannot stop them. I see them everywhere. Imps with leathery wings and cruel beaks peer down at me from the trees. Monstrous creatures with human eyes slither over the stones of the track towards me. Men, long dead, stretch out their rotting hands, trying to pull me back down into their foul graves. Giles and Eustace sit on each side of me at the table whenever I try to eat, the blood still running from their wounds. I see demons crouching on women’s shoulders, mocking me. I watch the birds of death hovering over the babies’ cradles. I am afraid even to look at a child, in case my evil eye should curse them. I am terrified to sleep, for in my dreams there is no escaping the wraiths that bite and tear and suffocate me.

‘That night, in the disused chapel outside Lincoln, as I prostrated myself before that altar in front of my friends, I prayed that St Guthlac and St Hugh and all the Saints would give me the power to summon the spirits of the air and earth, of the living and the dead, and they heard me. They granted me what, in my pride, I most desired. And that was my punishment. They are dragging me down into their kingdom, the kingdom of the dead. I am already in purgatory and I do not know if I will ever escape it.’

He gazed around at his fellow pilgrims, his face contorted with despair. ‘If I die at the holy shrine of Walsingham, will the spirits leave me then? If the pestilence comes to take me, will I finally be free from my torment? For that is my only prayer now.’

Historical Notes

Dean Henry Mansfield died in post in Lincoln Cathedral on 6 December 1328. The position was finally filled in the February, not by the subdean but by Anthony Bek, who had previously been elected Bishop of Lincoln, though he never served as such because the result of the election was quashed. However, he subsequently became Bishop of Norwich.

Divination was practised by trained priests within the Church for a variety of purposes. The instructions they were to follow were carefully written down. There were many methods, but they basically fell into three types. Sum mon ing – the calling up of spirits, angels or demons, to question them directly about the future. Scrivening – where, after fasting, purification and mediation, a priest would attempt to read patterns in smoke or in blood, oil, wax or other substances dropped in water. Casting lots – after fasting and saying Mass, the priest was instructed to sprinkle himself with holy water and ensure that six poor people were being fed as he cast his lots. He would then ask a series of yes/no questions such as: Will this sick person recover? Should this journey be undertaken? Should the building work be begun on this day?

All divination had to be performed before a consecrated altar. Some churchmen denounced such practises, but many advocated them, seeing no difference between divination and trial by ordeal, which in previous centuries had been the principle form of determining the guilt or innocence of the accused.

Crackpole, or krakepol, which gave the area of Lincoln its name, is thought to come from the Scandinavian kráka , meaning crow and pol, which in Old English means a small body of water. Crackpole lies just north of Brayford Pool. Clergy were often disparagingly referred to as crows by the laity because of their black robes and the fact that they made a profit from the dead. A crow feeding in a churchyard or sitting on the roof of a house was an omen of death.

In the Middle Ages, most churches had an Easter Sepulchre built into the wall on the left-hand side of the altar. This was a long low recess between two foot and six foot long. At the end of the Good Friday services, a statue of Christ was placed in the tomb and kept there until Easter Sunday morning, when the sepulchre would be uncovered and the tomb revealed to be empty, showing that Christ had risen. Many churches bricked up their sepulchres during the Reformation and many more were lost due to rebuilding in later centuries, but some still remain, such as at St Mary the Virgin in Ringmer, East Sussex, and All Saints Church, Hawton, Nottinghamshire. In some old churches, if you examine the wall you can still see the outline of where the recess used to be.

Clergy, even those in minor orders who did not take lifelong vows, were granted benefit of clergy, which by this period had been extended to include anyone who could read. This meant that, except for those accused of treason, monks and clergy could only be tried in the far more lenient ecclesiastical courts, which did not impose the death penalty, even for murder. However, there were cases of clergy being defrocked in the ecclesiastical courts and then handed over to be tried again in the civil courts, which could hang them, but this was rare.

Punishment, even for serious crimes, usually took the form of penances, such as fasting, pilgrimages or incarceration in a carcer, an ecclesiastical prison, where monks and priests were imprisoned in solitary confinement for misdeeds ranging from breaches of the religious rule to criminal offences. Often, confinement would be for just a few days, though, for serious offences, such as murdering another cleric or monk, it could be a year or more, and after that the offender might be banished to a parish or monastery considered to be particularly austere or remote.

With the tale of pride, the seven deadly sins were finished. Although at the beginning of their stay the landlord of the Angel had suggested that the pilgrims might like to debate which of the sins was the worst, the very worst, there was a general feeling that such a difficult question was beyond the reach of human beings to decide. This was a matter best left to God. Besides, it was late and they were tired. In front of them, the pilgrims had the immediate prospect of a second night in the not uncomfortable beds of the inn and then, on the morrow, a resumption of their journey towards Walsingham.

Yet, tired as they were and even before the start of the next stage of their journey, they had been looking at each other with new eyes, a consequence of the stories that they’d heard. There was respect and pity for Janyn the veteran soldier and his tale of lust, and some amusement at David Falconer’s account of the man who’d been tricked into eating himself to death. The prior’s condemnation of sloth pricked the consciences of some. The misery and confusion produced by sin had been amply demonstrated by the stories of greed and envy, anger and pride.

The next day dawned bright. The sky had cleared and the rain-soaked ground was already drying out in the midsummer warmth. Rest, refreshment and a sunny morning gave new heart to the travellers, despite the tales of death and suffering that they had been hearing for the last two nights. Even the spirit-haunted Randal looked, for the time being, if not cheerful then at least not so despairing.

Perhaps the pestilence would never reach this corner of England, they dared to hope. Perhaps the intercession of Our Lady of Walsingham would protect them, each and every one, from the wrath of God, whether they counted themselves among the deserving or the… less deserving. There was a new vigour and determination in their movements as they prepared to set out once more for the shrine. The exception was Katie Valier who, with her young companion, was not bound for Walsingham at all but going in search of her de Foe ancestors in the area round Bishop’s Lynn. Nevertheless, she intended to keep company with the group for a while longer. And Prior John, of course, though travelling to the shrine, was making the journey not to atone for his own sins but to pass judgement on those of others in his order, a prospect that he relished.