The Medieval Murderers: The False Virgin

Grey sensed a movement behind him, and threw himself to the ground, as Yarrow lunged at him with the knife. The churchwarden missed, but recovered himself, grabbing a handful of Grey’s hair and dragging his head backwards to expose his throat. Grey, with his hands bound, was helpless to defend himself. He screamed as the murderous blade flashed in the candlelight, but before it could bite into his flesh, the canon caught the churchwarden’s wrist, dragging the knife upwards.

‘No! I will not permit this sacred chapel to be desecrated by bloodshed. Besides, there is no need.’

Yarrow backed away, his head bowed. The canon crouched down and pulled Grey into a sitting position, though he did not help him to rise.

‘I neglected to mention, Master Grey, that before we consecrated this place, it once had another use when Newstead Priory flourished. It was used as a carcer, a place of correction for those among us who broke the rule.’

He gestured towards the cave wall nearest the tunnel to the Hutt, from which dangled a set of heavy iron chains.

Then he beckoned to two of the other canons. Before Grey could grasp what they intended, the men rose, lifted Grey on to his feet and dragged him over the rough floor to the chains.

Grey twisted and fought with every ounce of strength he had, but it was useless. They threw him once more to the ground and hauled him into a sitting position against the sharp jagged wall of the cave. The two men pinned him there while a third forced his neck into an iron collar and manacled his hands above his head to the chains on either side.

The prior stared down at him. ‘Do you wish to make your confession? If you do so in all humility I will absolve you.’

Grey stared up into the face, seeing only the lips move. The eyes were still masked deep in shadow.

‘You… you can’t mean to leave me here like this. It could take days for my men to find me.’

‘ If they ever find you,’ the prior corrected.

Grey was still pleading desperately to be released as the canons busied themselves packing the crucifix, chalice and other items of value into their packs, which they distributed among themselves before each one kneeled and kissed the reliquary of St Beornwyn. Finally they wrapped her in woollen cloth and stowed her away in a plain wooden box. The canons quickly changed into clothes of beggars, merchants and pedlars, hiding their own robes in their packs. Each kneeled for a blessing before their prior, who dispatched them two at a time along the tunnel towards the Hutt, carefully leaving a few minutes’ gap between each departing pair.

The prior was the very last to leave. Even then, even as the Black Canon stood over him, Grey was sure he did not mean to leave him there. Now that the other canons were all safely dispersed, the prior would surely release him from the chains.

The prior bowed his head gravely. ‘I shall leave the candles burning. They will be a comfort to you until they go out.’

Grey tried in vain to wrest his arms from the chains. ‘No, no, please, I beg you. You can’t leave me here. This cave is so far beneath the ground, no one will hear me shouting for help… You can take my horse. By the time I manage to walk back to the village you’ll be long gone. Please… I give you my word, as God is my witness, I will not hunt for Beornwyn’s relic. I’ll report that it has been destroyed. I’ll be no more threat to you. I swear it on my mother’s grave!’

‘You and all of Cromwell’s men are a threat to every true servant of God. If you cannot destroy St Beornwyn, then you will hunt down other relics, destroying the holy things that God has sanctified and through which he works his miracles in this dark world.’

Grey could not believe the man could sound so calm, yet was preparing to leave him helpless, trapped in the cave.

‘But you said you did not want this consecrated chapel desecrated by death and I will die if I am not found!’

‘Desecrated by bloodshed ,’ the prior corrected. ‘And there will be no bloodshed. If God chooses to save you then you will live. If he decrees you will be punished by death then you will die and your spirit will guard this holy place until another comes to take your place. That will be your atonement. Your fate lies in God’s hands now, not mine. I suggest that if you hope for a miracle, you should pray to St Beornwyn to save you.’

The prior bowed his head, and to his horror, Grey heard him softly chanting ‘ miserere nobis ’ – ‘Have mercy on us’ – and realised he was reciting the prayer for the dying. Then the Black Canon turned and walked away down the tunnel, still singing softly, until it seemed as if the rocks themselves were whispering the prayer as they closed around the chained man.

Grey’s screams and pleas echoed through the cave, but the prior did not return. In the distance, he heard the hollow grating of a stone being pushed back into place. And knew he was utterly alone.

The candles flickered in the draught that rushed down the tunnel as the stone fell into place. Then they steadied themselves, burning steadily again. The soft yellow light filled the great empty cave. But even as the full horror of what the next few hours and days would bring filled Grey’s terrified mind, the first of the candles guttered and died, leaving only a wisp of black smoke that rose momentarily into the shadows above and dissolved. Darkness snuggled a little closer to poor Roger Grey.

Outside, though Grey couldn’t hear them, the midnight bells in the distant churches rang in the Christmas morn. And as Edward had predicted, the first flakes of snow began to fall, covering tree and stone, footprints and tracks. It would be a white Christmas.

Historical Note

Newstead Abbey was built between 1164 and 1174 by King Henry II to atone for the murder of Thomas Becket. It became a priory of Austin Canons, known as the Black Canons from their robes, who were not monks, but ordained priests living under monastic rule. King Henry VIII drove the canons from the abbey and on 28 May 1540 sold the lands to one of his loyal supporters Sir John Byron who promptly converted the abbey into his family home, demolishing most of the priory church to reuse the stone for farm buildings.

The romantic poet Lord George Gordon Byron inherited the title and estates in 1798. The house was in such a ruinous state, thanks to his great-uncle stripping it of its valuables, that the poet could only afford to refurnish a few of the rooms, where he lived amid the ruins. He excavated the North Cloister in the hope of finding the fabled treasure of the Black Canons to restore the house, but found only skeletons.

The Royal Hutt was built around 1400 just outside the present entrance to Newstead Abbey as a shelter for the Forest Wardens who patrolled Sherwood Forest. Legend has it that there is a tunnel stretching for about a mile from the Hutt to Newstead Abbey, which was still in use up until the seventeenth century. This is quite plausible as the whole area is riddled with underground caves. The tunnel from the Hutt is said to be haunted by the ghost of a man who died of starvation, having been chained up in it. The tunnel has since been blocked off and ‘The Hutt’ is now a popular pub and restaurant of that name, where you can still see some of the ancient features of the buildings.

The Church of St Mary of the Purification in Blidworth is one of the few remaining churches in the country to hold the ancient rocking ceremony at Candlemas, in which a baby boy of the parish born closest to Christmas Day is rocked in an ancient cradle during the service. This is thought to bring great blessings to the child and family. The churchyard is the legendary burial place of Will Scarlet, one of Robin Hood’s men, and Maid Marian is said to have lived for a time in the village. Only the west tower of the original medieval church survives; the rest was later rebuilt.