The Unlucky Victory Pilgrimage Of Archbishop Ælfsige of Canterbury

A clergyman named Ælfsige succeeded Archbishop Odo as the leader of the archbishopric of Canterbury around 958 in Anglo-Saxon England. For a medieval man-of-the-cloth, it must have been a dream come true. Yet, before he could truly take up his duties, he needed to receive his pallium, a lamb’s wool vestment granted to archbishops from the pope in Rome. Historically, archbishops in England obtained their palliums in various ways. The first archbishops of Canterbury in the 7th century simply had their palliums shipped from Rome to Britain. In the 8th century, however, the archbishops of Canterbury began either traveling to Rome or sending representatives to collect their palliums. By the 10th century in which Ælfsige lived, the norm had become for the archbishops to personally venture to Rome to receive their palliums from the pope. Following this tradition, Archbishop Ælfsige of Canterbury sailed across the English Channel in 959 and traveled through France, eventually reaching the Alps.

With Italy and Rome just on the other side of the mountains, Archbishop Ælfsige eagerly began his trek across the Alps. Yet, his journey had a tragic and anticlimactic end. As the monk, Florence of Worcester (d. 1118), bluntly put it in his chronicle, “Ælfsige, archbishop of Canterbury, on his journey to Rome to obtain the pallium was frozen to death in the ice and snow whilst crossing the Alps” (Chronicle of Florence of Worcester, AD 959). When news reached Canterbury that their brand-new archbishop was dead, debates promptly broke out over who would be the next ruler of the diocese. The most prominent candidates were Byrhthelm (bishop of Wells) and Dunstan (bishop of Worcester and London). Ultimately, the latter clergyman’s faction won the day, and Saint Dunstan became the Archbishop of Canterbury. Unlike his predecessor, Archbishop Dunstan of Canterbury successfully reached Rome around 960 and received his pallium from Pope John XII (r. 955-964).

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Alpine Pass in the Winter with monks, painted by Carl Blechen (1798–1840), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Chronicle of Florence of Worcester translated by Thomas Forester. London: Petter and Galpin, originally published 1854.
• The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle translated by Benjamin Thorpe in 1861 and republished by Cambridge University Press, 2012. 
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/pallium-ecclesiastical-vestment 
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/religion/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/odo-oda-canterbury-st 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Saint-Dunstan-of-Canterbury 
• http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/11427a.htm 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/John-XII 
• http://www.vatican.va/news_services/liturgy/details/ns_lit_doc_20091117_pallio_en.html  

King Guntram Executed Two Estranged Brothers-In-Law For Talking Ill Of His New Wife

King Guntram of Orleans and Burgundy (r. 561-593) was one of four brothers who partitioned the empire of the Franks after the death of their father, King Chlotar (r. 511-661). Guntram’s generation was prone to sibling rivalry and civil war, and although Guntram was arguably the most pacifistic of his brothers, he often joined his brothers’ wars on one side or the other, presumably intending, through his campaigns, to keep balance among the co-kings. He was also known to shelter royals who were in danger, including his young nephew Childebert II (r. 575-595) and his formidable sister-in-law, Queen Fredegund. Yet, although Guntram was one of the more peaceable monarchs of his age and was eventually considered a saint, he definitely had a ruthless side.

Two unfortunate in-laws of Guntram were unlucky enough to run afoul of the saint-king’s darker side. They were Guntio and Wiolich, the brothers of Guntram’s second wife, Marcatrude. By the time they married, both the husband and the wife had one son each from previous relationships. We know that Guntram’s son was called Gundobad, but Marcatrude’s child was unfortunately left unnamed by our sources. Their marriage, sadly, was plagued with tragedy. Their children from previous relationships did not live long—both Gundobad and his step-sibling died soon after Guntram and Marcatrude were married. Grief drove the couple apart and rumors began to circulate around Guntram’s court that Marcatrude may have had a hand in young Gundobad’s death. Whether or not Guntram believed the rumors, the deaths of the children became a turning point in his marriage to Marcatrude. The royal couple was not able to rekindle their relationship, and Guntram ultimately expelled Marcatrude from his life.

Marcatrude did not fare well after her dismissal from the king’s court, and she met an early death from unknown causes. Her brothers, Guntio and Wiolich, apparently blamed Guntram for their sister’s premature end, be it from foul play or emotional distress, and they held a grudge against the king for the rest of their lives. Bad blood was further stoked when Guntram subsequently married Austrechild, a servant who worked on Marcatrude’s family estate. By marrying Guntram, Austrechild also drew the ire of Guntio and Wiolich. The brothers of Marcatrude were apparently very vocal in their complaints about Guntrum’s poor treatment of their sister, and also bemoaned the impropriety of the king marrying a servant. Despite the tensions, the estranged former in-laws were able to co-exist for years, as Guntram’s two sons with Austrechild (Lothar and Chlodomer) were born while Guntio and Wiolich were still alive. As with Austrechild, the brothers of Marcatrude added young Lothar and Chlodomer to the list of people that they publicly criticized.

The feud between Guntram and his estranged former in-laws eventually came to a bloody end. The trigger for the confrontation may have been the death of Marcatrude’s father, Magnachar, whose assets would have been inherited by Guntio and Wiolich. Sensing an opportunity to appropriate wealth and rid himself of annoying adversaries in one fell swoop, the king had Guntio and Wiolich imprisoned for slander against the royal family and promptly had them executed. On this event, Bishop Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594) wrote, “King Guntram killed the two sons of Magnachar, who himself had died some time before. His excuse was that they had made hateful and abominable remarks about Queen Austrechild and her children. He seized their possessions and added them to the royal treasury” (History of the Franks, V.17). Gregory, who generally admired Guntram, seemed to have thought that this was an unjust act. Gregory of Tours ended his paragraph by stating that both of Guntram’s sons by Austrechild died suddenly of dysentery in 577, a tragic event which Gregory hinted could have been divine retribution for the wrongful executions of Guntio and Wiolich.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Henry I from Chroniques de France ou de St Denis (BL Royal 16 G VI, f. 286), [Public Domain] via picryl.com and Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Guntram-king-of-Burgundy 
• https://catholicsaints.info/tag/name-guntram/ 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Fredegund  

The Tragic Battle Of Two Witches During The Pontificate of Nicholas V

A certain Germanic bishop arrived in Rome during the pontificate of Pope Nicholas V (r. 1447-1455) and had quite an adventure while he stayed in the holy city. His story was recorded by the Inquisitors, Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, in their infamous Malleus Maleficarum (published around 1487). According to the Inquisitors, the German bishop reportedly fell in love with a Roman ‘girl’ (their description) and he decided to make her his concubine. In exchange for accompanying him back to the seat of his German bishopric, he offered to house her somewhere with nice accommodations and access to servants and wealth. When the bishop shared this plan with his lady love, the girl agreed, but made one condition—she wanted her mother to be allowed to live with her in the bishop’s diocese. The bishop and his paramour came to an agreement and the girl (and her mother) apparently set off for German lands while the bishop finished his business in Rome.

Although the bishop likely wanted to keep a low profile at this point, it only took one day for his life to erupt into scandal and drama. On the next night after the holy man and his concubine had made their arrangement, the bishop fell seriously ill. He was in great discomfort, and felt so hot in the throat and chest that he constantly requested chilled water to cool himself down. The bishop’s advisors and caretakers were shocked by the suddenness of the ailment and they quickly became convinced that something nefarious was afoot. If the illness was not caused by poison, then they were sure the only other cause could be witchcraft. When the bishop was still ill after three day’s time, and normal medical practices were showing no signs of bringing him back to health, the bishop’s servants began to consider more radical methods for a cure. According to the Malleus Maleficarum, the bishop’s servants brought in a local healer, who was considered a benevolent witch.

The healer examined the sickly bishop, and, according to the Malleus Maleficarum, she told her patient, “Your illness has been caused by a spell of witchcraft, and you can only be healed by another spell, which will transfer the illness from you to the witch who caused it, so that she will die” (Part II, question 2, intro). The healer-witch’s words apparently convinced the bishop, and, as he evidently did not think that, nature, medicine, or God would protect him from his illness, he decided that the good witch’s counterspell was his only option. Yet, as the bishop was still in Rome, he resolved to leave his fate in the hands of the pope. Therefore, the bishop sent word to Pope Nicholas V, informing him of his situation and the possible magical cure. The Malleus Maleficarum described the pope’s alleged reaction: “Now the Holy Father loved him [the bishop] very dearly, and when he learned that he could only be healed by the death of the witch, he agreed to permit the lesser of two evils, and signed this permission with his seal” (Part II, question 2, intro). With the support of the Vicar of Christ on his side, the bishop eagerly hired the services of the healer-witch and allowed her to cast her counterspell.

Unfortunately, the aforementioned young concubine had apparently caught whatever illness was plaguing the bishop, and her symptoms began to show at this very inopportune moment. The phrase, ‘correlation does not imply causation’ was incredibly underutilized by witch-hunters, and, unsurprisingly, everyone privy to the bishop’s condition and cure quickly came to believe that the girl was made ill by the healer’s counter-spell, and therefore had to be a witch. When the bishop recovered enough strength to travel, he went to meet with the sickly girl he once intended to have as a concubine. Now, however, he was convinced that she was a witch, and his ultimate goal in meeting with her was to convince her to repent for her alleged witchcraft. As the bishop’s illness and the healer-witch’s convincing words had brought her life to ruin, the Roman girl understandably was irate when she saw the bishop—after all, her short time spent with him had given her a deadly illness and a scandalized reputation. The Malleus Maleficarum described the tense interaction: “the Bishop went out of compassion to visit the girl; but when he entered the room, she received him with horrible execrations, crying out: May you and she who wrought your cure be damned for ever!” (Part II, question 2, intro). The illness, unfortunately, affected the girl much worse than it had the bishop. She reportedly did not recover from whatever it was that afflicted her and faced an unpleasant death. As the Malleus Maleficarum unpityingly stated, she “died miserably. But the Bishop returned home with joy and thankfulness” (Part II, question 2, intro). The bishop did, however, die at some point before the publication of the Malleus Maleficarum around 1487.

Interestingly, Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger realized that others might use this story as an excuse to make contracts with witches. Therefore, at the end of the story, they were obligated to remind the reader that witchcraft is bad, and that holy water, blessed salts, and exorcisms are better cures than the practices of folk healers. Ultimately, however, they could not come up with a convincing reason as to why the pope and a bishop could hire a witch without consequence, whereas a peasant might hire a witch and face severe or fatal repercussions. Nevertheless, they did attempt an explanation, which resulted in this awkward passage: “Here it is to be noted that a privilege granted to one does not constitute a precedent for all, and the dispensation of the Pope in this case does not argue that it is lawful in all cases” (Part II, question 2, intro).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Combination of a painting with Pope Nicholas V by Antonio Montúfar (active 1614-1629) with a painting of Shakespearean witches by Daniel Gardner (1750–1805), both [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Malleus Maleficarum by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, translated by Montague Summers (Dover Publications, 1971). 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Nicholas-V-pope 
• http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/11058a.htm 
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/people/philosophy-and-religion/roman-catholic-popes-and-antipopes/nicholas-v

Hernán Cortés’ Turf-War Trap Against Fellow Spaniards

Around August, 1519, the conquistador Hernán Cortés went to the city of Cempoala to talk to his native allies about a fateful mission he was envisioning—to seek out the Aztec leader, Montezuma II. Giving the Spaniards a course in regional politics, the Cempoalans (who had been brought into rebellion against Montezuma by Cortés) suggested that the Spaniards enlist the aid of the Tlascalans, perhaps Montezuma’s greatest native foe at the time. Eager to start his journey, Hernan Cortés deputized a man named Juan Escalante to look after their newfound colony of Vera Cruz during his absence. With his intel gathered and his forces mustered, Cortés was ready to begin a new phase of his expedition. Yet, before he could set off, a message arrived from Vera Cruz with troubling information. A European ship had sailed past the colony, and despite the inhabitants of Vera Cruz making smoke signals, and waving red cloaks in the air to catch the attention of the ship, the sailors onboard pretended not to see them and refused to enter the colony’s harbor, instead dropping anchor at a location several miles away.

It was all bad news for Cortés. Various thoughts must have run through his head. Did the ship belong to a rival colonial power? Was it a crew of pirates or outlaws? Cortés did not have any reinforcements scheduled—in fact the governor he worked for wanted him arrested.

In response to the message, Cortés gathered around fifty of his swiftest men, leaving the rest behind in Cempoala, and quickly marched back to Vera Cruz, reaching the colony around nightfall. Upon arrival, there was little rest and no food for the weary travelers, as Cortés almost immediately set off with the same band of fifty men, this time heading for where the mysterious ship had anchored. While they marched, they happened to encounter four scouts who had been dropped off by the ship—these men, they found out, were not pirates, and neither were the scouts from rival kingdoms or empires. Instead, they were fellow Spanish explorers, sent to claim land in Mexico for the Spanish crown on behalf of the governor of Jamaica, Francisco de Garay. Despite them being on the same team, as it were, Hernán Cortés looked upon this new ship of Spaniards with hostility.

Cortés’s motivations in Mexico may have been for country and currency, but there was one more word beginning with ‘C’ that he likely prioritized before the rest—Cortés. This was his turf and he already did not want to share it with his boss in Cuba, much less the governor of Jamaica. Hernán Cortés arrested the four scouts and continued marching to where the rival ship was sighted.

Cortés eventually decided that his best course of action was to seize the ship. He brought the captured Spaniards to their rendezvous point and pressured them to signal their comrades on the ship to row ashore. The sailors, however, had seen Cortés’ forces, and wisely ignored the signals.

His first plan thwarted, Cortés masterminded a more subtle plot. He commandeered the clothes of his four prisoners and dressed four of his own men of similar sizes in the captives’ clothing. These disguised conquistadors were left at the rendezvous point, while Cortés led the rest of his band along the coastline back toward Vera Cruz, letting the sailors see their departure. As soon as Cortés was out of sight of the ship, however, he quickly marched his force back to a forested area near the men he had left behind, and he set up an ambush for the rival Spaniards. Bernal Díaz del Castillo, who was present for this subterfuge, wrote down his experiences during that odd night and morning:

“So four of our men remained behind dressed in the prisoners’ clothes, and the rest of us with Cortes hid in a wood till after midnight, when the moon had set and it was dark enough for us to creep down to the mouth of the creek. Here we concealed ourselves again, leaving only the four soldiers to be seen; and when dawn broke these four began to wave their cloaks at the ship, from which a boat with six sailors quickly put off. Two of these sailors jumped ashore to fill two pitchers with water, and we who were with Cortes remained in hiding, waiting for the others to land. However they stayed in the boat, and our four men who were disguised kept their faces hidden and pretended to be washing their hands. Then the crew of the boat shouted: ‘Come on board. What are you doing there? Why don’t you come?’ Then one of our men called back: ‘Come on shore, you’ll find there’s a well.’ As they did not recognize his voice the men in the boat rowed away, and though we went on calling no one answered us. We wanted to shoot at them with our muskets and crossbows, but Cortes would not let us” (The Conquest of New Spain, chapter 60).

As the rowboat escaped to the ship, Cortés awkwardly launched his trap and captured the two men who had come ashore to gather water. After spending the entire night on the coast without food, he had managed to only capture six of the rival explorers, and the ship was able to sail away. Hernán Cortés brought his prisoners back to Vera Cruz, and Francisco de Garay would continue to be a political rival in the region for years to come.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution

Sources:

• The Conquest of New Spain by Bernal Díaz, translated by J. M. Cohen. New York: Penguin Books, 1963.
• http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32474/32474-h/32474-h.htm#CHAPTER_CXXXIII 
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/humanities/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/garay-francisco-de-1523  

The History Behind The Pied Piper Story

In 1284, something occurred in the German region of Hamelin that gave birth to the famous story of the Pied Piper, popularized in the 19th century by the Brothers Grimm and Robert Browning. The problem is that centuries of embellishment and creative license separate us from the vague original incident. It all began with the simple documented statement that around 130 youths were led away from Hamelin by a piper. By the 15th century, the tale had taken on a supernatural, evil tone, and during the 16th century, the story was expanded with the ideas that the piper was a ratcatcher (and possibly the Devil) and that he could magically have children swallowed up by a mountain. The growing and refining of the tale through the centuries, however, has been heavily studied by scholars of both history and literature. In order not to tread on trampled ground, we will simply lay out the earliest (and tamest) sources that began the Pied Piper legend, as these are the pieces of evidence that are likely closest to the truth.

The four seemingly most important sources for what occurred in Hamelin in 1284 include a decorated window from the local Market Church and an inscribed wooden beam (both of which are dated to about 1300), as well the account of Heinrich von Herford (died 1370) and the entry for year 1384 in the Chronicle of Hamelin. In regards to the church window, which was reportedly lost around 1660, those who saw the artwork before its disappearance claimed the artwork showcased a scene of endangered children, which, on its own is not much help. The Chronicle of Hamelin (apparently also lost) was more direct, but incredibly brief, stating in its entry for year 1384 that “it is 100 years since our children left” (source 1), meaning that a notable mass exodus of youths had occurred in 1284. When it comes to detail, the inscribed beam (from the so-called Rattenfängerhaus “Ratcatcher’s House” of Hamelin) was much more wordy. The inscription, which reads like a commemorative plaque, stated “In the year 1284 on the day of John and Paul, the 26th of June, 130 children born in Hamelin were led away by a piper dressed in many-coloured clothes to Calvary close to the Koppen and were there lost” (source 2).  In agreement with the inscription, but more embellished and dramatic, was the account of Heinrich von Herford in the second half of the 14th century (which might have been edited by a 15th-century hand). The text stated:

“…in the town of Hamelin in the diocese of Minden, in the Year of Our Lord, 1284, on the Feast of Saints John and Paul. A certain young man thirty years of age, handsome and well-dressed, so that all who saw him admired him because of his appearance, crossed the bridges and entered the town by the West Gate. He then began to play all through the town a silver pipe of the most magnificent sort. All the children who heard his pipe, in the number of 130, followed him to the East Gate and out of the town to the so-called execution place or Calvary. There they proceeded to vanish, so that no trace of them could be found. The mothers of the children ran from town to town, but they found nothing. It is written: A voice was heard from on high, and a mother was bewailing her son. And as one counts the years according to the Year of Our Lord or according to the first, second or third year of an anniversary, so do the people in Hamelin reckon the years after the departure and disappearance of their children. This report I found in an old book. And the mother of the deacon Johann von Lude saw the children depart” (source 1).

From these earliest and least folkloric sources, the most that can be deduced is that some authoritative, well-dressed figure with an instrument entered Hamelin in 1284, and when he left, 130 youths accompanied him and never returned—to the distress of their loved ones. Unfortunately, there is not enough information to confidently determine what happened next; all we can do is theorize and hypothesize. Was the piper a military recruiter who marched Hamelin’s sons of fighting age off to die in a war? Were the 130 youths instead led off to settle some newly conquered land? Had the young people been swallowed up by a mountain rockslide? Good or bad, the mystery of the Pied Piper remains.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (The Pied Piper of Hamelin illustrated by Kate Greenaway (1846–1901), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• (1) http://www.medievalists.net/2014/12/pied-piper-hamelin-medieval-mass-abduction/
• (2)https://www.academia.edu/7062392/Documentary_Time_Line_of_Versions_of_the_Pied_Piper_Legend 
• https://www.lib.latrobe.edu.au/ojs/index.php/tlg/article/view/390/383 
• https://www.pitt.edu/~dash/hameln.html 
• https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/lifestyle/travel/1985/09/15/hamelin/a80b6286-6efb-4191-9de5-f3b5b78feab1/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.a4cd0598273a
• https://www.britannica.com/place/Hameln#ref250685   

The Thynian Night Raid On The Forces Of Prince Seuthes Of Thrace

In 399 BCE, Prince Seuthes (a future Thracian king) hired around 7,000 experienced Greek mercenaries to further his interests in a region to the northwest of Byzantium. The mercenary company that he employed had just spent the last three years, 401-399 BCE, marauding through Babylonia, Mesopotamia, Armenia and the southern coast of the Black Sea. These spears-for-hire were now starting to weary of war (and thus they expected great pay), but, on the other hand, they were an incredibly experienced and effective army. Xenophon—the philosopher, historian and accomplished mercenary—was at this time the most influential general of the mercenary force, and he wrote down their exploits (including the campaign with Seuthes) in his Anabasis.

According to Xenophon, Seuthes’ goal for hiring the mercenaries was to conquer independent tribes that had once been ruled by his father, Maesades. These tribes included the Melanditae, the Tranipsae and the Thynians, of which the last group was Prince Seuthes’ first target. The Thracian nobleman and his mercenaries began their invasion at midnight, reaching a mountainous region with several villages by noon on the next day. Seuthes immediately attacked the villages, which were unprepared and did not put up much of a fight. According to Xenophon, “about 1,000 captives were herded together, along with 2,000 oxen and 10,000 sheep and goats as well” (Anabasis Kyrou, Book 7, section 3).

After capturing these villages and enslaving anyone who was not able to flee, Seuthes set fire to the towns and moved closer to the mountains. There were more villages near the forested slopes, but these were virtually deserted, as the inhabitants had reportedly withdrawn to secluded camps on the mountainside, intending to take a guerrilla warfare approach to Seuthes’ invasion. The Thracian prince promised the Thynians on the mountainside (through captives sent as messengers) that no harm would come to them if they returned to their villages and lived peacefully as his subjects. Women, children and elderly did indeed return to the villages, but the Thynian warriors remained on the mountain. Seuthues, in order to starve out these insurgents, sent his mercenary forces to occupy the villages closest to the mountains. When Xenophon and his troops reached the towns, some young warriors were still there and a few were killed, but most of the Thynian fighters were able to flee deeper into the mountains.

With the Thynian warriors quarantined to the mountains, the forces of Seuthes spread out among the villages. The Thracian prince brought his personal troops back down into the plains and camped in the more docile region. Xenophon and the mercenaries, however, remained at the villages closest to the mountains. Around this time, the guerrillas from the mountainside sent representatives to Seuthes to discuss a truce. Other representatives also visited the mercenary camp on a similar mission to broker peace. Yet, these diplomats also served another purpose—they were gathering intelligence on the occupation camps and were at the same time reconnecting with their contacts in the villages. Consequentially, on a night not long after the negotiations began, Thynian warriors silently poured out of the mountains and crept toward the villages, where, as had been planned, they were let into the villages by sympathizers and guided to the homes where the mercenary leaders were staying. When the assailants were in place, they began hurling spears and javelins into the building, while also setting the structures on fire. Xenophon, who awoke to the disembodied voices of the Thynians taunting him by name, described his perspective of the night raid:

“Flames were just beginning to be visible through the roof, and Xenophon and his men were inside, with their breastplates on and equipped with shields, swords, and helmets. Then Silanus of Macistus, who was eighteen years old, blew a blast on his trumpet and they immediately dashed out of the house with their swords drawn. The Greeks in the other houses did the same, and the Thracians [Thynians] ran away, with their shields swung round on their backs, as is their custom. Some of them got their shields snagged on the stakes as they tried to leap over a stockade and were caught hanging there; others were killed because they could not find their way out of the village” (Anabasis Kyrou, Book 7, section 4).

Thanks to their quick and calm response to the attack, the experienced mercenaries were able to turn the potentially disastrous night raid of the Thynians into a great victory for the Greeks. Curiously, when the sounds of battle erupted, Prince Seuthes rushed over to aid the mercenaries with only a reported seven horsemen and one trumpeter. Yet, after the mercenaries had everything under control, the Thracian prince soon brought his entire force to the mountain villages, and soon after, the guerrillas agreed to become Seuthes’ subjects.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (The Archers, painted by Bryson Burroughs (1869-1934), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Anabasis Kyrou (The Expedition/Upcountry March of Cyrus) by Xenophon and translated by Robin Waterfield. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005.

The Mass-Murdering Convulsions Of John Smith Of Leicester

In the early 17th century, a young boy named John Smith stirred up fears of witchcraft in the town of Husbands Bosworth, in Leicester, England. His condition, possibly epilepsy or hystero-epilepsy, manifested in his childhood and his convulsions were visibly shocking to his family and their friends. These worrying parents and guardians, however, were no common folk. John Smith came from a prominent family—his father was Sir Roger Smith; his uncle was the silver-tongued sermonizer, Henry Smith; and his grandfather, Erasmus Smith, was Bosworth’s Lord of the Manor. As the boy was of noble blood, his concerned family friends also were prominent figures. One such acquaintance was Sir Henry Hastings, who took special interest in defending the boy against a perceived demonic threat.

Sir Henry Hastings was the High Sheriff of Leicester between 1607-1608. While Sir Henry was serving in that capacity, John Smith (reportedly four or five years old at the time) began behaving oddly and started to suffer afflictions that resembled seizures. The possibility of witchcraft quickly came to people’s minds, and Sir Henry Hastings questioned several suspicious persons in that regard. Yet, no known convictions for bewitching the boy were brought about during Sir Henry’s term as High Sheriff.

Although Sir Henry Hastings could not convict any witches between 1607 and 1608, the idea that witchcraft was involved must have festered in him and the boy’s family for years. Their fears could only grow as young John Smith’s condition persisted during his childhood, and the family apparently reached a breaking point in 1616, when the boy was 12 or 13 years old. A certain alderman named Robert Heyrick described the hysteria caused by John Smith’s disorder in Bosworth. In a letter dated July 18, 1616, Heyrick claimed that the boy would fall into fits where he loudly struck his own chest hundreds of times. Many of the well-to-do citizens of the town witnessed the episodes, and the aforementioned Sir Henry Hastings tried to stop the boy from causing any self-harm. Heyrick wrote (in ye olde English, mind you), “Sir Henry Hastings hath doon what he colld to hold him in his fit; but he and another as strong as he could not hold him; yf he might have his arm at liberty he woolld stryke himsellfe suche bloes on his brest, being in his shirt, that you myght here the sound of yt the length of a long chamber” (Letter of Alderman Heyrick to Sir William, July 18, 1616).

The family of John Smith was apparently so desperate to cure the troubled boy that they brought in several so-called Wise Women, or rural healers, whose knowledge of herbal and folk remedies made them frequent targets of witch-hunters. Alderman Heyrick, in his letter, mentioned the visits of these Wise Women, writing “When he [John Smith] was in his fyt, they [the Wise Women] were soomtymes brought to him, and then they were chardged to speake sarten words…at the end of the last he woolld fall out of his fit as quyetly as if one did lay him doune to slepe” (Letter of Alderman Heyrick to Sir William, July 18, 1616). Although these healers were apparently able to bring the boy out of his fits, their cures were not permanent. The failure of the women to totally cure the boy no doubt frustrated and angered the fearful family, yet, for the healers, it was their patient, John Smith, who would be the most dangerous foe.

Sometime during the first months of 1616, likely after being treated by some of the Wise Women, young John Smith began accusing the healers and their associates of being the cause of his affliction. The boy’s family and the local judicial system agreed with the accusation and the Bosworth Witch Trials were begun. By the time that Alderman Heyrick began writing his letter on July 18, 1616, the witch-hunt had been in full swing for four or five days. In that time, the authorities had filled their jails with suspected witches, and “9 of them shal be executed at the gallows this fornone, for bewitching of a younge gentellman of the age of 12 or 13” (Letter of Alderman Heyrick to Sir William, July 18, 1616). Unfortunately, the nine women mentioned here were indeed executed by hanging because of the boy’s claims.

Ironically, it was the witch-obsessed King James (VI of Scotland, I of England) who put an end to the Bosworth Witch Trials. The king arrived in the chaotic town in mid-August, 1616. At the time, the first nine women had already been executed, but six more were still imprisoned on suspicion of witchcraft.  During his short stay in town, King James took interest in the trial and interviewed John Smith. Yet, the king had encountered false charges from children before, and when he watched and listened to the troubled boy, something caused James to be skeptical. Believing either the witchcraft accusations, or the fits, themselves, were completely fraudulent, King James sent John Smith to be interrogated by Archbishop Abbot of Canterbury. The archbishop came to the same conclusion as the king, and young John Smith eventually confessed that he had falsely accused all of the women. When the confession was brought to King James, he had the imprisoned women released without a trial. Tragically, one of the six captive women died before she could be released, bringing the deaths resulting from John Smith’s accusations to a total of ten.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Scene of a witch trial by Joseph E. Baker (1837-1914), Public Domain via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Demonology of King James I (introduction), edition of Donald Tyson (Llewellyn Publications, 2011).
• https://www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/3693732.pdf 
• https://husbandsbosworth.info/historical-information/bosworth-witches 
• https://www.britannica.com/science/hystero-epilepsy