The Devil's Disciples

Historical Note

In October 2000, a remarkable discovery was made in Cambridge. Some 1,805 silver pennies and nine gold nobles or half-nobles were discovered near the corner of Chesterton Lane and Magdalene Street. The silver coins date from around the time of the plague (1348–1350), while the gold ones appear to have been laid on top of them by about 1355. The coins were in an iron-studded wooden chest, which had been placed in a hole near a wall. It seems that the hole was then sealed with a stone, and the room overlaid with a new clay floor. Whether the home improvements were carried out specifically to hide the money, or whether someone just took advantage of a convenient situation will probably never be known.

The hoard would have been a fabulous amount of money in the fourteenth century – perhaps enough to pay an agricultural labourer for six years. Why it was deposited, and by whom, is not known, although it is likely that its owner had every expectation of reclaiming it, but never had the chance. Whoever hid the money probably lived in the house where it was buried, either as its owner or as a tenant. Barnwell Priory is known to have owned property in the area, and records show the building was occupied by one Margery Sewale in the 1450s. The coins and a reconstruction of the chest are on display in the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge.

The Prior of the Augustinians at Barnwell in 1357 was Ralph de Norton. The convent was wealthy and respected, and hosted kings, archbishops and high-ranking nobles. Henry Fencotes was one of its canons in the late fourteenth century, while the Italian Matteo di Podiolo was at the Cambridge convent by 1359.

The Master of Michaelhouse in 1357 was Ralph de Langelee, and his Fellows probably included Michael de Causton, William Gotham, John de Clippesby and Thomas Suttone (who had a namesake – Roger Suttone – at Peterhouse). Edmund Mildenale was a Fellow at the College’s foundation in 1324; he was rector of East Bradenham church in Norfolk during the plague, and lived on until at least 1361. Not much is known about Roger de Carton, except that he was a Michaelhouse Fellow in 1359.

Like most Colleges, Michaelhouse was keen on acquiring property, especially the land and buildings that adjoined it. In the 1340s or 1350s, its scholars were either given or purchased three houses (or shops) from Joan Refham. Her husband had died during the plague, and it was possible that the arrangement included the College’s priests chanting prayers for his soul. The houses stood on ground now belonging to Trinity College, and were later called St Catherine’s Hostel.

Bene’t College (now Corpus Christi) was founded in 1352 with donations from two town guilds: St Mary and Corpus Christi. Its first Master was Thomas Heltisle (or Eltisley); Sir John Goldynham and John Hardy were among the first benefactors. William de Eyton was rector of St Bene’t’s Church in the early 1350s, and later went to South Pool in Devon.

Prior William Pechem ruled the Cambridge Franciscans after the plague, and one of his friars was named Thomas of Irith, who was ordained as a deacon in 1354. Bukenham was a University proctor in the 1330s. Robert Spaldynge was a member of Clare College, and records show he engaged in dubious activities (a fictional account of these is given in To Kill or Cure).

It is almost impossible to imagine the impact of the Black Death on the medieval world, but contemporary evidence suggests people reacted very differently to the threat of its return. Some clung even more firmly to the Church, and tried to live reformed lives. Others turned to more ancient gods to protect them, and it seems there was an increase in witchcraft and paganism. Gatherings are thought to have taken place in the churches that were abandoned after the plague-deaths of their congregations; one such chapel was All Saints-next-the-Castle. However, the distinction between magic and religion was still quite blurred in the 1350s, and many people would have been perfectly happy to go to church on Sunday and visit a witch on Monday.

The Bishop of Ely – the Dominican and papal favourite, Thomas de Lisle – was a complex and contradictory man. He was elected to his See in 1345, and almost immediately launched into a bitter feud with a merchant called Richard Spynk. Spynk plied his trade in Norwich although he owned property all across Norfolk and was one of its richest inhabitants. Spynk decided Norwich’s defensive walls needed refurbishing, and not only paid for much of the work, but gave a lot of his time to oversee the project, too. All was going well for Spynk until he met Ely’s new prelate.

De Lisle, along with a band of henchman that included his keeper of parks at Downham (Osbern le Hawker), is said to have besieged Spynk at his various properties ‘threatening [Spynk’s] life and threatening him with mutilation of his members and capture and incarceration of his body, so that for fear of death he dared not go out’. The relentless attack is said to have cost Spynk almost £1,000 in lost cattle and other goods, as well as damage to his houses and assaults on his staff.

This was not the only crime de Lisle was accused of committing. In the 1350s, he was charged with being complicit in at least sixteen charges of theft, extortion, receiving stolen goods, abduction, arson, cattle rustling, assault and eventually murder. One complainant was the King’s cousin, Blanche de Wake, and another was John Danyell, who claimed he was terrorised by de Lisle’s steward, John Brownsley. In the winter of 1356, alarmed by the evidence massing against him, de Lisle fled to the papal court in Avignon. He never returned to his native country and died in 1361.

Was such a high-ranking churchman guilty of these crimes? The consensus seems to be that he was unlikely to have soiled his own hands, but that the attacks might well have been carried out on his orders or with his tacit agreement. Money was scarce after the plague, and landowners were often ruthless in getting it where they could. In regard to the Spynk case, de Lisle argued that the cattle he took were in lieu of money he was owed. Spynk denied it, but the court found in favour of de Lisle anyway, and the matter was eventually forgotten – although probably not by Spynk. The later charges laid against de Lisle by the various other complainants probably left Spynk thinking, ‘I told you so.’