Blood feud in early medieval Francia

Francia was the largest and most sophisticated kingdom in early medieval Europe, lasting from the 5th to 9th centuries. At it greatest extent, Francia was twice as large as modern France, stretching from the Pyrenees to Bavaria, from Rome to Saxony. It was huge and unwieldy. Given this, how was a Frankish king supposed to maintain law and order? It seems almost an impossible task. This was a time when horse and rider was the fastest method of communication, and local lords were not always willing to tolerate royal control. As the king could not possibly micro-manage everything, Frankish law and order depended upon complicated local systems of justice which interpreted and enacted the major bodies of centrally composed law codes, with more or less success.

Blood-feud – or the threat of it – was an integral part of maintaining law and order in early medieval Francia. Frankish law presents blood feud as a legitimate way of redressing wrongs; families were allowed to violently avenge insults and injuries perpetrated on a kin member. The mentality behind this sort of retribution is very much of the “eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth” variety. Law codes make it clear that no-one was to interfere in blood vengeance; there is a clause in Lex Salica which forbade killing any man ‘whom his enemies have left mutilated [at a crossroads]’, and any violation of this law incurred the not inconsiderable fine of 100 solidi.

Clearly, vengeance killing was seen as a potent form of justice and a means of recovering a family’s honour, but the fact that it was codified in law seems rather an attempt to regulate killing than to encourage it at all costs. It may be that the threat of ‘mutually assured destruction’ was designed to act as a brake upon lethal crime. J.M. Wallace-Hadrill has argued that the kings of the “Barbarian West” sanctioned blood feud in their law codes as a means of preserving peace in their realms for want of anything better.

Frankish territories from 481 to 814
Frankish territories from 481 to 814

However, this is not exactly what we think of as ‘blood feud’ today. The Oxford English Dictionary defines a feud as “a state of prolonged mutual hostility, typically between two families or communities, characterised by murderous assaults in revenge for previous injuries”. Blood-feud as defined in Frankish law, however, was a specific remedy used to avenge one deed. There is no indication that, after the vengeance had been carried out, the family and friends of the victim had any right to continue committing acts of violence against the offender.

The historian David Halsall has attempted to pin down the exact nature of Frankish blood feud as opposed to ‘true’ blood feud, by differentiating between tactical violence and strategic violence. Tactical violence, he maintains, aims directly at the resolution of a dispute, whereas the latter aims not at terminating the dispute directly, but rather at drawing attention to it. Blood vengeance as defined in Frankish law would appear to fit the former definition, whereas the latter approach (strategic violence) seems better suited to the modern understanding of ‘true feud’. I’m not sure how helpful the terms ‘tactical’ and ‘strategic’ are – they are linguistically interchangeable – but Halsall’s differentiation is nonetheless quite useful.

In a further departure from the classic definition of blood feud, it is clear from Frankish law codes that killing the offender was not supposed to be a measure of first resort. The Lex Salica, a major body of Frankish law, clearly stipulated that the punishment for homicide should be compensation first and foremost; only after a lengthy process of ritual and court appearances should the murderer be killed as compensation, and that only if he could not pay the fine. In 6th century Francia, vengeance could not be exacted until the local count or judge had found in favour of the wronged party. For instance, in the famous feud of Sichar and Chramnesind (585-87), Chramnesind forfeited half of the compensation otherwise due to him, for attacking Sichar’s household contrary to the findings of the tribunal.

In a tight-knit community it may have been more sensible to settle for compensation, since although a dead body restored honour and justice for the victim’s kin, it could not buy seed and livestock like monetary compensation (weregild) could. It would, however, be misleading to suggest that all families of the victim were more eager for money than vengeance. Stephen White, who studied violence in the Touraine around 1100, found that aggrieved parties delayed or rejected compromise and compensation for quite lengthy periods. This allowed them to make the most of their opponent’s contrition, and capitalise upon the community’s awareness that they had suffered a wrong and had the right to avenge it.

King Clovis dictates Salic Law (Lex Salica). 14th century depiction
King Clovis dictates Salic Law (Lex Salica). 14th century depiction

The blood vengeance in early medieval Francia which most closely paralleled the modern definition of blood feud was waged by the Merovingian royal family. Since the king was above the law, and given that the Merovingians often feuded with dynasties in other countries where the same law codes did not apply, one cannot say that Merovingian vengeance attacks were part of a progression of penalties as outlined in the Frankish law codes. Rather, they fit the pattern of classic blood feud in that they often involved a lasting state of hostility between families or family members. Halsall’s argument seems apt here: he observes that a ‘true feud’ is very difficult to terminate, and almost never ended through violence, because the feuding groups are perpetually in a state of  debtor and creditor; every time the debt of blood is paid off on one side, the roles and relationships are reversed, and it keeps on going.

The Merovingians were very into blood feud even by the standards of medieval royal dynasties. They tended to attack opponents in order to avenge insults to their kin. Such feuds could stretch out over generations. Gregory of Tours records Queen Chrotechildis, a Burgundian by birth, urging her sons to avenge the deaths of her parents on the murderer’s sons (her nephews Sigismund and Godomar). It seems that in royal circles, not engaging in blood feud to avenge a kinsman’s death was seen as positively shameful. The mid-9th century Gesta Dagoberti recounts how, supposedly, the sons of Sadregisil did not manage to obtain their heritage because they had not avenged their father’s murder.

Sometimes avenging an injured family member was linked with ideological considerations. For instance, King Childebert invaded Spain in 531 after hearing from his sister Chrotilda that her husband, Amalric of the Visigoths, was grossly mistreating her due to her Catholic faith (Amalaric was an Arian). Childebert defeated the Visigoth army and Amalaric was assassinated after fleeing to Barcelona. Unfortunately, Chrotilda herself never made it back to Paris, dying of an unknown cause en route, but the victory presumably enhanced Childebert’s reputation. Ideological concerns aside, the Merovingians also used blood feud for less exalted ends. One such case developed in the aftermath of a lurid royal scandal involving King Chilperic I (c.539-584). Chilperic murdered his wife, Galswintha, on the instigation of his mistress Fredegund, apparently strangling her in bed. Chilperic’s brothers saw their chance and decided to ‘avenge’ Galswintha by killing Chilperic. This, of course, left the throne open to them, and had the added bonus of being able to steal Galswintha’s dowry  in the process.

Chilperic strangles his wife, Galswintha. 14th century
Chilperic strangles his wife, Galswintha. 14th century
A second depiction of the strangling of Galswintha
A second depiction of the strangling of Galswintha

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We start to see an end to vengeance killing as an official form of justice under Charlemagne, who was crowned the first Holy Roman Emperor in 800. He opposed blood feud as part of his campaign against any violence not committed by royal consent. His Capitulare Missorum Generale attempted to ban all blood vengeance. Any attempt to settle a dispute had to be conducted through the medium of Charlemagne’s own officers. A murderer had to agree to pay compensation and the victim’s relatives had to accept it, once paid. Anyone taking vengeance of their own would be punished. It’s impossible to know how strictly these laws were followed; Francia was a huge realm and royal powers to enforce such regulations were limited. At any rate, perhaps it is not too much to see Charlemagne’s laws against blood feud as the beginning of the medieval expansion of more centralised royal justice. It was, however, not until the Holy Roman Empire’s Reichstag in 1495 that the right of waging feuds was totally abolished, with the Imperial Reform proclaiming an “eternal public peace”.

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Sources
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  • Fischer Drew, Katherine (ed.). Lex Salica, 1991, University of Pennsylvania Press
  • Halsall, Guy. ‘Reflections of Early Medieval Violence: The Example of the “Blood-Feud” Memoria y Civilización 2 (1999), pp. 7-29

 

The 14th-century Mafia? Folville, Coterel & Co

In August 1328, a priest in Derbyshire was beaten up and his church robbed by a gang of armed thugs. Perhaps that sounds familiar; after all, it fits well into the popular view of medieval lawlessness, vigilante justice and endemic violence. However, this particular incident wasn’t random violence perpetrated by drunken idiots; it was a calculated act carried out by an organised criminal gang. What’s more, the criminal gang had been paid to do it by another priest. The gang’s client, one Master Robert Bernard, had until recently been the incumbent of the parish of Bakewell in Derbyshire, but had been expelled from Bakewell after embezzling church funds and failing to pay the stipulated sums to the poor on Founder Days. As he’d arrived to say Mass on Christmas Day in 1327, his parishioners, instead of wishing him a merry Christmas and showering him with Yuletide gifts, had stripped him of his eucharistic vestments and sent him packing. Angry, humiliated and jealous of his successor, Bernard paid the criminal gang to beat up the new priest, Walter Can. They dutifully did this and then stole 10 shillings from the church funds for good measure.

The disputed parish of Bakewell, Derbyshire. ~ Copyright Rob Bendall
The disputed parish of Bakewell, Derbyshire. ~ Copyright Rob Bendall
This case is the first reference to the Coterel gang, a notorious family-run outfit which terrorised the Peak District in the early 14th century. The annals of this period are stuffed with references to large-scale criminal gangs which engaged in robbery, pillaging, abduction and murder among other crimes. In the absence of an effective police force, they terrorised the length and breadth of their counties, sometimes for decades without ever being apprehended. As with the Italian-American mafiosi in The Godfather, they were organised in tightly knit family units, with husband and wife, brother and sister working together. Contrary to what one might expect, they were not necessarily beggars thieving in order to scrape together a living. Some of the robber bands, including the Coterel gang, came from small landowning families with ties to the church.

Clergy and churches do feature frequently in these gangs’ exploits. Take an incident in 1340, when another gang of armed men invaded the church at Teigh, Rutland, this time murdering the priest, dragging him out into the churchyard and beheading him. The difference is that the rector of Teigh was actually a member of the notorious Folville gang, and the armed men were law enforcement officers of a sort, headed by a local Justice of the Peace. The Folvilles were roughly contemporary to the Coterel gang, and they terrorised Leicestershire, where they were landowners of some prominence. There were seven brothers and only John, the eldest, who inherited the family estates, was never implicated in a crime. Eustace, the second oldest brother, was the leader, and Richard Folville was a cleric; evidently his vocation did not deter him from violent crime!

Teigh church, where Richard Folville was murdered
Teigh church, where Richard Folville was murdered

The Teigh case shows that like the Coterels, the Folvilles could be hired if offered enough money. In 1331 their services were engaged by a canon of Sempringham Priory and the cellarer of Haverholm Abbey. These two clergymen, who had previously sheltered the Folvilles from the law, paid them £20 to destroy a water mill belonging to a rival. Sure enough, the mill was soon a smoking ruin. The Folvilles’ services were not limited to sabotage; in 1326 they set upon and murdered Sir Roger Bellere with the aid of two local landowners.

The murder shocked contemporaries because of Bellere’s standing; he was a Baron of the Exchequer and owned nine manors. The Folvilles didn’t turn up to their trial, instead vanishing into the wilds (probably Wales or France), and were promptly declared outlaws. Evidently their new status didn’t deter them, since within a few years petitions were being sent to the Sheriff of Nottingham complaining that two of the Folville brothers were roaming abroad again at the head of a robber band, waylaying, stealing from and even murdering travellers. In the period 1327-1330, Eustace was either directly accused of, or mentioned in connection with, three robberies, four murders, and a rape, which is almost certainly an underestimate.

Robbers kill a passer-by. 15th century
Robbers kill a passer-by. 15th century

Every now and again, the brothers were forced to rehabilitate themselves as the net of justice closed in. The best way to do this was by enlisting as soldiers. They joined Roger Mortimer’s army in putting down the rebellion of the Earl of Lancaster in late 1328. However, old habits die hard. When quartered with the army in Leicester under Mortimer’s protection, they looted the people of Leicester to the tune of £200 worth of goods.

When they weren’t working for the king in the hope of a pardon, 14th century criminal gangs sometimes worked together on the most ambitious projects, as with the abduction of  Sir Richard de Willoughby (the future Chief Justice of the King’s Bench) in January 1332. Multiple gangs were involved, including the Coterel gang, the Folville brothers, the Bradburn gang and the aptly named Savage Company, led by Roger Savage. Even those who were supposed to be on the side of law enforcement did not scruple at getting involved; also present were Sir Robert de Vere (the constable of Rockingham Castle) and Sir Robert Tuchet (the former constable of Melbourne Castle).The gangs avoided capture by smuggling Willoughby from one wood to another. He was ransomed for 1300 marks before 24 hours had passed – perhaps they ought to have asked for more…

So what happened to the Folville brothers? They certainly weren’t all brought to justice. Eustace’s fortunes actually took a turn for the better. After Willougby’s kidnapping, service with Edward III’s army in Scotland and Flanders appears to have gained him a full pardon. Eustace died peacefully in 1346, a councillor at Crowland Abbey, never having stood trial for any of the charges lodged against him. As for Richard Folville – the beheaded rector – he was the only Folville brother to suffer from official retribution. In a final twist of irony, the men who executed him were ordered by Pope Clement VI to undergo a penance for killing a priest, which involved being whipped at each of the main churches in the area.

King Edward III, who gave Eustace Folville a full pardon
King Edward III, who gave Eustace Folville a full pardon

One obvious question to ask is why they, and other gangs such as the Coterels, managed to stay at large for so long – and in some cases, for the rest of their life – when they were well-known offenders. Part of the answer is that Justices of the Peace and other law enforcement officers were highly dependent on local information and assistance in their operations. Given the powerful hold which the Folvilles held on Leicestershire, it’s not surprising that many people wouldn’t inform on them for fear of retribution.

Others may even have approved of what the Folvilles were doing. The official commissions against them feature many complaints along the lines of ‘in all these things they are aided and abetted by local people, who incite them to their evil deeds and shield them after they are done’. While these complaints might seem to excuse the commissions’ own failures, there is probably some truth to them. For example, when they were almost caught whilst hiding out with the Coterels in the Peak District, they escaped because a local informer tipped them off.

Their two main targets, Bellere and Willoughby, were after all corrupt and unpopular figures. Bellere used his office to seize land and siphon money to his patrons. The presence of two other Leicestershire landowners at the murder suggests a conspiracy aided by the Folvilles, rather than a lone crime by the latter. Willoughby was no more popular. In 1340 he was trapped by a second gang in Thurcaston Castle. He was later imprisoned by Edward III on charges of corruption (‘selling the laws like cattle’), indicted by several juries across the country, and forced to pay 1200 marks for the king’s pardon (which is ironic, considering that the Folvilles managed to get 1300 marks out of him!). Eustace Folville and his brothers may have been seen as the honest, tough opponents of these figures, even if the restoration of justice was not exactly their primary motive.

The Folvilles were enshrined in the popular memory as outlaw-heroes just a few generations after their death, with tales of their deeds appearing in medieval ballads alongside songs of Robin Hood. William Langland’s poem Piers Plowman (1377) refers to ‘Folvyles Law’, portraying them not as immoral lawbreakers, but rather as agents of an unofficial law, outside human legislation and less susceptible to abuse. This is the kind of legend which has grown up around figures such as Robin Hood. Once stripped of his Merry Men, gaudy green outfit and philanthropism (the latter was a nineteenth century invention), was Robin Hood so very different from the Folvilles?
Robin Hood and Guy of Gisbourne having jolly larks (1912)
Robin Hood and Guy of Gisbourne having jolly larks (1912)

Sex, the law and the press in Georgian London

The Prince Regent dancing with another man's wife at his debauched birthday party
The Prince Regent dancing with another man’s wife at his debauched birthday party

A taste for salacious gossip, particularly that of a sexual nature, is nothing new. It’s a stereotype, but probably a true one, that Georgian London was a bawdy place and had no shortage of scandal to go round. The spreading of scandalous stories was helped by the 18th century explosion in the newspaper trade, particularly in London. In 1770, London had 5 daily papers; by the 1780s it had 9 dailies, 8 tri-weeklies and 9 weeklies. Aside from political and financial news, a large part of what was driving that growth was the reportage of scandal, whether sexual or otherwise. Given all this, it’s not surprising that legal cases concerning rape, sodomy, bestiality and adultery were eagerly followed and commented upon in the papers. Entrepreneurial businessmen would print cheap mass-produced pamphlets with an account of everything which had happened in a trial, although their reliability is doubtful; sometimes the note-taker in court would get bored or confused and left out bits and misreported others.

One of the more curious Old Bailey cases depicted in Garrow’s Law is that of the prostitute Susannah Hill, who was prosecuted in 1791 by William Garrow on the charge of hanging a man named Frantisek Kotzwara. On 2nd February of 1791, Kotzwara, a Czech musician and small-time composer, visited Hill in her lodgings in Vine Street (an alley in Westminster, now more famous for its place on the London Monopoly board). After dinner, he gave her two shillings and asked her to castrate him. Hill refused, but not wanting to lose Kotzwara’s custom, she agreed to his next odd proposition. He tied a noose around his neck which was attached to the doorknob, and they had sex. After the deed was done, Kotzwara was found dead.

It’s one of the first recorded cases of erotic asphyxiation. (Interestingly, Victorian men who also got aroused by the sensation of being partially hanged could visit ‘Hanged Mens’ Clubs’, in which death by asphyxiation was more of an unfortunate side effect than a planned event). In the subsequent murder trial at the Old Bailey, the jury acquitted Hill because it seemed to have been an accident, at least on her part. Someone – probably the judge – requested that the court records of the trial be destroyed in order to avoid scandal and a slew of copycat cases. It’s very likely that a copy got out anyway, since a pamphlet published in 1797, Modern Propensities; or, An Essay on the Art of Strangling, featured a detailed summary of the trial along with Hill’s memoirs. The front cover illustration of Hill and Kotzwara looking rather jolly, shown below along with the title page, is so prominent that it’s obvious that this pseudo-scientific pamphlet relied very heavily on the scandalous in order to sell.

Modern Propensities

Modern Propensities Title Page

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One perennially bestselling source of sexual scandal is of course adultery. It’s a theme which runs throughout Garrow’s Law and indeed throughout the Georgian press. Then as now, the general public would shake their heads in outrage at the news of some extramarital affair and were only too quick to swallow whatever the media told them. In many cases no doubt the Georgian readers did hold genuine moral beliefs against adultery. Yet these stories wouldn’t have sold as half as well as they did if there wasn’t a keen interest in sexual scandal, hiding behind all the public prurience.

From a modern perspective we might assume that when a husband initiated adultery proceedings, it would be against his wife. That wasn’t the case in Georgian England, where the injured husband would bring an action against his wife’s supposed lover. The lover hadn’t committed a criminal offence as such, but if found guilty of adultery (‘criminal conversation’ as it was euphemistically known) he would have to pay the husband compensation, the idea being that he’d damaged the other man’s property (his wife). Because of this, adultery trials took place in the civil courts, particularly in the Court of the King’s Bench.

Westminster Hall, where the Court of the King's Bench oversaw criminal conversation suits
Westminster Hall, where the Court of the King’s Bench oversaw criminal conversation suits

The criminal conversation trial between William Garrow and Sir Arthur Hill shown in Garrow’s Law never actually occurred in real life, but the show’s writers based it on an actual trial which is interesting for its rather extraordinary outcome. Sir Richard Worsley (1751-1805) was a politician and antiquarian who married 17-year-old Seymour Dorothy Fleming in 1775. Although she brought the considerable sum of £70,000 into the marriage, they were badly suited and the marriage soon fell apart. Lady Worsley was rumoured to have had 27 lovers. She had a child by Maurice George Bisset, an officer of the Hampshire militia and a friend of Sir Richard’s, with whom she then ran off in November 1781. Although Sir Richard had previously acknowledged the child as his own in order to avoid scandal, after their elopement he was out for revenge, and in 1782 he brought a criminal conversation case against Bisset for £20,000. At first the case looked like a strong one. Lady Worsley’s past history of adultery would tell against her, and there was fairly sound evidence to show that she had lain with Bisset. But as the trial unfolded, shocking revelations brought the prosecution into doubt.

Various witnesses described how Sir Richard didn’t seem to care about Lady Worsleys’ adultery and even encouraged it. The counsel for the prosecution revealed that when various ladies from their neighborhood had warned Sir Richard that he ought to keep his wife in check, he replied that ‘Lady Worsley liked it, and he chose to…oblige her’. Following this, Lord Deerhurst gave evidence that Sir Richard had told him ‘that many young Men had tried her…and that I had his permission to try my chance with her’.The case was ultimately undone by the revelation that Sir Richard had actually displayed his wife naked to Bisset at the bath-house at Maidstone, shouting ‘Seymour! Seymour! Bisset is looking at you’. Being convinced of the adultery, the jury found for Sir Richard, but obviously they weren’t very impressed with him since they only awarded him 1 shilling in damages. The sensational trial found its way into the press, and you could buy a printed transcription for (ironically) one shilling. Sir Richard Worsley was ever after laughed at as a cuckold.
Sir Richard Worsley
Sir Richard Worsley
Lady Worsley
Lady Worsley

Further Reading