Medieval Ghost Stories

by Andrew Joynes

  With these words, the apparition disappeared. His friend immediately gave away all his goods to the church and the needy and went to the shrine of Malo. There he advised all those who bore witness to his sudden conversion to say: ‘This change has been wrought by the right hand of the Almighty’ [Psalms 77, 10] …

  Source: Re-told from the Latin De Gestis Regum Anglorum Willelmi Malmesbiriensis Monachi, ed. W. Stubbs, Rolls Series, London 1887/89, Vol. I, pp. 253–8 and Vol. II, pp. 295–7. An edition with the title William of Malmesbury: Gesta Regum Anglorum, ed. and trans.

  R.A.B. Mynors, R.M. Thomson and M. Winterbottom, was published by the Clarendon Press, Oxford 1998.

  The ‘Courtiers’ Trifles’ of Walter Map

  Walter Map (c.1140–c.1209) was one of the ‘court clerics’ who thrived at the Plantagenet court of Henry II. He was born near Hereford, on the Welsh border, and much of the material devoted to the supernatural in his De Nugis Curialium draws on Celtic traditions. Written in the 1180s, the work is a compendium of the kind of gossip, anecdotes and accounts of marvellous happenings that courtiers in the royal household might indeed trifle with during their idle hours. In the chapters where Walter Map tells stories of the supernatural, his apparitions and phantoms are not so much the returning spirits of the dead as the inhabitants of a parallel world which interacts with the real world on occasion to produce the kind of marvels which he recounts. One of his most significant distinctions is that a particular story is ‘not a miracle but a marvel’. Thus, in the tale of King Herla, the mortal king’s pygmy counterpart (perhaps one of the ‘little people’ of Celtic folklore) lures the protagonist and his companions away to a world where time has no meaning. When the royal retinue seek to return to their own time, they become lost wanderers, forming the basis of yet another version of the Wild Hunt legend. The stories which Walter Map tells about ghostly women reinforce this notion of a parallel world. ‘A Lady of the Lake’ and ‘The Wife of Edric Wilde’ are, according to his description, phantoms willing to take on physical form for as long as they are accorded honour by their mortal husbands; the tribute to Edric Wilde’s heir Alnodus, and the recording of the epithet ‘The Sons of the Dead Woman’, attest perhaps to the persistence of an ancient belief that it is possible for mortal men to sire children upon the women of a parallel world. In the last of these stories, ‘The Demon at the Cradle’ bears a gruesome and sinister resemblance to Gervase of Tilbury’s description of the ghostly creature known as the Lamia.

  The Tale of King Herla

  Part I, Chap. XI

  We are told in old stories that Herla, the king of the ancient Britons, was enticed into an agreement by another king, who was a pygmy: his bodily height did not exceed that of an ape. According to the story, this dwarf approached King Herla sitting on a huge goat – resembling the depictions of Pan, with a glowing face, enormous head, and a red beard so long that it touched his chest (which was brightly decorated with a dappled fawn skin), a hairy belly, and thighs which tapered into goats’ feet. No-one else was present when they spoke.

  ‘I am the lord of many kings and chieftains,’ said the pygmy, ‘and of a people without number. I come to you willingly, sent by my people, and although you do not know who I am, I glory in the fame which has raised you above other kings. You are the best and nearest to me in place and lineage, and you are worthy of having me honour you as a guest at your wedding. Although you do not know it, the king of the French has given his daughter to you, and his messengers will arrive to announce it this very day. Let there be an agreement between us, that I shall attend your wedding, and you shall attend mine a year to the day later.’

  With these words, he went away as fast as a tiger and vanished from the king’s sight. Then King Herla returned in amazement to his court, received the ambassadors from France, and accepted their terms. As he was sitting in high state at his wedding feast, the pygmy entered before the first course with so many of his subjects that the tables were filled. More guests had to be seated outside the palace than within, in the pygmy’s own pavilions, which had instantly been erected. From these tents servants sprang forth with vases made of precious stones, perfect in form and intricately worked, and they filled the palace and pavilions with gold and crystal vessels. The pygmy servants attended to every need, offering nothing from the royal cellars but plentiful hospitality from their own supplies, more than enough indeed to satisfy every guest’s need and desire. Everything which King Herla had prepared was untouched, and his own servants sat idly by. The pygmies were everywhere, winning every guest’s thanks, aflame with the glory of their garments and gems, like the sun and moon which outshine the other stars. As his servants busied themselves about him, the pygmy king said to Herla: ‘O best of kings, the Lord is my witness that, as we agreed, I am present at your wedding. If you desire anything beyond what you see here, I shall willingly supply it. But you must not fail to repay me this high honour when I require you to do so.’ Without waiting for an answer, he suddenly returned to his pavilion and departed with all his men about the time of cock-crow.

  Exactly a year later, he appeared to Herla, and demanded that the king should fulfil his side of the bargain. Herla agreed, and he and his retinue followed where they were led. They entered a cavern in a very lofty cliff, and after a space of darkness, they passed into light (made not by the sun and the moon but by many lamps) to the home of the pygmies. It was a glorious mansion, like Ovid’s account of the palace of the sun. Having celebrated the marriage in this place, and having discharged his debt to the pygmy king, Herla was allowed to take his leave, laden with gifts and presents of horses, dogs, hawks and everything necessary for hunting and falconry. The pygmy king conducted his guests as far as the darkness, and as he left he gave them a small bloodhound, which he insisted should be carried. He strictly forbade anyone in Herla’s retinue to dismount until the dog leapt out of the arms of the person who carried it. Then, having said farewell, the pygmy king went back to his own domain.

  Returning to the sunlight and to his own country, Herla approached an old shepherd and asked for news of his queen. The shepherd looked at him wonderingly and said: ‘My lord, I can barely understand you, for I am a Saxon and you are a Briton. I do not know such a queen, except that old men tell stories of a woman of that name, a queen of the ancient Britons, who was wife of King Herla. Legend says that he disappeared with a pygmy into this cliff and has never been seen again. The Saxons drove out the native people from this place over two hundred years ago.’ The king, who thought he had been gone for no more than three days, could scarcely remain in the saddle. Indeed, some of his companions, heedless of the pygmy’s warnings, dismounted before the descent of the little dog, and were immediately turned into dust. The king forbade anyone else to touch the earth, but the little dog remained where it was, and never descended to the ground.

  Legend has it that King Herla wanders endlessly, making wild marches with his retinue, never stopping or resting. Many claim to have seen them. But it is said that, in the first year of the coronation of our King Henry [Henry II], Herla’s troop finally ceased to visit our kingdom. It was seen by many of the people of Wales riding beneath the surface of the river Wye at Hereford. From that moment, it is said, the wild march ceased …

  Later, in Part IV, Chap. XIII, Walter Map speaks again about Herla’s troop, and uses the description of the ghostly rabble to satirise the peripatetic nature of the Angevin court: … from that day the troop has nowhere been seen. They seem to have handed over their wandering to us poor fools, those wanderings in which we wear out our clothes, waste whole kingdoms, break down our bodies and those of our beasts, and have no time to seek medicine for our poor souls …

  A Lady of the Lake

  Part II, Chap. XI

  Welshmen tell us of another thing, not a miracle but a marvel. They say that Gwestin of Ffestiniog kept watch near Brecknock Mere, which is also known as the Lake of Llangorse. It is about two miles in circumference, and there he saw, on three
successive moonlit nights, bands of dancing women in his fields of oats, and he followed them until they sank in the water of the lake. On the fourth night, he detained one of these maidens. He was able to do so because on each of the previous nights after they had entered the water he had heard them murmuring below the surface, saying: ‘If he had done this or that he would have been able to catch one of us.’ Gwestin told how he had in this way been taught from her own mouth how to capture the maiden, who yielded to him and married him.

  The lady’s first words to her husband were: ‘I shall willingly serve you in all obedience and devotion until that day when in your eagerness to hasten beyond Llyfni you will strike at me with your bridle-rein.’ Llyfni is a river near the lake. And indeed this is what happened, for, after the birth of many children, she was struck by him with his bridle-rein, and when he returned, he saw her fleeing with all her children …

  Walter Map goes on to tell how Gwestin snatched back from the lady one of his sons, Triunein Nagelauc – Trinio Faglog – and devotes the rest of this chapter to an account of Triunein’s martial adventures. After a final account of his defeat in battle, the chapter concludes: But men say that Triunein was saved by his mother and lives with her in the lake. I think this is a lie, and a falsehood to account for his body not having been found…).

  The Wife of Edric Wilde

  Part II, Chap. XII

  A similar story is told about Edric Wilde, a so-called ‘man of the woods’ who was renowned for his physical strength and his gracious speech and works. He was lord of the manor of North Ledbury. One night when he was returning late from hunting, accompanied only by a boy, he lost his way. About midnight, wandering in search of the path, he came upon a great house on the edge of a wood. It was the kind of house which the English have in each parish for drinking, which they call in their language a ‘guildhouse’. When he drew near, attracted by a light in the house, he looked in and saw a band of many noble women. They were most beautiful in appearance and were elegantly clad in robes of the finest linen. They were taller and more stately than our women. They moved about with an airy motion, with pleasing gestures and hushed voices. The sound they made was melodious but faint, and he could not understand their speech. The knight noticed one among them whose beauty far exceeded the others. She was more to be desired than the mistresses of kings. At the sight of her, the knight received a wound in his heart. He found it hard to endure the pain of Cupid’s dart …

  … Edric had heard of the wanderings of spirits, the bands of dryads and spectres, and the troops of demons who appear by night, the very sight of them bringing death. He had heard of the revenge inflicted by offended divinities upon those who came upon them suddenly. He had heard too how they keep themselves chaste and pure, and how they secretly inhabit places unknown to men, and how they detest those who attempt to explore their counsels … He had heard of their revenge and of the men whom they had punished …

  But Cupid is blind, and Edric paid no heed to the danger of the ghostly company. He went around the house and, finding an entrance, rushed in and seized the lady whom he desired. He was immediately resisted by the others, who attempted to hold him back, and he only escaped by the greatest of effort and with the help of the boy. Although he bore on his feet and shins the marks of the teeth and nails of the other women, he carried away with him the lady of his choice. He took his pleasure with her for three days and nights, but in all that time, he was unable to get a word from her, although she passively submitted to his love. Finally, on the fourth day, she said: ‘My dear one, you shall be safe and joyful, and you will prosper, until the time when you reproach me because of my sisters, from whom you took me, or because of the place or the wood from which you carried me away. From that time onwards, your happiness will disappear. Having lost me, you will suffer many other losses … and you will die before your time.’

  Edric promised to be firm and faithful in his love. From far and near, he called together the noblest of his countrymen, and, in the presence of a great throng of people, solemnly married the lady. William the Bastard, recently crowned King of England, was then reigning; and the monarch, hearing of this marvel, and wishing to test its truth, summoned both the man and wife to his court in London. They brought with them many witnesses, and also the evidence of others who could not be present. But the woman herself, who was of a beauty which had never been seen or heard of until that time, was the chief proof of her fairy nature. Amidst general astonishment, Edric and his wife were sent back to their home.

  After many years had passed, it happened that Edric, on his return from hunting late at night, could not find his wife and called for her. When, after some delay, she arrived, he looked angrily at her and said: ‘Did your sisters keep you?’ The rest of his angry words were spoken to the empty air, for she disappeared at the mention of the word ‘sisters’. Then Edric regretted his grave mistake, and went to the very place where he had made her captive, but for all his crying and lamenting, he could not win her back. Day and night he cried aloud there, and his life passed away in never-ending sorrow …

  Walter Map goes on to tell how Edric left an heir, Alnodus (Aelfnoth), who was his son by the mysterious lady. Alnodus was a man of great holiness and wisdom, who was healed of paralysis at the altar of St Ethelbert in Hereford, and left the Ledbury estate to the Hereford diocese. Map concludes: We have heard of demons, incubi and succubi, and of the perils of cohabiting with them, but we have seldom or never read in old histories that their offspring are happy in their end like Alnodus, who gave his whole inheritance to Christ in return for health, and passed in pilgrimages the rest of his life in His service …

  The Sons of the Dead Woman

  Part II, Chap. XIII

  The word ‘phantom’ is derived from ‘phantasy’ – that is, a passing apparition. Those forms which demons sometimes assume by their own power before the eyes of men (the demons having first received God’s permission) pass either harmlessly or harmfully according to the will of the Lord. For He who permits the appearance of phantoms either protects the observers or abandons them and thus allows them to be tempted. On the other hand, what are we to say about those ghostly appearances which endure and are perpetuated through worthy descendants like Alnodus the son of Edric the Wilde?

  Another example is to be found in a story told by the ancient Britons. A certain knight buried his wife, who was dead without a shadow of doubt, but won her back again by snatching her from a band of dancers; and he was afterwards presented by her with children and grandchildren. Their descendants survive to this day – indeed, a great many people claim to be part of their lineage – and all of them are called ‘sons of the dead woman’ …

  The Demon at the Cradle

  Part II, Chap. XIV

  Acertain knight found that his first-born child, by a worthy and nobly born wife who was very dear to him, had its throat cut in its cradle on the first morning after its birth. The same thing happened with a second child a year later, and with a third child in the third year, despite the care and attention taken by himself and his friends. He and his wife therefore waited tearfully for the arrival of the fourth child with many fasts and alms and prayers. When a boy was born, they placed fires and lights all around and kept careful watch on the child.

  Just then a stranger arrived, weary from a long journey. Seeking hospitality in God’s name, he was welcomed most heartily and joined them to keep watch. Among them all, he was the only one remaining awake after midnight to see an old lady bending over the cradle and seizing the child as if to cut its throat. He jumped forward and grasped hold of her and, when the others gathered round, many of them recognised her as the noblest and most respectable woman in the city. But she refused to confirm her name or to answer their questions. The father of the child and others in the crowd interpreted this as evidence of her shame, and pleaded for her release. But the stranger would not let her go, declaring that she was a demon. Still holding her tight, he branded her face as a sign of
her evil with one of the keys of a nearby church. He then instructed them to go and fetch immediately the woman whom she resembled and whom they had believed her to be. While he was still holding his captive, the lady was led forward and resembled her double in every way, even to the mark of branding.

  Then the stranger said to the others, who stood gaping with astonishment: ‘It is my opinion that the lady who has just arrived is both virtuous and beloved of God. By her good deeds she has provoked the envy of demons, and so this base messenger of theirs, this dreadful instrument of their wrath, has been moulded in the likeness of the good woman so as to cast the disgrace of wicked deeds upon her noble soul. But have faith, and see what happens when I release it.’ Then the creature flew away through the window with great weeping and wailing …

  Source: Adapted from Master Walter Map’s Book: De Nugis Curialium, trans. F. Tupper and F.B. Ogle, London 1924, pp. 15–18, 91–9. An edition of the De Nugis Curialium, ed. and trans. M.R. James, revised by C.N.L. Brooke and R.A.B. Mynors, was published by the Clarendon Press, Oxford 1983.