Medieval Serial Killer

I was looking for a medieval serial killer to use in my fourth Crispin Guest novel called A Conspiracy of Parchment, (yeah, I keep writing them regardless of the publishing circumstance. Some lucky publisher gets a whole series already begun!) --when I came across this fellow. He’s a little later than the period I write but I can use him in some fashion nonetheless. Yes, they indeed had serial killers in the middle ages. And this fellow was certainly worthy of note.

The court documents are revealed in the marvelously detailed book called the Trial of Gilles de Raise by Georges Bataille (see Amazon link below). Though there are margin notes that help with research, my only gripe with this book is that it has no index. Gilles de Rais was truly a nasty fellow. A pedophile, a torturer, murderer, necrophiliac...and a Satanist. But it was that last bit that really got him in trouble.

Gilles lived in France in the early 1400s. He was born into privilege in a noble household with all its accouterments...including being above the law. In his early years, Gilles was one of many knights that accompanied one Joan of Orleans or better known as Joan of Arc or just plain Saint Joan. Together they liberated Orleans and made it possible for the Dauphin to regain the throne. The king was grateful to Gilles. Not so much to Joan. But that’s another story.

Apparently, despite time spent with the noble and holy Joan and her vigorous pursuit of the liberation of France, Gilles fell into a period of debauchery and depravity that went unrivaled for many centuries. The murders began in 1432. He would have his accomplices (his valet, another servant, and even a cousin) abduct a peasant child or coerce the family into surrendering him for the purpose of offering him an education, and bring the child to his castle where he would sodomize the boys, mostly after he had dealt them a mortal wound, kill them, and sometimes prolong the death through torture and even rape their corpses. Nice guy. It was said that he also cut up the dead and took pleasure in playing with their inner organs before he cremated their remains.

The village outlying the castle, Machecoul, became a place to avoid. As was said by a resident of another town who had heard of its frightening reputation, “they ate little children there.” 

This went on for quite a while—till 1440. You’d think some sort of investigation would have gone on, but peasantry problems were not on the top ten things to worry about in 15th century France. Gilles was said to be trying to summon Satan at this point in order to restore the wealth his grandfather had bequeathed to worthier beneficiaries than his loathsome grandson. Gilles used the "child sacrifices" for this new purpose, even writing a book of spells in their blood.

The actual number of children missing is hard to say. But according to the ecclesiastical trial’s bill of indictment, Gilles had killed or called to be killed “one hundred and forty, or more, children, boys and girls.” Even with rampant rumors and many inquiries by the parents of these missing children, no justice was forthcoming. It was only when Gilles made the mistake of breaking into a church during mass to kidnap a priest, that the law was forced to act. (This priest’s brother was the treasurer of Brittany to whom Gilles was forced to sell some of his property. The poor priest was entrusted by his brother to watch over said property.) Gilles had “violated ecclesiastical privilege and encroached on the rights of the Duke of Brittany, his own sovereign” and this was the only matter that brought Gilles into trouble. But after extensive interviews with families of missing children in the area of Machecoul, the judges of the inquisition began their indictments. He is indicted for “the murder of children and sodomy, the invocations of demons, the offending of Divine Majesty, and heresy.” After being denied Communion and Confession, Gilles returned to court contrite and admitted to the killings and other debauchery—but not to the summoning of demons. He was then allowed the sacraments and allowed back into the Church. But there followed more days of inquiry of the accomplices, and the court was not satisfied with his denial, and ordered torture to extract his proper confession. There was a chance to be pardoned for the murders and penance for the sodomy, but for summoning a demon (heresy) he had to hang.

After torture sessions that surely could not match what he did to those children, he confessed it all, trying to take the sole blame rather than allow his accomplices to suffer with him—or so the records seem to report. It all fell on deaf ears. He and his accomplices were hanged on 26 October 1440 and after, their bodies were burned to ash. But perhaps in deference to his status as a nobleman and Marshall, Gilles’ remains were delivered inside the church of Notre-Dame-du-Carmel of Nantes. He had a funeral service and his remains were placed within a tomb. But when the French Revolution rolled around 300 years later, the church itself was destroyed. The devil took his due, after all.

Gilles has the dubious distinction of being the source for the legend of Bluebeard. The story changed, of course, to wives instead of male children. I suppose that makes it easier to take?

For more true crime—more current, that is—may I suggest clicking over to my pal and Sister in Crime Laura James for her very popular blog Clews.

Comments

[Laura James]

HI!
I'm not so sure about that Bluebeard thing, but Gilles de Rais is QUITE the character to take on in fiction!! I can't wait to read it!

[daphne sayed]

this is so interesting.But it shows how powerful Gilles must have been to be able to murder so many children without being stopped.My local librasry doesn't have your books(UK) so I'm saving to buy them in the New Year.I'm going to look at your friend's blog too.

[Jeri Westerson]

Well Daphne, nobody has my books. They aren't published yet. So save your Sterling for when they are. And thanks for stopping by.