Alan Cram sets off for Canterbury to apologize for a murder of Archbishop Thomas Becket, committed by one of his ancestors, a knight.
In 1170 four knights set sail for England from Normandy on a quest believed to have been ordered by Henry II, King of England. They arrived at the Canterbury Cathedral on December 29th and brutally murdered Thomas Becket, the Archbishop of Canterbury.
According to some accounts, underneath his archbishop’s regalia Becket had worn a “cilice”, or a hair shirt, an undergarment made of coarse cloth or animal hair used to induce discomfort or pain as a sign of repentance and atonement. Upon hearing this, the devout and faithful throughout Europe began to glorify Becket as a martyr. Pope Alexander III canonized him in 1173 and his tomb at Canterbury became one of the most popular pilgrimage sites in England.
This is, of course, the inspiration for Geoffrey Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales, a collection of stories he started writing in the 1380s in which pilgrims narrate their tales on the way to the cathedral to pay homage to Becket.
Exactly 839 years, seven months and 12 days after his murder I found myself on a pilgrimage to Canterbury — not for any pious devoutness on my part but for a particularly Canadian reason: I wanted to apologize to someone for what had happened!
You see I recently discovered that one of the knights involved in the murder was my own ancestor — on my mother’s side, of course. (I always knew there was some dark secret in that clan.)
While on a family vacation in the UK, and after seeing far too many dead people all over London — tombs and memorials of kings and queens and poets (Geoffrey Chaucer’s tomb at Westminster Abbey for one) we decided a journey to Canterbury would be a refreshing break, knowing all along that the pilgrimage would lead us to more dead people. The high-speed train from London whisked us to the medieval village of Canterbury in about an hour, a journey that would have taken the pilgrims at least a couple of days to complete.
We were told that the four knights, Reginald FitzUrse, Hugh de Moreville, William de Tracy and Richard le Breton, smashed through the cloister door leading into the small hall where Becket was preparing for vespers, Evensong. This wooden door is still there and I found myself entering it several times, trying to imagine the scene.
An eyewitness account describes it like this:
“…The wicked knight leapt suddenly upon him, cutting off the top of the crown which the unction of sacred chrism had dedicated to God. Next he received a second blow on the head, but still he stood firm and immovable. At the third blow he fell on his knees and elbows, offering himself a living sacrifice, and saying in a low voice, ‘For the name of Jesus and the protection of the Church, I am ready to embrace death.’
But the third knight inflicted a terrible wound as he lay prostrate. By this stroke, the crown of his head was separated from the head in such a way that the blood white with the brain, and the brain no less red from the blood, dyed the floor of the cathedral. The same clerk who had entered with the knights placed his foot on the neck of the holy priest and precious martyr, and, horrible to relate, scattered the brains and blood about the pavements, crying to the others, ‘Let us away, knights; this fellow will arise no more.’”
A tour guide with a party of elderly visitors said he enjoyed this part of the presentation the most as he could raise quite a reaction from the younger patrons when he described the knight taking the tip of his sword and swirling the blood and brain together and saying, “That’s what a traitor deserves.”
But Thomas Becket and Henry II were considered friends. And over the years a great rift grew between them because they disagreed over the rights and privileges of the church. In June 1170 there was a coronation of “Henry the Young King” in York. To Becket, this a breach of Canterbury’s privilege of coronation. In November of that year, he excommunicated all three bishops involved in the coronation. And he didn’t stop there — he continued to excommunicate other opponents in the church.
When Henry he
ard of Becket’s activities, he apparently raised his head from his sickbed and roared a lament of frustration. “Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?” Or as Henry’s biographer gives us, “What miserable drones and traitors have I nourished and brought up in my household, who let their lord be treated with such shameful contempt by a low-born cleric?”
Seems rather erudite for a medieval king, but whatever the king said, the four knights interpreted it as a royal command and they set sail for Canterbury. Now they may not have been the sharpest tools in the shed because there is a lot of evidence to suggest that Henry may have speaking rhetorically. After all, he admired his friend, and good friends often agree to disagree.
Did medieval language skills allow for rhetorical remarks? What if he had said one day in exasperation, “How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?” Would the clergy have scoured their reference books for an answer? Would one practical bishop have said, “Sire, angels are too large to dance on the head of a pin”, or would a court jester simply have said, “Yes, sire. Some days it seems there are no simple answers.”
My mother thinks this is a horrible spot on her family history — and truth be told, a lot of serious genealogical research would have to take place to find out if her family are direct descendants, or if they simply share the last name. But I see it another way — what more noble qualities could one ask for but loyalty, devotion and faithfulness? Speak, and thy command is done.
My teenage daughter thought that having a murderous medieval knight as an ancestor was pretty cool — until she found out that another famous person was associated with Canterbury. Then it was, “But Orlando Bloom was born here. Orlando Bloom. Do you hear me, Orlando Bloom?”
So much for ancient history.
Image Credits
“Murder of Thomas Becket” Artist Unknown
“The Knight from The Canterbury Tales”, woodcuts of the Ellesmere portraits made by W.D. Hooper
and published in the Six-text Edition of The Canterbury Tales, ed. F.J. Furnivall for the Chaucer Society (1868).
“The Martyrdom” Said to be the exact point where Thomas Becket was murdered. Photographer Unknown
Hi there! I’m a descendant of William de Tracy and am visiting England in a couple of weeks. I’m trying to determine the best course of action, and yes, I do believe the curse is real!
The Pope himself cursed the knights, and apparently the only way to break a papal curse is to ask forgiveness from the Pope directly. Since I don’t think that’s an option, I am thinking of checking out the church.
My sister has been to Sudeley Castle, where Sir William was born. I’m planning a visit there, and I’d also like to visit Canterbury Cathedral as well as the church that Sir William built in Bovey-Tracey as penance, but they are all so spread out it may be difficult to do in my short window.
I’m actually seeking treatment for a medical condition in the UK (I live in the US) and can’t help but wonder if this is a product of the curse, going on and on through generations. My dad and cousins all have physical ailments of some sort, and for a while, the Tracy men were dying before the age of 40 of various ailments. You can’t help but wonder. I’d love to hear some stories from the other descendants who believe the curse is real.
This is the supposed curse from the Pope Alexander given to the Tracys in 1170 after he excommunicated him, although it’s possible it was given to all the nights:
“Wher’er the Tracys shall go, the wind in their face shall blow.” Doesn’t sound toooo bad, although I personally have always hated the wind and struggle with it.
I don’t know if this is true or not, but apparently Sir William, being feisty, replied, “Then so much the better, we can fight in cool weather.”
Interesting stuff! I’m at my wits end and feel that asking forgiveness may be worth a try. Historical records also show that the Shrine of St Thomas was believed to produce miracles to those who made the pilgrimage, and I could use one! Thanks for sharing your experience!
This is really cool. I got shivers. I’m a descendant of Thomas Becket (on my late grandfather’s side), so hearing the story of your own pilgrimage to apologize to him is very cool to me. I have, as of yet, not been able to make it there, as I live in the US and can’t afford a flight to England anytime soon. My mom has made the pilgrimage, and tells me all the time about how he died via murder. I remember when I was younger, it was just a beheading, but now that I’m older, it’s this tale – brutal and disastrous. Finding your story is a true gem to me. =)
Hi Lauren,
Now I’ve got the shivers. You have to make the journey–standing next to the cloister doorway where the knights entered brandishing their swords will be with me forever. And Canterbury is just a cool village–a must see.
Allan
My ancestor is William de Tracy. :S Did the tour giver talk about the curse that was placed on the knights families?
Hi Brady,
We must be related then somewhere in the tree. And I don’t remember anything about the curse–I tend to exercise selective listening when it comes to things like that!
My wife Emily Tracy-Davis is also a ancestor down the line. We talk of the curse all the time. Her father which is the only son who carries the Tracy name feels the wrath of the curse the worst. We are going to start a blog to share the stories with proof the curse is real!! Thank you guys
What a great story…I am interested in whether you felt any DNA memory when you stood in Canterbury Cathedral…I mean, what was that like when you finally got there? And did you sense any forgiveness from the good Archbishop’s spirit?