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- [00:00]
Dana Schwartz
You're listening to an iHeart podcast.
- [00:05]
Matt Frederick
Nobleblood is proudly sponsored by Amica Insurance. As Amica says, empathy is our best policy. That's why they'll go above and beyond to tailor your insurance coverage to best fit your needs. Whether you're on the road at home or traveling along life's journey, their friendly and knowledgeable representatives will will work with you to ensure that you have the right coverage in place. Amica will provide you with peace of mind. Go to ameca.com and get a quote today.
- [00:39]
Dana Schwartz
Welcome to Noble Blood, a production of iHeartRadio and Grim and Mild from Erin Manke. Listener discretion advised. It's the beginning of 1619, and a woman named Phil Philippa Flowers is being interrogated on suspicion of witchcraft. Her mother and sister have also been accused, although her mother was already dead. She died after being arrested on the way to the trial. Philippa herself had not yet confessed, but her little sister had begun talking. Grueling conditions and prolonged interrogations would win out eventually. Things were not going to turn out well for Philippa, and she knew it. The interrogators continued berating her. Confess, they said, for using your witchcraft to bring about the demise of the Earl of Rutland. Confess for using your magic to bring about the death of his two young male heirs, bringing misery to the earl's home, Beaver Castle. If convicted, the consequences for Philippa for killing two young royal boys would surely be death. But there was only so long that Philippa would be able to hold out without a confession. When the accusation is witchcraft, it's hard to imagine you're making it out alive. I'm Dana Schwartz and this is Noble Blood. If you're ever in Leicestershire, England, you might find yourself gazing up at a magnificent castle perched atop a hill, commanding views of the surrounding countryside. The locals call it Beaver Castle, though its actual name is Belvoir, spelled B E L V O I R, but yes, it's pronounced Beaver. The name comes from the French Belvoir, meaning beautiful view. But when the French speaking Normans brought that name over in the 11th century, the Middle English speaking Anglo Saxons couldn't wrap their tongues around it. Beaver became, well, Beaver, and it remains that way to this day. The castle that you'd see today is not the original structure. The original structure was built just after the Norman conquest of 1066. It has since been rebuilt at least three times. These days you can tour the grounds, attend events. It's all very civilized, but this welcoming facade masks a darker history. Four centuries ago, this picturesque setting was the backdrop for a tale of suspicion, fear and deadly accusations. Our story takes place in the early 17th century version of Beaver, which was the home of Francis Manners, the 6th Earl of Rutland. Francis and his first wife had a daughter named Catherine. Then his second wife Cecilia gave him two sons, Henry and Francis. Manners inherited his title in June 1612 after the death of his brother Roger. Almost immediately after Francis became Earl, he was made Lord Lieutenant of Lincolnshire. And more importantly, he caught the attention of King James I. We've encountered King James before on this podcast. As we discussed in our episode titled the Witch Hunter. King James had a traumatic childhood that left him paranoid and obsessed with the supernatural. He wrote a treatise on witchcraft called the Demonology, something no monarch had done before or since. Though not particularly original, the royal authorship of that treatise made it tremendously influential. When it came to witch hunting, James wasn't just a believer, he was the authority. What makes James relationship with the Manners family intriguing is that Francis and his wife Cecilia were Catholic. Normally this would have been a problem with for the extremely Protestant King James. Perhaps you've heard of his namesake Bible. But King James willingness to overlook the Manners family's religious leanings shows just how much he liked them. The couple transformed Beaver Castle into what they termed a palace of entertainment, partly for their own pleasure, but also to curry favor with the king. The king clearly appreciated the manors family's hospitality. He returned five more times after his first visit to Beaver Castle. Running a party palace required a fleet of workers, most of which were sourced from nearby villages. Like most villages during this era, the village of Botsford was tightly interconnected. Neighbors relied on each other daily, sharing work, information and resources. Social harmony was prized above all, and standing out was rarely advantageous. Among Botsford's residents were Joan Flowers and her two daughters, Philippa and Margaret. Unfortunately for the Flowers, women blending in was never really an option for them. The Flowers family had struggled ever since the death of Joan's husband. In those days, widows were sometimes regarded with suspicion. Society expected women to remain under male authority, whether that authority be fathers, husbands or sons. The idea that a woman might prefer independence to remarriage was often inconceivable. Those who lived without male oversight were often viewed with distrust. Joan had a reputation throughout Botsford as a disagreeable woman who avoided church, which was seen as a serious red flag in such a deeply religious age. Her daughters fared no better. Both were viciously regarded as women of low, loose morals. The Flowers home was rumored to be little better than a brothel, with Philippa in particular. Having a reputation for being out at night in those unpaved streets. The Flowers matriarch had a reputation also for being a healer, for using her knowledge of herbal remedies and natural cures to treat various ailments. These cunning folk were seen as something of a necessary evil in 17th century century life. While their healing skills were valued and relied on, they were also feared for the potential that they might use their power for evil rather than for good. Despite their questionable reputation, the Flowers women became employees of the Earl and Countess of Rutland, possibly hired to help prepare for King James visit in 1612. The trio of Flowers women must have impressed their employees because they remained on staff long after the King's visit. Margaret in particular, the younger daughter, gained favor working both in the laundry and looking after poultry. She was even invited to live in the servants quarters at the castle. This good fortune stirred jealousy among the Flowers neighbors and stirred resentment among the other Beaver servants. Positions in noble households often passed through generations of the same family. For a while, the Flowers women seemed secure in their positions, protected by the Earl and the Countess's favor. But tensions were building. Around early 1613, Beaver's servants formally complained about the Flowers women to Cecilia, who managed the household. They accused Margaret of stealing provisions from the castle and taking them back to her mother's house where they entertained questionable visitors. Reports claimed that people of ill repute visited Philippa at all hours. Even Joan was said to have as many lovers as her daughters. According to contemporary accounts, Cecilia, the Countess, discovered inappropriate behavior by Margaret, along with neglect of her duties. That was enough to dismiss her, and Margaret left Beaver with orders never to return, despite the fact that they allegedly received reasonable compensation. When the Flowers family was dismissed, rumors spread that Joan had muttered ill wishes against the Earl's family. If the Flowers women had indeed voiced displeasure towards the Earl and his family, they would come to regret it. Witchcraft accusations typically involved alleged curses against community members who later suffered misfortune. Add that to an already problematic reputation and Joan and her daughters would turn out to be catnip for the witch obsessed community, already hell bent on putting loud, disagreeable women in their place. The witch hunts that swept across Europe from the mid 15th to mid 18th century claimed tens of thousands of lives. And the overwhelming majority of those victims were women. While the events that would happen at Beaver weren't unusual for their time, what makes this case so remarkable is the high ranking family involved and just how clearly it serves as an example of social dynamics in 17th century England. Shortly after Margaret was dismissed from Bever Castle. Disaster struck the Manors household in the summer of 1613, their eldest son, Henry, began suffering from a mysterious illness. His symptoms included violent convulsions and extreme discomfort that persisted for weeks. Despite all efforts to save him, Henry never recovered. He died in September and was laid to rest at Botsford Church. Looking back at the descriptions of Henry's symptoms, which included vomiting and convulsions, modern observers might recognize signs of any number of treatable conditions, anything from epilepsy to poisoning. But in an era when medical knowledge was limited, when a previously healthy child was struck down, especially after someone allegedly expressed ill will toward the family, supernatural causes often seemed like the most plausible explanation. Henry's death plunged his parents, Francis and Cecilia, into a pit of grief and anxiety. Their family's future now depended entirely on their younger son, who was named Francis, like his father. To their horror, not long after Henry's death, young Frances developed identical symptoms. Their daughter Catherine also fell gravely ill with similar afflictions. To complete the misfortune, both the Earl and Countess themselves became sick with these unusual convulsions. While deeply frightening, such clusters of illness weren't unprecedented. Disease routinely devastated families across all social classes, and young children were especially vulnerable. Nevertheless, the servants at Beaver Castle quickly blamed Joan Flowers and her daughters. Initially, the Earl and Countess dismissed these accusations. Their initial loyalty to the Flowers women is somewhat surprising, especially considering Joan had allegedly openly expressed anger about her daughter's dismissal from the castle. Joan's outspoken resentment against a powerful family was incredibly dangerous, since most witchcraft cases hinged on prior hostilities. In order to secure conviction, Joan had unknowingly given her enemies the perfect ammunition. While contemporary accounts suggest that young Francis was suddenly and inexplicably struck by an unexplained sudden sickness, historical records actually indicate his health had always been delicate. But now, as the family's only hope, everything possible needed to be done to restore the spare heir to health. Distinguished physicians were summoned to Beaver, including the renowned astrological physician, Dr. Richard Napier. Yet despite the best medical care available, young Francis continued to deteriorate. This failure of conventional medicine may have finally convinced the Earl and Countess to consider the whispers that had been circulating since Henry's death. Gradually, the Earl and Countess too began to suspect witchcraft. Widespread belief that if a victim couldn't be unwitched through counter magic, the only remaining options were forcing the suspected witch to confess or executing them, which in effect, would be turning off the tap to the evil. Five years after Henry's death, with young Francis still suffering and showing no signs of recovery, Formal accusations of witchcraft were finally lodged against Joan Flowers and her daughters. This happened in late 1618, while the earl was away, which suggests that Countess Cecilia herself may have been the one who initiated the proceedings. The noble classes typically gave less credence to theories of witchcraft than the general public. But when they did take an interest, people listened. So when the upper classes got involved, it acted as a force multiplier for witch mania. The case against the Flowers women generated significant public interest. After all, most witchcraft trials involved obscure villagers and petty disputes, not a prestigious family like the manors. The Flowers women were arrested shortly before Christmas 1618. After preliminary questioning, the three women were scheduled for transport to the judicial court at nearby Lincoln Castle. Given the notoriously biased procedures of witch trials, this journey must have filled the three Flowers women with dread. However, only two of the women would complete the journey. Worn down by her treatment and no doubt terrified at what awaited her, Joan Flowers took a desperate measure. While the party was en route to Lincoln, she demanded a traditional test to prove her innocence. According to observers, Joan asked for bread that had been blessed by a priest, declaring that if she were guilty, she would be unable to swallow it. According to sources, upon receiving the bread, Joan attempted to eat it, but immediately began choking. Witnesses reported that she collapsed and died in apparent agony before speaking another word. Her stunned captors interpreted this as as divine confirmation of her guilt. And if that story's true, you can't really blame them. There's no definitive explanation for this dramatic incident if it indeed happened that way. Perhaps the psychological pressure of believing in the test's power triggered a panic response or a heart attack in an already stressful situation. But whatever the true story, Joan's sudden and very incriminating death spared authorities the expense of a formal trial. She was hastily buried in Ancaster while her daughters continued on to Lincoln. The city had a long history as a place of imprisonment and execution. Lincoln Castle, originally built by William the Conqueror, had housed courts and prisons since Tudor times, with public executions regularly being performed there. Given their notoriety, the sisters were probably confined to a dungeon, which later became known as the Witch Hole. It was about as comfortable as you'd imagine a place called the Witch Hole to be. Their interrogation began on January 22, 1619, continuing for nearly five weeks. The sisters were questioned separately, but similarities in their eventual confessions suggest their interrogators used information from one to pressure the other. The examiners particularly wanted to establish that the sisters had formed demonic pacts which would guarantee execution under the 1604 law that had been passed by James I. Initially, both women resisted. Margaret questioned first admitted only to helping her mother bewitch Henry Manners. She described how Joan had instructed her to steal one of Henry's gloves. When Margaret asked why, Joan allegedly replied that it was to harm him. Following common witchcraft beliefs, obtaining and damaging a person's clothing was thought to cause injury to the owner. Margaret claimed that after Joan dipped the glove in boiling water and stroked her cat Rutterkin with it, Henry was sick within a week. Margaret provided a similar account regarding young Frances, saying she had found one of his gloves on the castle grounds and brought it to her mother, who performed the same ritual, declaring the boy would never recover. Margaret also described attempts to bewitch Lady Catherine using a piece of her handkerchief, but claimed the spell failed. While damning. Margaret's initial testimony only admitted to causing illness, not death. The interrogators intensified their pressure. This may have included torture, which was technically illegal in England at this time, but was still employed, especially for high stakes crimes like witchcraft. On February 4th, Margaret finally broke, completely confessing that she and her mother had conspired to kill the Earl's elder son. Out of resentment for her dismissal. Philippa proved more resistant, consistently denying any involvement in Henry's death, while admitting to participating occasionally in harmful magic. But eventually her resolve wore out and she gave the interrogators more than they bargained for. Philippa confessed to having a spirit quote in the form of a white rat that fed from her left breast. She claimed this spirit promised to enchant a local man into loving her. All she had to do was allow it to suckle her. By this point, Philippa's interrogators might have already searched her body for a suspicious birthmark or mole. That might have signified that a spirit, or even the devil himself fed there. Whether they found it then or after Philippa made her confession, that was all the evidence they needed to convict. Once those floodgates had opened, Margaret admitted to hosting not one, but two spirits that fed on different parts of her body in exchange for granting her wishes. With those sensational details, the trial was fast tracked. King James sent Edward Bromley to preside over the case. Bromley was known for his harsh treatment in previous witchcraft trials, which highlights James personal interest in the proceedings. A judge like Bromley, known to pressure juries into convicting accused witches, virtually guaranteed the outcome. But even without their confessions, the fate of the Flower Sisters had already been sealed. At this point, it wasn't yet legal practice for defendants to have lawyers working on their behalf. With witchcraft trials in particular There were few reliable character witnesses and minimal opportunity to present any evidence in one's own defense. Trials often devolved into hostile confrontations between prisoners and accusers. Uneducated and defending themselves, young women faced a judicial system designed to confirm their guilt, not designed to discover truth. Margaret and Philippa were tried before senior judges Henry Hobart and Edward Bromley. Both women were found guilty and sentenced to death by hanging. Unfortunately, official trial records have been lost. The only detailed account we have comes from an anonymous pamphlet published after the proceedings concluded. Like many aspects of this case, the complete truth may never be known, including the authorship of that mysterious pamphlet. With the Flowers sisters condemned and hanged, many parties involved found what should have been satisfaction. The people of Botsford had their monsters. The Rutland family had their explanation for their tragedy. King James could claim another victory in his ongoing crusade against witches. Everyone involved could feel that proper justice had been been served. But sadly, eliminating the source of the supposed witchcraft didn't cure young Francis manners the way his parents must have hoped. On March 5, 1620, just over a year after the Flowers sisters were put to death, the boy finally succumbed to his illness. With no surviving male heir, the Rutland title pass passed to the earl's brother, George, who became the seventh Earl of Rutland. Only one child of Francis survived, his daughter Catherine, born from his first marriage. The Earl and Countess remained so convinced that witchcraft had killed both their sons that they set their belief in stone, literally. Visitors to St. Mary the Virgin's church in Botsford can still see the earl's tomb with its telling inscription marking his marriage to Cecilia and noting that their two sons died in childhood. Quote, by wicked practices and sorcery. This permanent testament to their beliefs stands to this day. But was their conviction accurate? The manor's boys probably didn't die because of witchcraft, but did they die because of murder? Because another influential figure lurked at the edges of these events, someone who potentially stood to gain considerably from the deaths of the manors boys. During this period, there was a rising star at the court of King James I. If you've heard our episode about George Villiers, you'll know he first first caught the king's eye in his early 20s. Court factions, seeking to replace a previous royal favorite invested heavily in presenting Villiers favorably, securing him a position serving the king directly. And their strategy succeeded beyond imagination. Contemporaries described Villiers as attractive and charismatic, a personality higher for the ages. Though he came from modest origins, Villiers experienced unprecedented social elevation, quickly becoming the king's most treasured companion. King James bestowed knighthood, then made him a marquess and eventually in 1623 elevated him to the Duke of Buckingham. The exact nature of their relationship has fueled centuries of historical speculation. But what is undeniable is James extraordinary devotion to George Villiers, showering him with privileges, status and influence unmatched by any other courtier. But what connects this royal favorite to our tale of accused witches? Around early 1619, as the flowers women faced arrest and interrogation, George Villiers was making moves to lock down Catherine Manners as his bride. Catherine Manners, the daughter of the earl from his first marriage. As the daughter of one of England's wealthiest noblemen, Catherine represented an extraordinarily advantageous match for an ambitious courtier. In Tracy Borman's book, Witches James I and the English Witch Hunt, the historian proposes a possible alternative explanation for the manor's boys death. She suggests the possibility that George Villiers or his mother might have arranged for the boys to be poisoned. Their motive would have been straightforward. With the male heirs eliminated, Catherine would inherit the vast Rutland fortune, which would then belong to Villiers through the magic of the patriarchy. The timing certainly raises questions. Villiers regularly visited Beaver Castle as part of the King's entourage, providing ample opportunity to arrange for poison to be administered. The prolonged convulsive nature of the boys illness aligns with certain symptoms of certain poisons. Bormann also questions the origins of the pamphlet documenting the Flowers trial, which is our only detailed account of the proceedings. She speculates that it might have been commissioned by either Francis Manners or George Villiers himself. Designed specifically to cement public belief in the Flowers women's guilt and deflect any alternative theories about the boy's death. We can only speculate about these possibilities. No conclusive evidence links Villiers to the manor's boy's death, nor to the prosecution of the Flowers women. No participant left behind confessions of regret or acknowledgments of injustice. The burial of the Flowers women effectively buried any alternative explanations along with them. What we do know is that Villiers pursuit of Catherine manners succeeded. On May 16, 1620, merely two months after young Francis died, Catherine married George Villiers. Their union initially faced resistance, particularly regarding religious differences. Catherine's Catholic background clashing with Villiers, who was a Protestant. But eventually, with the King's enthusiastic support, those obstacles disappeared. Through this marriage, Villiers gained access to the substantial Rutland wealth, exactly as would have been planned. If Bormann's theory holds merit, the couple produced a son, ensuring the Fortune would continue through Villiers descendants. Rather than returning to the Manners family. Villiers was assassinated in 1628, taking the truth about any potential evil schemes with him to the grave. By Then the events at Beaver and the fate of the Flowers women had faded from public consciousness, overshadowed by the intensifying political conflicts that would eventually erupt into civil war. The inscription at Botsfield Church serves as a peculiar memorial not just to two children who died prematurely, but to an age when natural and supernatural boundaries blurred, when scientific understanding remained rudimentary, and when society's most vulnerable could be sacrificed to protect the powerful. Perhaps with more advanced medical knowledge. Knowledge both of the Manners boys might have survived. Instead, they and three women lost their lives. The families were devastated, and the potential true culprit, if Borman's theory was correct, walked away with a noble wife and a fortune. Like most witch trials of this period, we're left with questions rather than answers. What remains clear is how this case reveals the dangerous convergence of power, superstition and vulnerability. In early modern England, Joan Philippa and Margaret Flowers were the perfect scapegoats. They were impoverished, outspoken and socially marginal women who possessed herbal knowledge. In a society deeply suspicious of female power in any form. Form. Whether they were deliberately framed by a calculating courtier or simply caught in the web of superstition that characterized the era, the result was the same. They paid for their nonconformity with their lives. That's the story of the witch trials of Beaver Castle, but keep listening after a brief sponsor break to hear a little bit more about about the castle itself.
- [33:21]
Unknown
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- [34:55]
Matt Frederick
Nobleblood is proudly sponsored by Amica Insurance. As Amica says, empathy is our best policy. That's why they'll go above and beyond to tailor your insurance coverage to best fit your needs. Whether you're on the road at home or traveling along life's journey, their friendly and knowledgeable representatives will work with you to ensure that you have the right coverage in place. Amica will provide you with peace of mind. Go to amica.com and get a quote today.
- [35:29]
Dana Schwartz
If you visit Beaver Castle today, you'll find a place that's reinvented itself many times over. The beautiful view that gave the castle its name is still there, and the building itself remains impressive, though it's now a 19th century grade one mock castle, not the structure that the Flowers women would have known. There's one annual event at Beaver Castle that I find particularly amusing. Each year since 2013 over the autumnal equinox, the castle hosts something called the Equinox 24. This 24 hour ultra marathon cuts a 10 kilometer path through the estate where runners push their bodies to the limit with the castle looming in the background. Just picture it. Hundreds of modern day fitness enthusiasts in more moisture wicking gear, apple watches strapped to their wrists and protein goo packs in their pockets stomping around the very grounds where the Flowers women once gathered herbs and allegedly plotted their witchcraft. If Joan, Margaret and Philippa are somewhere haunting this place, they must be looking at these spandex clad creatures with their blinking gadgets and wondering what the hell happened to good old fashioned magic. The irony isn't lost on me that a place once associated with accusations of the dark arts now hosts an event centered on the autumnal equinox, a time traditionally linked to witchcraft and magic across many cultures. 400 years after women were executed for allegedly casting spells during that very season, people gather at Beaver to perform their own ritual of sorts, pushing their bodies to extremes that would surely seem like madness to the Botsford residents, who condemned their neighbors for far less strange behavior. But that's the thing about the witch trials. They were never really about witchcraft. They were about control and fear and punishment of those who don't fit neatly into society's expectations. And in that sense, perhaps we haven't come quite as far from the 17th century as we'd like to think, but at least now we can track our steps. Noble Blood is a production of iHeartRadio and Grim and Mild from Erin Menke. Nobleblood is hosted by me, Dana Schwartz, with additional writing and research by Hannah Johnston, Hannah Zwick, Courtney Sender, Amy Hite and Julia Milani. The show is edited and produced by Jesse Funk with supervising producer Rima Il Kayali and executive producers Erin Menke, Trevor.
- [38:31]
Matt Frederick
Young and Matt Frederick.
- [38:33]
Dana Schwartz
For more podcasts from iHeartRadio, visit the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts or wherever you listen to your favorite shows.
- [38:45]
Matt Frederick
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- [39:25]
Dana Schwartz
You're listening to an I Heart podcast.