Appendix: William of Canterbury, The Parallel Miracles

In the territory of York, the knight Thomas of Etton had administered the provostship of Beverley under the authority of the martyr while he, on his own account, also fulfilled the office of secretary.3 See Biographical Notes, Thomas of Etton. When he had been told by the people about the miracles that the Lord made manifest in the martyr to the glory of those striving for the rights of the church, with the ease of a courtier he burst into blasphemy, setting his mouth against heaven [Ps 72:9]. He accused the martyr with the reproach of being lustful and a scoundrel, in this way thinking him to be now what he remembered to have seen many days ago, if he ever had been like that – or more likely, measuring another man’s conscience by his own. And so, he was struck without delay by quinsy, and the passage of life-giving air became so constricted that every moment he thought he was going to be suffocated. Feeling the punishment of divine severity arriving within himself, he remembered what he had said, how he had not known respect, and not felt shame among the saints. And so he beat his breast, confessed his fault with heavy sighs, and sought forgiveness. The martyr’s mercy cannot – it cannot – reproach the repentant, nor spurn the truly contrite. For with the same speed it had struck the slanderer, it healed the repentant. Having spoken a curse, his breath was constricted. Having spoken in the holy spirit, the blockage in his throat was removed and freely flowing breath returned.

“Therefore greetings from the burgesses of Bedford to the convent of Canterbury and all the faithful in Christ.

Let it be known4 William’s text reads sicut: sciant has been supplied from Benedict’s copy of the letter. to the whole convent of Canterbury and all catholic people that God has worked a marvelous and remarkable miracle in Bedford through the merits of Saint Thomas the martyr. It happened that a certain rustic of Westoning by the name of Ailward was captured, for a theft worth only a single penny, and led before the sheriff of Bedford and the knights of the county. By them, he was publicly condemned, and outside the village of Bedford, with clerics, laity, and women present, he lost his eyes and testicles. John, the chaplain of St. John of Bedford, to whom the aforesaid rustic confessed, testifies to this. His host, by name of Ailbrict, with whom he was afterwards given hospitality, also testifies that he was wholly lacking eyes and testicles when he was first given hospitality by him, and afterwards, often invoking the merits of saint Thomas the martyr, through a glorious and wonderful vision of the same martyr, he was restored to health.”

We think it is not aside from the point to elucidate the course of events to confirm posterity in the faith. So, a neighbor owed this Ailward a penny. When he asked for it back, and the other refused to pay it, he was seized by anger and broke into the house of the debtor, which he had fortified by a bar hung on the outside when he had gone to the tavern. He ripped off the bar as a surety, and taking at the same time a whetstone placed against the roof of the cottage, as well as a drill and gloves, he left. The father was told by his children, who were at play shut inside the house, that a thief had broken into the house and had left with plundered property. He pursued and caught him, and ripping the whetstone from the hand of the one carrying it, he wounded his head. Taking out a knife, he pierced his arm. He brought him back as a thief caught in the act of thievery, together with the articles he had stolen, and bound him in the house that he had broken into. A crowd gathered, along with the bailiff Fulk. It was suggested by the bailiff that since a man would not be mutilated for the theft of things worth one penny, that the stolen goods be increased by other things as if they were stolen as well. This was done. Next to the bound man was placed a little bundle of skins, a cloak, a linen cloth and a gown, along with an iron tool that is commonly called a hatchet.5 William uses the highly unusual word volgonium for this iron tool: see the entry for volgonium in DMLBS. The next day, he was brought with that bundle also hanging on his neck to the cognizance of a certain Richard, the sheriff,6 The sheriff of Bedfordshire and Buckinghamshire from 1170 to 1178 was actually named William son of Richard. and the knights of the county. Yet lest sentencing in a doubtful matter be too hasty, he was held in public custody in Bedford with judgement suspended for a month. In the meantime, he confessed all his sins since childhood to the priest Paganus, who had been secretly called in. He was advised by him to humbly beg for the assistance of the blessed Mary and all the saints and especially the blessed Thomas, whom the Lord had thought fit to glorify with proofs of miracles and signs, to exclude all anger and incitement to hatred from his soul, to not despair of the mercy of God and, whatever he would suffer, to bear it with equanimity for the remission of his sins. He was to do this with all the more care because he could not be drowned in water nor burned by fire if he was forced to undergo either trial, because, as the common folk believe, he had as a little child been baptized on Whitsun eve.7 Whitsun is another name for Pentecost Sunday, which is celebrated seven weeks after Easter. I have not found another reference to a folk belief about protection given to infants baptized on Whitsun eve. He gave him a rod to receive discipline five times a day in order to summon the mercy of God for himself. He gladly listened to this advice, and having encircled his body with a thread, he devoted himself to the martyr, promising to improve his ways. Also, fearing that he would be deprived of his clothing, he branded the sign of the cross on his right shoulder with a hot iron. As it happened that there was a meeting of judges at Leighton Buzzard, he was brought there as an accused man. There he asked that he enter single combat with Fulk his accuser, or undergo the ordeal of fire, but due to the influence of the bailiff Fulk, who had received an ox for this purpose, he was condemned to the ordeal of water, which he was not able to escape by any means.8 Since Eilward supposedly could not drown due to his baptism on Whitsun eve, it was impossible for him to be successful in an ordeal of water. To be judged innocent in such an ordeal, the accused would have to sink under the water and not come up again. On the ordeal, see Robert Bartlett, Trial by Fire and Water: The Medieval Judicial Ordeal (Oxford, 1986). From there he was taken back to Bedford, where he was imprisoned for a month. With the judges convened, he was handed over to undergo the test of the ordeal of water, and he received the sorrowful sentence of his condemnation. He was led out to the place of punishment and was mutilated by having his eyes put out and his sexual organs cut off, which a multitude of people saw buried in the earth. In the midst of these punishments, he did not stop asking for divine help and invoking the blessed Thomas, forgiving the torturers everything they cruelly did to him. The punishment completed, he was brought to the town and given hospitality by a certain Ailbricht. After ten days had passed, one evening, before the first part of the night, he saw in his sleep the blessed Thomas, whom he had called on constantly, and who was dressed in white clothes. He marked the sign of the cross between his eyebrows with his pastoral staff and did the same again before dawn, saying, “Good man, are you asleep? Wake. Tomorrow you are to keep vigil at the altar of the blessed Mary with a lamp. Behold, Thomas comes to you, and you will receive your sight.” After the sun had risen, a female servant said, “I saw in my sleep, Ailward, that you had regained your sight.” He answered, “This is possible for the Lord, just as all things are possible.” As the day waned, his left eye itched, and scratching with his fingernail, he removed the wax and the poultice that had been placed there to draw out the putrid matter. And catching sight of a ray of sunshine on the wall, he exclaimed, “God be worshipped! I see.” To this, the stunned host said, “What is this? You are raving.” He also waved his hand in front of his eyes, saying, “Do you see what I am doing?” He answered, “I see a hand moving.” And so the dean of the village was called, a crowd gathered, and he was taken away and led into the oratory. Very small eyes were growing, the right wholly black, and the left grey, although since infancy they were both grey. His genitals, which he allowed anyone who wished to touch, could be estimated to be smaller than those of a cock. We saw and heard these things of which we speak and testify. For he of whom we speak was sent to Canterbury and spent many days with us, receiving sustenance from the assets of the martyr.

Certain sailors from Ireland came upon a sandbank that seamen call Colresand,9 This may mean “colorful sand.” I have not been able to identify this location. and the ship was stuck fast in the shallows, its sail slack. What was to be done? Its cargo weighed it down, for it was returning to its usual port loaded with hides and other items to be sold, and wealth was its injury. What was to be done?

Seized by the love of gain and the desire to catch herring, other sailors had ventured into the deep. Coaxed by calm weather, they were drawn on to their fate, and would have been dragged into death, if he who does not desire the death of sinners had not saved their vanishing life. As they were hooking the fish, the unwise sailors were hooked, and as they coveted their prey, led on by greed, they sank in the shallows and were immersed nearly to the deck. Sea and earth were so mixed that it was not possible to distinguish the nature of the elements, and, as the poet describes,

Sailing on the sea, a certain Girard of Dover let down an anchor from his ship as a storm was rising. When he wished it to be pulled back up, two of the sailors, as is customary, stood in the prow to pull on the rope. They were not able to pull out the hook, and even though they all pooled their effort, everything they tried failed. As a last resort, they wrapped the top of the cable onto a beam that sailors call a windlass, so that with the help of the beam their attempt would be more effective. This is a beam placed across the stern and pierced through its side, which is used in larger ships for raising the sail. Spokes are inserted in the holes, and what is not possible with human power alone is possible by leaning on the spokes, for as the cable is wrapped around the revolving beam, help is readily given by the beam. And yet the tenacious anchor still did not feel the hands of the panting sailors. And so, destitute of all human support, they sought divine support, saying, “True martyr Thomas, with power over the sea and the land, return what our weakness cannot. Release the mooring cable, preserve the ship without damage. We know that you do not have need of our good works, but you wish reverence to be exhibited to you; you wish mortal devotion to be enhanced by vows and prayers. And thus we promise that your memorial will be visited and the form of the iron tackle will be made in wax. Return the instrument by which we are held back.” With the vow made, they set to and recovered the anchor with little effort.

And yet, going on again, they threw out two anchors in different locations along with the one they had recovered, and they tossed about, held there by the deep. After a short time, they again stood in the prow to recall the anchor which they had recovered by divine gift. And behold, finding the cable to be broken, they began to call out, “Martyr Thomas, why have we lost what you returned to us? Return what you returned, and we will return what we promised.” And so they lost all hope of recovery, but by the care of the martyr, what they had lost was recovered beyond all hope. For when they drew in the other anchors, they also received the one about which they had been concerned. For a fragment of the cable of the lost anchor had adhered to the cables of the others, tied up in a divine knot, such that the ship was preserved unharmed, and the martyr’s power was shown in the waves.

A certain Stephen of the village of Whorlton14 See Biographical Notes, Stephen de Meinil. had made a feast for a certain rich man. While that rich man, named Robert, was dining with him, Hugh de Morville15 See Biographical Notes, Hugh de Morville. After the murder, the four knights retreated to Morville’s castle in Knaresborough and stayed there for about a year, during which time they faced little or no punishment. Knaresborough is about sixty kilometers from Whorlton. On Morville and Knaresborough, see Vincent, “Murderers,” pp. 251–7. sent to [Robert], saying these things: “I marvel at our mutual affection and our former fellowship, which has so easily cooled that you have not seen my face in a long time. Therefore I order that you show yourself and speak to me,” and he established a place and set a time. Hearing this order, his face fell, and he neither ate nor drank, recalling in his soul the savage and appalling sin that [Hugh] had committed, and rejecting, as befits a Christian, the detestable fellowship, which, even by speaking, incurs the stain of ecclesiastical excommunication. Why, infamy of our age, do you seek out the fellowship of the white-clothed? Why, citizen of disgraceful Babylon, do you pollute the flock of the Lord? Do you not know that the entire herd of pigs dies in the field, because of the disease and mange of a single pig?16 Juvenal, Satires 2, ll. 79–80. However, the mother of the family,17 Her name was Joan: see Biographical Notes, Stephen de Meinil. seeing the sadness of her guest, said to him, “Why is it a concern that that priest Thomas is dead? Who is moved by this? The churchman domineered beyond measure, rushing forth with such great arrogance that he even tried to trample on the necks of princes. He thought he could attack and subjugate the king? Feast, I urge you, and rejoice.” In these words and others like them the morally unclean woman raved.

In time, her husband, going about his worldly business in the manner of the worldly, heard many things said about the illumination of the blind, the restoration of hearing to the deaf, the cleansing of lepers, and other wonders the Lord deemed worthy to work through the merits of the blessed martyr. And so, returning home, he recounted what he had heard and what the common people were saying, and he added that he himself wished to visit the tomb of the martyr. The mother and his elder son were seized by the same desire. The younger son said, “I have no need to go, since I am not mute nor lame, nor hindered by any other bodily trouble.” And it happened that when he had given himself up to his schoolboy’s studies, he was struck by paralysis and lost the function of one of his arms. After he was detained by this for some weeks, he was brought home, and, taken round the monasteries of the region, he consulted doctors. They pierced his arm with a needle and found it completely without feeling. The woman of whom we spoke who raged against the saint at last repented, realizing that her son was being punished for the fault of his mother. With fasting and beating, she chastised herself for her tongue’s raving. And God saw the contrition of the penitent woman, for the blessed Thomas appeared to her suffering son and said, “Be healed. See to it that you change your state of life this year and put on the habit of a monk.” With the splendor of the person and the great light of heaven, the house was enlightened such that every corner could be seen clearly. Wakened from sleep by these rays, the student leapt out of bed, and grabbing clothing with the hand that had been paralyzed, he called, “Father, father, I am healed!” Woken, the parents were amazed, as were certain of the king’s servants who, at that time, had been received there as guests. Perhaps this mercy had been delivered on account of their presence, from he who wishes all men to be saved and to come to know the truth. Having learned how it happened, they went into the chapel that same hour and gave thanks, which they later performed more fully at the tomb of the martyr with him to whom the mercy had been extended.

When they had returned home from there, the young man, who had been flighty as youths are, became most steady and mature in his ways. And he asked through his priest, since he did not dare to do it for himself, for the reward of being allowed to put off his worldly clothing. But his father delayed, fearing lest he take on, though youthful frivolity, a hard and narrow path, and later draw back, weary of the burden and labour and repenting the penance. And it happened that as the boy was thinking over his conversion one night, the martyr Thomas appeared to him as before, attired as an archbishop and stained with blood. And his parents heard him in his sleep responding to the martyr: “Which monastic habit? Where? When? Lord, have mercy on me.” They said to each other, “Let’s be patient and not wake him: he’s seeing a vision.” And when the vision and sleep had departed, he exclaimed “Did you see the blessed Thomas? He was here and left just now. He said to me, ‘I have twice spoken to you privately, Engelram. The third time I appear to you, the whole region will know’.”18 The story ends here, with no indication of whether there was a third time.

The knight Jordan, son of Eisulf,19 See Biographical Notes, Jordan son of Eisulf. from a village which he called Pontefract, along his wife and son about ten years old, whom, he asserted, had died and had been reawakened by the blessed martyr Thomas, came to Canterbury in order to give thanks for this grace. On the departure of the boy’s nurse from human affairs, the boy likewise died. All the proper things were done to him as if he were dead except for burial, since his father did not permit him to be taken for burial. For he said, as if an angel were speaking through him, “The Spirit promises to me the restitution of my son. If I were to have even a small amount of the water of the glorious martyr Thomas to pour into his mouth, it seems to me that in this right faith and firm hope I would not be a mourning father.” And so he received water from pilgrims to whom he had granted hospitality, and poured it into the dead boy’s mouth, as much as rigor mortis would allow it to open, for he had lain lifeless from the third hour of the day up to about the eleventh hour of the following day. At first, nothing went down the closed passage into his insides, but little by little, the natural channels were relaxed and a redness infusing his cheek indicated the working of divine power. After a short time, he opened one of his eyes and said, ‘Don’t weep. The glorious martyr Thomas has returned me to you’.

And so, both parents vowed to go with the boy to the memorial of the martyr. The preparations for the journey extended to the time of Laetare Jerusalem.20 This is a shorthand way to describe the fourth Sunday in Lent, which falls sometime between March 1 and April 4 every year. Laetare Jerusalem means “Rejoice, Jerusalem”: these are the first words spoken in the Mass for the fourth Sunday in Lent (Cantus ID g00776). Then, when everything was ready, something else impeded the journey. The earl of Warenne,21 See Biographical Notes, Hamelin de Warenne. in whose name the aforesaid knight held land, came to that place and detained the ones about to depart on pilgrimage. It happened that the blessed Thomas appeared to a leper living in the domain of that knight, saying, “Brother, do you sleep?” “I slept,” he said, “before you woke the sleeper. Who are you?” He answered, “Thomas, the archbishop of Canterbury. Tomorrow, go and tell the knight here that he should not delay his pilgrimage and vow any further. Otherwise, he should know that he will lose something that he does not love any less than the boy I restored to him.” He was afraid, however, to deliver such a message, and the following night the martyr came again. “See here,” he said, “you did not comply with the command.” He answered, “You know, lord, that due to my diseased feet I am not able to walk.” He replied, “Call your priest, that he might carry out the command.” When he did this, and the priest made an excuse on account of fear and the very short temper of a man of such rank, the martyr showed his presence for a third time, not thinking him to be unclean whom the Lord had sanctified in the washing of rebirth.22 This seems to mean that the martyr did not consider Gimp to be unclean, though he was a leper, because he had been baptized. Charging the intermediary with contempt, he summoned him and said, “By means of your daughter, announce the message you have received to the knight and his wife.” And this was done, yet they delayed further. When it was almost the time of Easter, the older son of the family, whom the father loved the more dearly since he so closely resembled his father’s line in body and facial features, was struck by a disease and departed human affairs. Moreover, the knight with his wife were so gripped by the bodily disorder, and not just them but their whole household, that they despaired of life. And so, fearing the destruction of life, or a graver loss, they set out on the pilgrimage. They were accompanied by twenty-one of their servants, some of whom had recovered from long sickness by a drink of the healing water that very day. The mother of the family, who, within a short space of the trip, had fainted nine times, despaired on account of the length of the journey. But her husband, with firmness of soul, said, “Alive or dead, she will be brought to Canterbury.” And their journey succeeded through the assisting merits of him whom they sought, according to the dictum, to them that love God all things work together unto good, to those who, according to his purpose, are called to be saints [Rom 8:28], such that the woman, when she was about to enter Canterbury, had walked three miles on foot.

I remember that I spoke of a certain Jordan whose son we saw recalled from death.23 That is, the son of Jordan, son of Eisulf, whose miracle William had described thirty chapters earlier: see above, no. 7. And let it now be declared that we saw the daughter of another of the same name, though of inferior condition, twice liberated from death by a marvel not inferior. In the diocese of Norwich, the girl Cecilia, who was about fifteen years of age, was struck by cancer. To say it briefly, while the modesty of a virgin made her wish to bear the pain rather than expose her shame, her thighs were consumed, to the point that the junctions of the bones were laid bare and the joining of the sinews were exposed. The size of the wounds was equal to the length of a foot. They emitted an unbearable exhalation of sulphurated gas, such that her mother desired her death and members of the household avoided her presence. Every day, corruption consumed even the bandages that were wrapped around the voracious disease. Tormented by this contagion from about the time of harvest to the first of March, she was brought to the end of life. So, from Tuesday to Friday, she was not refreshed by food nor drink, but lay on a couch, leaning against a wall with her knees drawn together and her eyes open and unblinking. She took on the look of something neither living nor dead. Those household servants seeing her thought she had been rapt out of her body, remembering a certain woman of the region, named Agnes, who, while she slept, had been led by the blessed Catherine through various places while she was in a spiritual rapture. She was shown the rewards and punishments of the dead, among whom she also saw a priest called Godwin, who had died a few days earlier, with his knees terribly wounded by repeated blows from a key. It was thought he suffered this punishment because when he was alive, he had carried off the key to the church of the blessed Mary while another priest was celebrating Mass inside of it.

And so it happened that while the aforesaid girl lay unmoving, a woman of the neighborhood arrived to pay her a visit, a woman who loved her dearly. When she saw her dead she exclaimed, “Why did you not lay out this girl, whom we have seen and left dead in bed, on a hairshirt, as is the Christian custom for the dying? You have acted thoughtlessly.” And so she was carried into an outer building and, with her limbs rigid and eyes wide open, placed on the ground. A linen sheet was also placed under the corpse, and candles were lit as for a funeral. But the father, who had thrown himself down elsewhere, tormented both by pain and suffering, waking from sleep, ran in, crying, “If the Lord looks favourably on me, my daughter is not dead. O blessed Thomas, now repay my service, I who once attentively rendered service to you!” And he repeated the sorrowful cry, “Repay my service! Necessity now presses. Repay my service!” As for the reason he said this, we do not think it wrong to briefly append a succinct explanation.

The blessed Thomas, before he was exalted by the world’s honors, before the smile of fortune expanded both his power and his reputation, received hospitality from a certain clerk named Turstan, a native of Kent, who, having been made a proctor in a place called Croydon under the archbishopric of Theobald,24 See Biographical Notes, Turstan of Croydon. Theobald was the archbishop of Canterbury from 1139 to 1161. Thomas Becket was part of Theobald’s household in the 1140s and 1150s before he became Henry II’s chancellor in 1154. took on the work vigorously and administered the affairs with industry. There, when Thomas was ill and could not drink neither wine nor cider nor anything else that could make one drunk, he drank whey, as his illness required, that this servant Jordan had sought out and inquired for throughout the vicinity. He also took care of the one horse that he held privately. For this reason, presuming on this liberal service, he repeated, “Repay my service.” This he so often repeated that his throat was stopped up by hoarseness. The blessed one, moved by pity, did not wish to be held ungrateful. For he restored the woman to life, who right away drew her hand to herself and spoke, although she was not yet able to express herself in an intelligible voice, having been brought low by emaciation and death. The following day, she took food and drink. Within the space of three weeks, her cancerous thighs had dried up and were made whole.

With these events marvellously concluded, the aforesaid man, the father of the girl, went to his lord the bishop of Norwich,25 See Biographical Notes, William Turbe, bishop of Norwich. telling him about the matter and asking for a letter of testimonial, so that, when he came to Canterbury, he would not be thought to speak without authority in describing an event beyond belief and credence. But the bishop did not immediately have faith, until he called the priest and those who had been present and seen this affair, as well as two married women of good repute to examine the vestiges of the cancer: he learned of all of the affair in order. It was divinely arranged that this diligent investigation would remove all doubt. Therefore, by a written document signed with his seal, he declared the deed to the brothers worshipping God in the church of Canterbury, which is as follows:

“William, by the grace of God bishop of Norwich, to his venerable brothers in the Lord, the prior and the holy convent of Canterbury: eternal salvation in Christ.

We desire with all desire to inform your holiness of the wonders of God that are happening in our diocese to people afflicted with various illnesses who direct all their devotion to God’s most holy saint Thomas and offer pure invocations of their hearts to him. When God does not wish to hide the things which glorify his saint, how can one presume to conceal them among men? We have heard from the testimony of William, a priest of our region, and many of our men, that the bearer of this letter, Cecilia, the daughter of one of our men, was held by the sickness of cancer for a long time. The disease spread implacably about her thighs, and at last she was so oppressed by the worsening illness that she was thought to be lifeless and was placed on the floor in the manner of a corpse. Her father’s soul was turned to bitterness, but still trusting in divine mercy and the merits of the most blessed martyr, he burst out in a voice filled with suffering. With a most devoted mind, he invoked the saint of the Lord and begged for the restitution of health to his daughter by the will of divine grace. And so she was restored to her earlier health by the merits of the most blessed martyr, and to the glory of such a miracle we send her to you with our written testimony. Farewell.”

Why do you marvel, reader? Marvel at the following, in which equally or more marvellously a person is recalled to life.26 William is referring to the story of a boy’s resurrection that he had told in the previous chapter in his collection (II.39). If you presume to oppose this, denying him to be dead whom we will raise to life, if neither the parents exhibiting the boy, nor suitable witnesses, though of the household, bring satisfaction, let the sequence of the event itself and the power or wonder of the martyr be persuasive.

In the region of Cheshire, the man Hugh, surnamed Scot, was of good name and reputation among his fellow countrymen. His son, Philip, about eight years old, was sitting by an iron mine and throwing stones, as boys do, to crush a toad coming out of the mud. Making his attempts without care, he was himself overwhelmed by water. When his father came home and discovered that he was not there, he sought for him everywhere, village to village. He found him submerged in the water, and pulled him out dead, greatly distended with water. Already the day had sunk to dusk. And so the father devoted himself to sighs and groans, the mother to tears and laments. They carried out the first things that are thought to be efficacious in such matters. They cut off the tunic, which could not be taken off due to the distention of the body. Pounding the soles of the feet, they hung the corpse by the feet. But, hope falling away from them, the water failed to flow out. When these efforts failed to succeed, they spread him out on a table, lit a fire on either side, and passed through the length of the night without sleep. When the sun rose, by the advice of the mother, whose concern was more attentive, the water of Saint Thomas was brought back from the next village. When she was endeavoring, with her own hands, to pour it in the cold lips, and with the help of a spindle was separating his closed mouth and clenched teeth, along with the spindle she inserted her finger. When she pulled the spindle out, her finger was caught, and as his teeth came together, it was nearly pierced through. And when she was crying out, the father applied a knife and knocked out two of the front teeth, those that are called front incisors. Yet when the first health-giving drop was poured in, it did not find a way through and flowed out. But the third time, the faith and devotion of the parents succeeded such that it flowed in. His muscles were seen to twitch, and the boy began to draw in his hand and open one of his eyes. The father leapt up and asked whether he was able to live. He answered, “I wish to live.” Wonderful is the Lord, and his mercy is not numbered, he who first restored that which was not there, and then consumed what was there in abundance. For when those who were there were lamenting the swelling of his stomach, the stomach began, before their eyes, to sink down little by little, recovering its natural size and slenderness, yet not a drop of the waves he drunk flowed out of his body from either the upper or the lower regions. When we speak of these things, we do not magnify by our fiction the truth of the great works of God, which need no such amplification. Rather, we tell what we have learned from the parent of the boy who gave thanks with the boy. If the blessed Thomas had not restored him to life, he had often said that he would have brought him dead from his region to the site of his resting place.

Eleanor, the venerable queen of England,30 See Biographical Notes, Eleanor of Aquitaine. found a little child cast out on the road and deprived of a mother’s care, and ordered that he be brought up in the convent of Abingdon. There, after having filled many years learning letters, he was struck by elephantiac disease, and was removed from the school and from the convent by the order of the bishop Godfrey of St. Asaph, who administered the affairs of the convent.31 See Biographical Notes, Godfrey, bishop of St. Asaph. His tuberous face, flowing eyes, thin eyebrows, and wide ulcers on his arms and thighs, open down to the bone, provoked nausea. His hoarse voice hardly reached the ears of a person standing next to him, and his bandages had to be changed every day or every other day on account of the outflow of bloody matter. These things advised against his company or cohabitation. Yet the youth trusted in the mercy and the merits of the blessed Thomas, whom the grace of heaven had made illustrious in similar cases, and he set out for Canterbury. On the way, he felt the beginning of his cure in the excessive activity of his bowels. After staying two days at the tomb of St. Thomas, he returned cleansed, carrying back home vestiges of the disease. One day he took hold of the bishop’s dress as he was walking past, and said that he had been cleansed by the merits of the blessed Thomas of Canterbury. The bishop, not knowing him due to his sudden transformation, asked him for his name and who he was. Stating his name, and by the same answer specifying who he was, he rendered the questioner stupefied. And so the bishop, thinking over the outcome of the matter and the length of the illness, which had increased in intensity through two years, consulted doctors. After he was unable to refute those asserting his health and their faithful eyes, he called back the rejected one to the courtyard of the convent and to people’s company. He also took him with him when he came to the tomb of the martyr to pray and showed him to be seen.

Let it be said without my labor what favour the church of Shrewsbury32 William mentions Shrewsbury because the chapter following this one in his collection (II.51) is a copy of a letter about the miracle of the precentor of Shrewsbury. and of Reading found in the martyr.

“To the venerable lord Odo, prior of Canterbury,33 See Biographical Notes, Odo, prior of Christ Church, Canterbury and abbot of Battle. from brother Augustine, monk of Reading, greetings and much love in Christ.

We consider it right to reveal to your holiness a certain great and celebrated miracle in the house of Reading. For a certain brother of our congregation, named Geoffrey of Wallingford,34 See Biographical Notes, Geoffrey of Walllingford, monk of Reading. a vigorous man and worthy cantor, and one of the leaders of our house, was encumbered by a very grave illness, to the point that it was thought he was in the last extremity, for he was deprived of the use of all his senses and all the members of his body. What more? All the brothers gathered together so that they might anoint him with holy oil, as is the custom. When they had arrived at the point of the reception of holy communion, the prior called, ‘Lord Geoffrey, open your mouth to receive your salvation.’ He tried but could not, until he was just able to receive the tiniest particle between his teeth. Soon, when he had been replaced in his own bed, and remained in that same sickness such that we thought he would leave his body on that same day, after a short interval of time the prior came with a few brothers, investigating whether he could possibly receive any word of confession from the mouth of the ill one. They could expect nothing at all from him but death. The prior, not knowing at all what should be done, asked the brothers if any among them kept safe the water of the holy martyr Thomas. Shortly thereafter the health-giving water was brought, that which I had brought from the memorial of the martyr. Once it was poured through the lips of the sick man, the chain upon his tongue was suddenly loosened, all his senses recovered, and all the members of his body received their earlier health, such that he said, ‘It is well.’ Afterwards, he cried out loudly, ‘Thanks be to God, who by the merits of his martyr, St. Thomas, completely freed me from an evil spirit that had quite closed up my throat and nose.’ The witnesses to this miracle are the entire convent of Reading and nearly all the inhabitants of our town.”

You have heard of a wounded boy.35 In the previous chapter, William told a story about a boy kicked by a horse. Hear of a boy of younger age, who was freed from a greater danger.

The boy named Geoffrey, born in Winchester of the father Robert and mother Leticia, seethed with the heat of fevers about sixteen months after his birth. When he drank the water of St. Thomas, he gave joy to his parents by at once regaining coolness. However, without warning, happiness was darkened with sadness. For when his mother was sitting by herself in her house, a wall of the house was shaken and fell from top to bottom, under which the infant was at rest in his cradle. The wall was made of stone and thirteen feet tall, and the cradle was smashed into eighteen pieces, though it was made squarely, of solid boards, in the manner of a bedstead. Several of the fragments were driven down and buried in the ground. It was thought that the wall fell because of a storm the preceding day, but we believe that this was arranged by the Holy of Holies in order to glorify the holy one. When the mother saw that her little one was overwhelmed by ruin, she cried out, “St. Thomas, save the boy you returned to me!” and with the cry, because of her grief, she fell into a faint. Wonderful kindness of the saint! Wonderful power of the unconquered martyr, who hastened to hear the pious mother, and in accordance with his merits kept the boy, on whom the weight of four or three cartloads pressed down, unharmed in death itself. For when the son was seized by ruin here, and the mother by sorrow there, two men came and pulled the reclining woman to her feet. They asked for and heard the reason for her sorrow. Having called for help, they took down the heap of rubble. They found the cradle crushed into pieces, and they lifted out the boy not only uninjured, but also happy and laughing. Wonderful to relate, he did not have a sign of injury on his whole body except for a small bruise near one of his eyes that was hardly noticeable. As time went on, and they put off the thanks they owed for the boon of the martyr, the boy began to sicken and be claimed as repayment for these praiseworthy acts. And it happened one day that a certain woman came to the grandmother of the boy and said, “It is revealed to me about the boy that he ought to be sent to the memorial of the blessed Thomas. Know that this revelation proceeded from the Lord. For I do not say this either for the benefit of money nor for any other less than honest motive, but rather I am the messenger of divine admonition.” Therefore, after a short time the boy was sent to Canterbury, and we learned what we have spoken.

There is no partiality of persons with God, but in every nation, he who fears God, that one is acceptable to Him [Acts 10:34–5]. He does not cast aside the powerful, for he himself is powerful [Jb 36:5], nor does he necessarily admit a poor man because of his poverty. He attends to the heart, not to the condition, to the possessor, not to possessions. For if someone has an abundance of merit in excellent works and makes a petition of the Lord, he will equally merit to be heard whether he be rich or poor. His poverty will not tell against him, nor his wealth. Therefore let everyone be keen to please God in mind and to strive to act for God in word, that God might act for him.

Matilda, the countess of Clare, had of her husband a son James.36 See Biographical Notes, Matilda de St. Hilary and Roger de Clare. A short time after his birth, he was struck by a hernia, and his intestines flowed down into the little sack of his testicles. When his father saw that he was dragged into pain at a young age and from the cradle into care, he assembled doctors, promising them a great number of coins if they could cure him. Determining that the cause of the rupture was excessive movement and wailing, they said they needed to do an incision. But the mother, having compassion for him on account of his tender age, would not permit him to be cut, instead placing all her hope in the Lord and blessed Thomas. Going to his resting-place on the day on which, as it is written, the blessed Mary Mother and Virgin presented her Son in the temple,37 The Purification of the Virgin, also known as Candlemas, is celebrated on February 2. she herself also took care to present her son to the care of the martyr. There, she received the advice, which she had not presumed, to wash the infirm parts of the boy with the health-giving water. She washed, and she earned complete health for the one who was washed. No other form of cure was applied. Merely by faith, the intestines returned to their place.

After some time had passed, the same boy was seized by illness and taken from life. The grief of his guardians was great. When the rigor of his limbs most certainly declared the absence of life, they carried the body to an outer building, deferring the ceremonial and funeral rites for the mother’s consideration. Since none of them dared be the messenger of the sad news and afflict the mother with sadness, a little brother of the dead boy ran and announced to his mother what he had seen. Throwing off her garment, she speedily returned from prayer and picked up the corpse in her hands. She pressed it to her breasts, enfolded it in her arms, did not fear to put her face next to its, and cried out, “St. Thomas, previously you returned my son to me. Why did you want to return him for his mother’s grief? You cured the illness that tormented him terribly. Woe is me! What sin have I committed now, what command have I transgressed, that I am condemned to be bereaved? Holy martyr, the one you returned, return again now. I place myself under obligation: I will return to your tomb with devotion, clothed in woolen garments, barefoot and abject. Return, holy martyr, the one you returned before.” Speaking in this manner, by turns she bowed her knees to the ground. The men and women who were there reproved her and urged her silence, especially the chaplain Lambert, who said, “What is this, lady? What are you doing? What are you saying? Such things do not suggest a healthy or wise mind. A dead body demands funeral rites, not entreaties like these. Return the body to ashes. Commend his spirit to his Creator, who, according to His desire, pours a soul into His creature or takes it away. Don’t irritate God’s mercy with foolish speech.” She lamented nonetheless and said, “I will not leave off until the martyr has mercy on me and my son is restored from death.” Furthermore, she poured the water of the martyr and thrust the portion of the hairshirt from the clothing of the same martyr between the closed lips of the deceased. As she groaned and wailed, she noticed a red spot appear on his face, and grasping the sign of divine mercy, she arose giving thanks for the announcement of returning life.

“Never,” said Galen, “in my life have I seen a man entirely cured of leprosy, unless he drank wine into which a snake had fallen and rotted. When this wine was drunk, I have seen it abrade off and strip the skin.”38 The works of Galen, the Roman physician of the second century CE, were core medical texts in the Middle Ages. Robertson believed that this quote was derived from Galen’s De simplicium medicamentorum, XI.1: see K. G. Kühn (ed.), Claudii Galeni Opera Omnia (Leipzig, 1821–33), vol. 12, p. 313. We, however, have seen two men perfectly cleansed and not retaining any sign of leprosy who had no other medicine than the blood and water of the martyr. One of them, by the name of Richard,39 This is almost certainly Richard Sunieve, whose cure was described by Benedict: see IV.76. dwelled at the tomb of the martyr for a long time, eating and drinking such things as we had [Lk 10:7], and was a spectacle for the kings, earls, natives and foreigners who had come to pray. The other was a certain Hugh, of the village of Ebblingham, which stands about fifteen furlongs away from the great town that the common folk give the name of the confessor Omer.40 That is, the town Saint-Omer, named after the seventh-century bishop St. Omer (also known as St. Audomar). We saw him leprous and we dismissed him from us cleansed, warning him to carry on his business without fraud (for he was a merchant), or to give up business entirely. For he had a suitable character for some other more honorable situation, and in strength of body he was not yet past the prime of life. He was cured in an easy manner, though he had a difficult disease, which should have been the more difficult since it was a year since it had broken out on his skin. He spent two nights in prayer with us, and left having had his face sprinkled with a moderate amount of the water. On departing, in a short time he felt its mighty and wonderful power. When he returned to give thanks, he made its effectiveness known to us, and we believed, since his cleansed face warranted faith.

What is the Lord doing, do you think, in healing so many lepers at the present time? Let no one find it tiresome if I say what I believe about this, for I do not presume to preempt a better judgment. To be sure, the Lord exalts the saint who suffered and acted for him in the causes of his people. Because secular power had condemned ecclesiastical liberty to a servitude it did not owe, and because the charity of many had cooled in the world’s evening, it was necessary for the living sacrifice, pleasing to God, to be slaughtered. And so, he could cure leprosy, as well as other ailments, in order that the violence that had raged would be restrained through this, and the faith that had cooled would be rekindled. Thus, the high priest was sent by the decree of supernatural dispensation. He was chafed by a hairshirt, tested by exile, struck by affliction of his own and of his familiars, and fought invincibly for a long time in the battleline of trials. When the course of his combat was happily completed, what he was not able to do while living, he completed in death. In a wonderful way, after his death he rises again more powerfully against the enemy, as you say truly, his weakness is stronger than men [1 Cor 1:25]. And so, he cures all forms of leprosy, not only tyria and leonina, but also elephancia and alopecia, and any other forms of leprosy the physician contrives.41 For a discussion of these four forms of leprosy, which were thought to correspond to the four humors of the body in medieval medical thinking, see Carole Rawcliffe, Leprosy in Medieval England (Woodbridge, 2006), 74–5. He also cures what is the greater: spiritual leprosy, namely the diversity of faults defiling the purity of the soul. For just as exterior leprosy defiles the body by making spots on it, so the beauty of souls is disfigured by its leprosy. For there are those with the sternness of a lion, many the craftiness of a snake, not a few the deceit of a fox, and many have consciences cauterized and blackened, imitating in their customs the properties of the elephant.42 William is playing here on the associations of the four types of leprosy with types of animals: leonina with the stern lion; tyria with the crafty serpent; alopecia with the deceitful fox; and elephancia with the blackened and wrinkly skin of an elephant. And so, with benefits such as these, the good are invited to goodness, the bad are called back from evil, and by the grace of God, today’s world sees such progress as has not been known since the time the apostles were upon the earth.

In a remarkable display of brotherly love and of peace within the church, the martyr Thomas warned his enemy, Roger, the bishop of York,43 See Biographical Notes, Roger de Pont l’Évêque, archbishop of York. with a new wonder, a man extremely erudite in human and divine affairs if he had known according to knowledge. The bishop Roger was bringing water into his village of Churchdown from the top of a mountain about five hundred paces away. In the middle bulged a hill about twenty-four feet high, its steep top looking down on the surrounding plains and fields. When the work was at boiling point, the hill was dug through, such that it might take the course of the water in a straight direction through its opened side. A certain William, who had hired out his labours from the neighboring city of Gloucester, was hard at work. When he was laying the lead pipe in the depths of the opened hill, a heap of earth that had been dug out fell on top of him. His companions were flying here and there and wanted to dig him out, already all covered up, when behold, again from a steep cliff, an unstable, overhanging mound of earth suddenly rolled down and trapped the youth. They estimated what fell on him to be about a hundred cartloads. He himself was bent forward with his hands spread out before his face, and was wearing only a smock since he had been hard at work. When he saw that a means of escape was denied to him, he sighed for the Lord, the first and the last refuge for anyone in any need. He also invoked the blessed Virgin Mary, who, according to her name, is a star to the haven of eternal happiness for those tossed about in the turbulent sea of human misfortune. But because the Lord wished to glorify his martyr, he did not provide help at the invocation of his name. What should the miserable man do, cut off by the fall of such a great mound of earth? The blockage of air denied breath, the heaped-up mound separated him from all human help. The enclosed breath began to be stretched, and when he was tormented to the point of death, the name of the martyr Thomas came into his mouth. And he said, “Blessed Thomas, men say that you have power with your Lord, and what you are asked for, you can easily obtain. If you are so holy and are such a one as you are proclaimed by the mouth of the people, help me, I who have been placed at the point of death. Release me, caught in this most miserable way. Take me out of this prison, restoring me to my former place. You will be refuge to me, and I will seek the place consecrated by your precious blood, where living you strove for the freedom of the church and dead you conquered.” Saying these things (for we do not concoct what he could have said, but rather we speak those things he did say, preferring to say less than to speak beyond the truth), the distended man breathed out the wind with which he was swollen with much belching, and, vomiting, he was relieved. From this point he regained the ability to breathe.

These things were happening in the heart of the earth. The cry was made, “Priest, priest, since he is dead!” Summoned, the priest performed the funeral rites, and when they were completed, he returned home. The buried man, left alone and by himself through the night, awaited the mercy of the martyr. Already fifty-one days had passed since the summer solstice,44 This indicates that the accident occurred on August 11, very likely in 1173. and with Leo about to send the sun into Virgo, the nights had lengthened. And yet in such a length of nights, the Lord was to him a helper in tribulation. For a local woman had a vision, and in the morning said to her son, “I think, son, that the one who was buried still lives, for I saw in my sleep that he drank milk and rested in milk.” And he, contrary to his usual custom, immediately got up from bed and went into the fields, not to work, but for whatever chance might bring. As if he were led by the Spirit, he came to the place, which was now not for water-bringing but for weeping. Putting his ear to the earth, he heard something like a groan. And he called to the man in charge of the fields, who had gone out early in the morning to care for the draught horse that he had turned out at night, saying, “See here! He still lives, for I hear something like a man’s crying groan.” He answered, “It is nothing, and if all of Gloucester said it was true, I would not believe it.” “Come and listen,” he replied, and when they had heard it, the other announced to the priest that he lived. Suspending the divine office, he came immediately to that place with the people. The same thing was announced to Gloucester, that he still lived. There came many who were eager and devoted in mind to their neighbor – the old man, the young boy, the woman – and they applied themselves to remove the earth with scoops, platters, basins, and other homely utensils. The buried man, hearing the noisy activity and everyone working to find him first, called out to those standing above him, near and far, because he was worried either that they would hurt him with their iron tools or that they would fail to get to him. The day wore on to the third hour.45 That is, mid-morning. Then at last the buried man appeared, with battered cheeks and arms crushed almost to the breaking point, stiff and numb from the harsh subterranean cold. And so he was brought back to the surface so that sinners might be brought out of the depths. For we believe that the martyr saved the innocent soul for the purpose of reformation, such that the wicked might save their souls. You might think this, since with time passing he delayed openly showing himself at Canterbury, and it was said to some woman in her dreams that he was foolhardy to delay to exhibit the manifestation of divine compassion at the tomb of the martyr, and he would not escape punishment if he presumed to delay further. The same man who suffered these things told them to us, and he brought a letter saying the following:

“Greetings from Geoffrey, dean of Gloucester, to his venerable lord and father, prior of the Holy Trinity [of Canterbury], and all the convent.

Know that the bearer of these letters, William, was buried in a certain deep pit, twenty-three feet deep,46 In the copy of Dean Geoffrey’s letter found in Benedict’s collection, the pit is said to be twenty-four rather than twenty-three feet deep. Both collectors, too, have the number twenty-four. Something seems to have gone wrong either in the manuscript transmission of Geoffrey’s letter or in Robertson’s edition. his co-workers having fled, and he was buried there for one night and up to the third hour of the next day. The funeral rites were conducted for him as if he were dead. He, however, feeling the approach of death, invoked God and prayed that he might be liberated from this great danger by the merits of his most glorious martyr Thomas. Crying aloud, he made a vow that he would go to the place where saint Thomas had been killed. After this was heard by some people who were passing that place, they announced to the entire village that they had heard a human voice in the pit. The priest and more than a hundred men hastened there and drew him out. But also many other miracles are done among us every day through Thomas, the most glorious martyr of Christ, which I will relate to you when I come to you in a short time, God willing.”

In a certain estate of the church of Canterbury, there is a village called Ifeld in the English tongue.47 Ifield, Kent, now usually termed Singlewell, was a peculiar of the archbishop of Canterbury until 1846. See F. R. H. Du Boulay, The Lordship of Canterbury: An Essay on Medieval Society (London, 1966), pp. 350–1. A marvelous thing occurred there that is worthy to be told. In the house of a certain Thomas, a man far from humble according to earthly judgment, the mother of the family was absent, and the household servants, eating breakfast as they do, asked two daughters of the family to give them cheese to savor alongside their bread.48 For medieval Europeans, breakfast was not a common meal (the main meal of the day was usually eaten about 11am). For those who did it eat it, breakfast usually was nothing more than some bread. The household servants were asking for a treat. In this way they took advantage of the poor judgment of the younger daughter, named Salerna, who, having received the keys, went freely in and out of the larder. When the mother returned home, she did not find the right number of cheeses and summoned her daughters. Accusing both of an act of theft, she suspected the younger one. She gave her a whipping and threatened worse to come.

In the morning, the mother went to a chapel about three furlongs from her home. By the dispensation of the Lord who foresees what is to come, a servant had arrived from the mill sooner than was usual. Lying down on the straw, he had sought sleep. The girl had spent a troubled night premeditating her death, the whole night sleepless on account of her fears. She went into an inner room as if she were going to her little brother, who had been placed in her charge. Closing the door after her, she went out into the orchard. Crossing through the hedge, she walked back and forth, shrinking back from the wrongdoing she had planned. On the one side, the fear of death held her back. On the other, the enemy of the human race, transformed into the shape of one of the female servants, urged and propelled her on. At last, passing quickly through the hedge, she uncovered the well’s mouth. Putting her legs inside, she hung by her arms. When a swineherd saw her from the field and shouted, she worried she would be stopped, and sent herself into the well, saying, “May the Lord and blessed Thomas provide for me.”

And so, the virgin, having turned around many times, sunk to the bottom of the water three times. Emerging for the fourth time, she saw the blessed Thomas saying, “You will not die. You will come out of the well.” I will speak of something wonderful and hardly to be believed, yet uncontaminated by falsehood. The depth of the well was twenty-five large cubits50 A cubit, a measure of the forearm from the elbow to the end of the middle finger, was understood to be one and a half times the size of a foot. In our terms, this would make the well about fifteen meters deep, filled with about three and a half meters of water. to the top of the water, and eight more to the bottom of the water, and yet despite the well’s depth, she who threw herself into it was preserved unharmed. For the divine hand had placed a plank across the well, put the shipwrecked girl upon it, and placed a staff in her hands, with which she propped herself up along the side of the well. This is the hand that is placed under the just man when he falls lest he be bruised, just as is said, He will help him, and his arm will make his fast, so that the enemy may not prevail over him, and the son of iniquity may not add hurt to him [Ps 88:22–3]. For this was the hand that led the sons of Israel out of slavery in Egypt, Jonah from the belly of the whale, Daniel from the lion’s den, Peter from prison, and Paul from the depths of the sea.51 These are all well-known biblical stories: see the books of Exodus, Jonah, and Daniel, and for the stories of Peter and Paul, Acts 12:3–19 and Acts 27:27–28:5. It created the ivy that gave noontime shade to the prophet,52 For ivy giving shade to the prophet, see Jonah 4:6. and it also created the plank for the assistance of shipwrecked girl. Do not be deceived lest you think that the plank had been put in the well deliberately for the support of those going into it, because they had this custom, that if something fell into it, as sometimes happens, it had to be pulled out and the bottom searched with a hook. From the time the well was dug, neither the lord nor any of the servants had noticed such a plank. Let one say what he pleases, and argue that it had been put there a long time before, and, long after it was forgotten, it was sometimes underneath the water, sometimes just at the surface, according to the increase or decrease of the well’s water. And let him explain how this girl, just thirteen years old, for that was her age, who threw herself down from such a height, could get up on the plank and press down on it with her feet. What besides divine mercy, which does not wish anyone’s death, sent the support into her hands?

The swineherd, seeing the virgin throw herself down, ran with shouts, calling the sleeping servant, who was seeing in his dream a man threatening him with a clenched fist, saying “Lie down: if you get up, you will immediately be stopped by this fist on your jaw. Sleep, lest you wake to your destruction.” Speak, ungodly devil, what power your deceit now has. The multiplicity of your machinations does not prevail against the simple and innocent. Author of deceit, you deceived the young virgin, you thought of her as prey, but you did not keep her in possession, for your deceit was engulfed by the martyr’s victory. You sent the servant to sleep and prohibited his assistance, but this and everything else you plotted was spoiled. You attack and are hostile to the shepherd’s little sheep, but the provident shepherd fends off your deceits.

Woken by the servant’s shouts, the servant heard about the wretched woman’s fall. He quickly cast off his clothes, and, naked, he prepared to go down into the well and was lowered in. But seeing that this would not work, he seized a horse and notified the mother, along with those who were in the church, what had happened. Lamenting her guilt and the fear that she had struck in the very fearful virgin, she came to the well with a flood of villagers. Among them was a certain Ralph, a strong and agile young man, who, by divine will, had gone to that chapel on that day, contrary to his usual habit. Except for him, no-one there at that time dared to descend into the subterranean depths. Arriving there, they lowered a leather bag for holding liquid, which settled on the crossways plank next to the standing girl. This young man Ralph was let down by a rope, and he found the girl standing, as we have said, and he stood on the plank beside her. He tied the rope to her, and when she was pulled out she called out, “Get ready to measure my body, vowing to the blessed Thomas.” And so the soul of the innocent and simple girl was saved. Having been misled by an evil spirit, she was drawn out without any harm to her limbs, blessed be God and the martyr forever! Let us say, “God, who reveals your mercy to the greatest extent when you generously give your grace to the unworthy, provide, we seek, that we who cannot be saved by our own merits, may always be helped by the intercession of your holy martyr Thomas, through the Lord, etc.”53 This would seem to be a well-known prayer for Thomas Becket’s aid.

There is a great village called Roxburgh at the borders of Loegria54 Loegria is another term for England: see entry for Loegria in DMLBS. which is washed by the Tweed, a deep river teeming with fish. A youth, John, was turning away from its channel with the horse he had been watering, when the fearful animal was frightened by a standing hurdle through which the sand was flowing.55 In other words, there was a fishing weir on the shore of the river that frightened the horse. Leaping into the depths, the horse cast off its rider and hurried back to its familiar stall. Woe to him who is alone, for when he falls, he has no-one to lift him up [Eccl 4:10]. The man thrown off began to sink, snatched by the strong current and dragged under the waves to the bottom of the riverbed. The shadows of night were falling and all human help was denied to him, and in this hopeless state he turned to prayer, saying, “Hurry to the rescue, Thomas, extraordinary martyr, and do not let your servant die, I who recently visited the holy threshold of your martyrdom. Help, champion of God, lest your pilgrim perish.”

When he had said this brief prayer as well as the wave-tossed flood and his held breath would allow, he was engulfed and thrust underneath a certain stony concave. Either nature made it or the martyr hollowed it out for his shipwrecked one. There he was hidden in the deep, fixed in the mire, and in the middle of the night, behold, eight venerable personages were supported upon the waters, walking side by side in silence. On their approach, the submerged youth emerged, brought out at once from under the stone. By the aid of an upward-flowing current, he was carried towards a bent willow tree licking the top of the water. When he grasped a small branch which hung down in his hands, it broke, either by the dispensation of the martyr, or by the heavy weight of the one grabbing it, or due to the weakness of the wood, or rather by the artifice of an evil spirit, and he was again hurled back into the water. In addition, a stone from the bank rolled onto him, throwing him well away from the shore. Then he was brought to a bridge which, with its arching arms, embraced the river channel. It was located more than a bowshot away from the spot where he had fallen from his horse. How wonderful is the love and zeal of the saints for the protection of mortals! Those who had first appeared to the shipwrecked one appeared again to him under the bridge. They rescued him, now at the point of death, and placed him upon the bridge, which stands three or four cubits57 A cubit was the measure of a forearm. In modern terms, this means that the bridge was about a meter and a half above the water. above the water. One of them, of handsome appearance and dressed like a priest, consoled him with common speech, saying, “Get up and go home. You were mindful of your own good yesterday when you remembered me. In the future, be intent on good deeds.”

Once the vision of the saints slipped from his eyes, he vomited out the river-­water he had drunk. Having been given some strength for a time, he crept on hands and knees and knocked on the door of the tollkeeper whose house was attached to the bridge. Wondering who would knock at dawn, he asked who it was. He answered that he was John. “I still don’t know you,” he said, “for that name is given to many.” The one who knocked added, “I am John, the nephew of Sweyn the merchant.” “He will absolutely not come in,” said the wife of the tollkeeper, “because he is dead.” The news that he had been submerged and died had already spread widely.58 Compare with Acts 12:13–17 for the story of Peter, who escaped from prison and knocked on the door of a house of friends. Some of those inside could not believe it was Peter knocking, saying it had to be an angel. Her husband replied, “Whether he is dead or alive, from what he has said, he will come in.” And when the door was opened, he fell inside as if he were dead, deprived of strength, sight, and hearing, such that he was not able to get a word from him. He was carried to his own home, and as the day went on he opened his eyes and spoke.

On that day, William, the king of the Scots,59 King William I “the Lion” (1165–1214). was in that village. Struck by the novelty of such a miracle, he wished to witness this thing beyond belief himself and with his own eyes. However, since the purple does not pass into the accommodations of the humble, he sent the bishop of Glasgow and his archdeacon to investigate the truth.60 Ingram (also spelled Ingelram) was bishop of Glasgow from 1164 to 1174. He is known for opening the tomb of Waltheof, the second abbot of Melrose, in June 1171, in order to inspect the body for incorruption: see George Joseph McFadden, “An Edition and Translation of the Life of Waldef, Abbot of Melrose by Jocelin of Furness” (Columbia University, unpublished PhD thesis, 1952), pp. 341–4. They summoned the shipwrecked one, and under pain of excommunication they forbade him to say anything that would deviate from the truth and mislead the people. He told his story as we have told it about him, which he also told to us after a short time.