On a winter night in 1091, a priest travelling through Normandy encountered a terrifying procession of the dead. Among the suffering souls were knights, clergymen and even members of his own family.
Ghosts and spirits were familiar figures in medieval stories, but they did not always appear simply to frighten the living. Many accounts describe the dead returning to ask for assistance, warn of impending danger or reveal the punishments they were suffering in the afterlife.
These stories were closely connected to Christian beliefs about sin, penance and the fate of the soul. During the Middle Ages, the concept of purgatory developed into a more clearly defined doctrine, describing a state of purification for souls destined for Heaven. The living could assist the dead through prayers, Masses and charitable acts. By the later Middle Ages, it had become common for people to leave money in their wills to support prayers and religious services for their souls.
One of the strangest medieval accounts of the dead returning to the world of the living was recorded by Orderic Vitalis, a twelfth-century monk at the abbey of Saint-Évroult in Normandy. His Ecclesiastical History, which recounts events in the Anglo-Norman world down to 1141, includes political affairs, warfare, religious matters and stories circulating in his own community.
Among these is the extraordinary experience of a priest named Walchelin, who claimed to have encountered an entire army of the dead.
A Mysterious Army Appears in Normandy
A page of Orderic Vitalis’s Ecclesiastical History, written in the 12th century. The manuscript preserves part of the work in the historian’s own handwriting. Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS Latin 5506 fol. 1v
In Book Eight of his Ecclesiastical History, Orderic pauses his account of the conflicts involving William Rufus and Robert of Bellême to introduce an unusual incident:
I am sure that I should not pass over in silence or consign to oblivion something that happened to a priest in the diocese of Lisieux on January 1st.
The priest was named Walchelin, whom Orderic describes as “he was a young man, strong and brave, well-built and active.”
On the night of 1 January 1091, Walchelin was returning home after visiting a sick man at the far end of his parish. He was travelling along a deserted road, far from any houses, when he heard what sounded like a large army approaching.
Believing these might be the soldiers of Robert of Bellême, Walchelin decided to hide among the trees until they had passed. However, he was prevented from escaping:
But a man of huge stature, carrying a great mace, barred the priest’s way as he ran and, brandishing the weapon over his head, cried out, ‘Stand; go no further.’ The priest obeyed at once and stood motionless, leaning on the staff he was carrying. The stern mace-bearer stood beside him without harming him, waiting for the army to pass by.
Unable to flee, Walchelin remained beside the road as an extraordinary procession began passing before him.
The Terrifying Procession of the Dead
The Three Living and Three Dead – The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, Ms. 23, fol. 146v,
The first group consisted of thousands of people who appeared to be peasants. They carried clothes, animals, furniture and other possessions across their necks and shoulders. At first, Walchelin thought they were people transporting goods plundered during a military campaign.
Next came hundreds of women riding side-saddle on horses. Their saddles were covered with red-hot nails, which burned and pierced their bodies. As they rode, the women repeatedly leapt into the air before falling back onto the nails, enduring the same terrible punishment over and over.
They were followed by priests, monks, bishops and abbots, all dressed in black cowls, groaning and lamenting as they travelled.
Then came an even more frightening sight:
Next followed a great army of knights in which no colour was visible save blackness and flickering fire. All rode upon huge horses, fully armed as if they were galloping to battle and carrying jet-black standards.
What disturbed Walchelin most was that he recognised many of the people passing before him. They included neighbours and fellow clergymen who had died in recent years. Some had been regarded as particularly good Christians, even as saintly individuals, yet they too were among the suffering dead.
Others endured punishments that reflected the sins they had committed during their lives. Among the most horrifying were those carried on biers:
On the biers sat men as small as dwarfs, but with huge heads like barrels. One enormous tree-trunk was borne by two Ethiopians, and on the trunk some wretch, tightly trussed, was suffering tortures, screaming aloud in his dreadful agony. A fearful demon sitting on the same trunk was mercilessly goading his back and loins with red-hot spurs while he streamed with blood.
Walchelin recognised the tormented man as the murderer of a priest named Stephen, who had been killed less than two years earlier. According to the account, the murderer had died without completing penance for his crime and was now suffering for having shed innocent blood.
The procession was not simply an assembly of ghosts. It presented Walchelin with a terrifying vision of the consequences of sin, in which the punishments of the dead reflected their conduct during life.
Hellequin’s Army and the Medieval Wild Hunt
A procession of masked figures and musicians in a medieval illustration from the Roman de Fauvel, dating to the early 14th century. The scene depicts a charivari, a noisy procession associated with Hellequin’s Army. Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS Français 146, fol. 34v.
As Walchelin watched the procession, he realised that he was witnessing something he had previously dismissed as folklore: Hellequin’s Army.
Orderic Vitalis provides one of the earliest surviving written accounts of this supernatural host, although the story suggests that tales of its appearances were already circulating orally. The legend belonged to a wider family of medieval traditions concerning mysterious companies of the dead or supernatural riders travelling across the landscape. These stories are often associated with what later became known as the Wild Hunt, although the different accounts varied considerably in their characters, explanations and meanings.
One related tradition appears in the writings of Walter Map (c. 1140–c. 1210), who tells the story of King Herla, an ancient British ruler who entered into an agreement with a dwarf king.
After visiting the dwarf king, Herla received a small dog and was warned that neither he nor his companions should dismount until the animal jumped down. Anyone who disobeyed would immediately turn to dust.
But the dog never jumped down. Herla and his companions were consequently condemned to remain on horseback, wandering endlessly through the world.
Although Map’s story of King Herla shares features with the supernatural processions described by Orderic, the two accounts are not identical. Herla’s company is trapped by an otherworldly prohibition, while the members of Hellequin’s Army in Orderic’s narrative are suffering punishments for their sins.
For medieval Christian writers, such stories could serve as warnings about the afterlife. Orderic’s version transforms a frightening supernatural tradition into a lesson about repentance, penance and the importance of prayers for the dead.
A Priest Attempts to Capture a Ghostly Horse
Walchelin had heard stories of Hellequin’s Army before, but had never believed them. Now, confronted by the procession, he wondered how he could convince others that what he had seen was real.
He decided that the best evidence would be to capture one of the riderless horses following the host and take it home.
As Orderic relates, Walchelin reasoned:
I have heard many who claimed to have seen them, but have ridiculed the tale-tellers and not believed them because I never saw any solid proof of such things. Now I do indeed see the shades of the dead with my own eyes, but no one will believe me when I describe my vision unless I can show some token to living men. I will catch one of the riderless horses following the host, quickly mount it and take it home, to compel the belief of my neighbours when I show it to them.
The first horse escaped before Walchelin could seize it. Another approached, and this time the priest managed to reach the animal.
The horse stopped for the priest to mount, breathing from its nostrils a great cloud of steam in the shape of a tall oak-tree. The priest put his left foot in the stirrup and, seizing the reins, placed his hand on the saddle; immediately he felt an intense burning like raging fire under his foot; and an indescribable cold struck into his heart from the hand that held the reins.
Four dead knights suddenly rushed towards Walchelin, demanding to know why he was interfering with their horses.
“Why are you molesting our horses? Come with us. None of our people has harmed you, yet you try to take what is ours.”
The priest was terrified, but one of the knights intervened to prevent the others from harming him.
The knight identified himself as William of Glos and began explaining the punishments he endured because of his actions during life. Among his sins was usury, particularly his treatment of a poor man who had pledged a mill as security for a loan.
William explained:
But most of all usury torments me. For I lent my money to a poor man, receiving a mill of his as a pledge, and because he was unable to repay the loan I retained the pledge all my life and disinherited the legitimate heir by leaving it to my heirs. See, I carry a burning mill-shaft in my mouth which, believe me, seems heavier than the castle of Rouen. Therefore tell my wife Beatrice and my son Roger that they must help me by quickly restoring to the heir the pledge, from which they have received far more than I ever gave.
William wanted Walchelin to deliver a message to his surviving family, instructing them to restore the property to its rightful heir. This would help relieve the punishment he was suffering.
But Walchelin refused to become involved.
“It is not right to declare such things. In no circumstances will I carry your orders out to anyone.”
Enraged, the dead knight seized the priest by the throat, dragging him along the ground. Walchelin felt the knight’s hand burning against his skin and cried out for the Virgin Mary’s assistance.
Just as he seemed about to be overwhelmed, another knight appeared, brandishing his sword.
“Wretches, why are you murdering my brother? Leave him and be gone.”
A Reunion Between Two Brothers
The newcomer approached Walchelin and revealed himself to be his brother Robert, who had died in England.
At first, Walchelin refused to believe him. Even when the knight revealed details that only his brother could have known, the priest remained doubtful.
Robert finally exclaimed:
I am amazed by your hardness and obstinacy. I brought you up after both our parents died, and loved you more than any living person. I sent you to schools in France, kept you well-provided with clothes and money, and in many other ways furthered your progress. Now you have forgotten all this and disdain even to recognize me.
Only then did Walchelin accept that the knight was indeed his brother.
The two spoke about Robert’s experiences since his death. He explained that he had suffered terribly because of his sins, with his weapons and armour becoming instruments of punishment.
After I last spoke to you in Normandy I left for England with your blessing; there I reached my life’s end when my Creator willed, and I have endured severe punishment for the great sins with which I am heavily burdened. The arms which we bear are red-hot, and offend us with an appalling stench, weighing us down with intolerable weight, and burning with everlasting fire. Up to now I have suffered unspeakable torture from these punishments.
Yet Robert also revealed that the prayers and religious services performed by his living brother had already helped their family.
But when you were ordained in England and sang your first Mass for the faithful departed your father Ralph escaped from his punishments and my shield, which caused me great pain, fell from me. As you see I still carry this sword, but I look in faith for release from this burden within the year.
This was one of the central messages of Orderic’s story. The living could help relieve the suffering of the dead, particularly through prayers, Masses and charitable acts.
As the last members of Hellequin’s Army disappeared, Robert told Walchelin that he could remain no longer.
I cannot speak longer with you, my brother, for I am compelled to hasten after this wretched host. Remember me, I beg: help me with your prayers and compassionate alms. In one year from Palm Sunday I hope to be saved and released from all torments by the mercy of my Creator. Take thought for your own welfare: correct your life wisely, for it is stained by many vices, and you must know that it will not be long enduring.
A Medieval Warning from the Dead
Three Living and Three Dead. 15th century, pigments and gold on parchment, 7 x 5 ½ in (173 x 135 mm). credit: University of Notre Dame, Hesburgh Library, Frag. III.1, fol. 75v.
After the ghostly army had departed, Walchelin became seriously ill and remained unwell for a week. Eventually, he recovered and reported his experience to the local bishop.
Orderic Vitalis adds an intriguing detail: he claimed to have heard the story directly from Walchelin himself. He also reported seeing the scar on the priest’s face, supposedly left by the dead knight who had attacked him.
Walchelin survived the encounter and lived for at least another fifteen years.
For Orderic, the importance of the story lay not simply in its frightening supernatural events, but in the moral lessons it offered. The suffering of the dead demonstrated the consequences of sin, while the experiences of Walchelin’s relatives showed how the living could assist souls awaiting salvation.
The account also offers historians a fascinating glimpse into medieval beliefs about ghosts, the afterlife and the relationship between the living and the dead. It combines elements of popular folklore with Christian teachings about repentance and spiritual punishment.
Whether Walchelin’s extraordinary experience was believed by everyone who heard it is impossible to know. But Orderic was clear about why he thought the story deserved to be preserved: “I have recorded these things for the edification of my readers, so the just men may be encouraged in good, and the vicious may repent of evil.”
On a winter night in 1091, a priest travelling through Normandy encountered a terrifying procession of the dead. Among the suffering souls were knights, clergymen and even members of his own family.
Ghosts and spirits were familiar figures in medieval stories, but they did not always appear simply to frighten the living. Many accounts describe the dead returning to ask for assistance, warn of impending danger or reveal the punishments they were suffering in the afterlife.
These stories were closely connected to Christian beliefs about sin, penance and the fate of the soul. During the Middle Ages, the concept of purgatory developed into a more clearly defined doctrine, describing a state of purification for souls destined for Heaven. The living could assist the dead through prayers, Masses and charitable acts. By the later Middle Ages, it had become common for people to leave money in their wills to support prayers and religious services for their souls.
One of the strangest medieval accounts of the dead returning to the world of the living was recorded by Orderic Vitalis, a twelfth-century monk at the abbey of Saint-Évroult in Normandy. His Ecclesiastical History, which recounts events in the Anglo-Norman world down to 1141, includes political affairs, warfare, religious matters and stories circulating in his own community.
Among these is the extraordinary experience of a priest named Walchelin, who claimed to have encountered an entire army of the dead.
A Mysterious Army Appears in Normandy
In Book Eight of his Ecclesiastical History, Orderic pauses his account of the conflicts involving William Rufus and Robert of Bellême to introduce an unusual incident:
I am sure that I should not pass over in silence or consign to oblivion something that happened to a priest in the diocese of Lisieux on January 1st.
The priest was named Walchelin, whom Orderic describes as “he was a young man, strong and brave, well-built and active.”
On the night of 1 January 1091, Walchelin was returning home after visiting a sick man at the far end of his parish. He was travelling along a deserted road, far from any houses, when he heard what sounded like a large army approaching.
Believing these might be the soldiers of Robert of Bellême, Walchelin decided to hide among the trees until they had passed. However, he was prevented from escaping:
But a man of huge stature, carrying a great mace, barred the priest’s way as he ran and, brandishing the weapon over his head, cried out, ‘Stand; go no further.’ The priest obeyed at once and stood motionless, leaning on the staff he was carrying. The stern mace-bearer stood beside him without harming him, waiting for the army to pass by.
Unable to flee, Walchelin remained beside the road as an extraordinary procession began passing before him.
The Terrifying Procession of the Dead
The first group consisted of thousands of people who appeared to be peasants. They carried clothes, animals, furniture and other possessions across their necks and shoulders. At first, Walchelin thought they were people transporting goods plundered during a military campaign.
Next came hundreds of women riding side-saddle on horses. Their saddles were covered with red-hot nails, which burned and pierced their bodies. As they rode, the women repeatedly leapt into the air before falling back onto the nails, enduring the same terrible punishment over and over.
They were followed by priests, monks, bishops and abbots, all dressed in black cowls, groaning and lamenting as they travelled.
Then came an even more frightening sight:
Next followed a great army of knights in which no colour was visible save blackness and flickering fire. All rode upon huge horses, fully armed as if they were galloping to battle and carrying jet-black standards.
What disturbed Walchelin most was that he recognised many of the people passing before him. They included neighbours and fellow clergymen who had died in recent years. Some had been regarded as particularly good Christians, even as saintly individuals, yet they too were among the suffering dead.
Others endured punishments that reflected the sins they had committed during their lives. Among the most horrifying were those carried on biers:
On the biers sat men as small as dwarfs, but with huge heads like barrels. One enormous tree-trunk was borne by two Ethiopians, and on the trunk some wretch, tightly trussed, was suffering tortures, screaming aloud in his dreadful agony. A fearful demon sitting on the same trunk was mercilessly goading his back and loins with red-hot spurs while he streamed with blood.
Walchelin recognised the tormented man as the murderer of a priest named Stephen, who had been killed less than two years earlier. According to the account, the murderer had died without completing penance for his crime and was now suffering for having shed innocent blood.
The procession was not simply an assembly of ghosts. It presented Walchelin with a terrifying vision of the consequences of sin, in which the punishments of the dead reflected their conduct during life.
Hellequin’s Army and the Medieval Wild Hunt
As Walchelin watched the procession, he realised that he was witnessing something he had previously dismissed as folklore: Hellequin’s Army.
Orderic Vitalis provides one of the earliest surviving written accounts of this supernatural host, although the story suggests that tales of its appearances were already circulating orally. The legend belonged to a wider family of medieval traditions concerning mysterious companies of the dead or supernatural riders travelling across the landscape. These stories are often associated with what later became known as the Wild Hunt, although the different accounts varied considerably in their characters, explanations and meanings.
One related tradition appears in the writings of Walter Map (c. 1140–c. 1210), who tells the story of King Herla, an ancient British ruler who entered into an agreement with a dwarf king.
After visiting the dwarf king, Herla received a small dog and was warned that neither he nor his companions should dismount until the animal jumped down. Anyone who disobeyed would immediately turn to dust.
But the dog never jumped down. Herla and his companions were consequently condemned to remain on horseback, wandering endlessly through the world.
Although Map’s story of King Herla shares features with the supernatural processions described by Orderic, the two accounts are not identical. Herla’s company is trapped by an otherworldly prohibition, while the members of Hellequin’s Army in Orderic’s narrative are suffering punishments for their sins.
For medieval Christian writers, such stories could serve as warnings about the afterlife. Orderic’s version transforms a frightening supernatural tradition into a lesson about repentance, penance and the importance of prayers for the dead.
A Priest Attempts to Capture a Ghostly Horse
Walchelin had heard stories of Hellequin’s Army before, but had never believed them. Now, confronted by the procession, he wondered how he could convince others that what he had seen was real.
He decided that the best evidence would be to capture one of the riderless horses following the host and take it home.
As Orderic relates, Walchelin reasoned:
I have heard many who claimed to have seen them, but have ridiculed the tale-tellers and not believed them because I never saw any solid proof of such things. Now I do indeed see the shades of the dead with my own eyes, but no one will believe me when I describe my vision unless I can show some token to living men. I will catch one of the riderless horses following the host, quickly mount it and take it home, to compel the belief of my neighbours when I show it to them.
The first horse escaped before Walchelin could seize it. Another approached, and this time the priest managed to reach the animal.
The horse stopped for the priest to mount, breathing from its nostrils a great cloud of steam in the shape of a tall oak-tree. The priest put his left foot in the stirrup and, seizing the reins, placed his hand on the saddle; immediately he felt an intense burning like raging fire under his foot; and an indescribable cold struck into his heart from the hand that held the reins.
Four dead knights suddenly rushed towards Walchelin, demanding to know why he was interfering with their horses.
“Why are you molesting our horses? Come with us. None of our people has harmed you, yet you try to take what is ours.”
The priest was terrified, but one of the knights intervened to prevent the others from harming him.
The knight identified himself as William of Glos and began explaining the punishments he endured because of his actions during life. Among his sins was usury, particularly his treatment of a poor man who had pledged a mill as security for a loan.
William explained:
But most of all usury torments me. For I lent my money to a poor man, receiving a mill of his as a pledge, and because he was unable to repay the loan I retained the pledge all my life and disinherited the legitimate heir by leaving it to my heirs. See, I carry a burning mill-shaft in my mouth which, believe me, seems heavier than the castle of Rouen. Therefore tell my wife Beatrice and my son Roger that they must help me by quickly restoring to the heir the pledge, from which they have received far more than I ever gave.
William wanted Walchelin to deliver a message to his surviving family, instructing them to restore the property to its rightful heir. This would help relieve the punishment he was suffering.
But Walchelin refused to become involved.
“It is not right to declare such things. In no circumstances will I carry your orders out to anyone.”
Enraged, the dead knight seized the priest by the throat, dragging him along the ground. Walchelin felt the knight’s hand burning against his skin and cried out for the Virgin Mary’s assistance.
Just as he seemed about to be overwhelmed, another knight appeared, brandishing his sword.
“Wretches, why are you murdering my brother? Leave him and be gone.”
A Reunion Between Two Brothers
The newcomer approached Walchelin and revealed himself to be his brother Robert, who had died in England.
At first, Walchelin refused to believe him. Even when the knight revealed details that only his brother could have known, the priest remained doubtful.
Robert finally exclaimed:
I am amazed by your hardness and obstinacy. I brought you up after both our parents died, and loved you more than any living person. I sent you to schools in France, kept you well-provided with clothes and money, and in many other ways furthered your progress. Now you have forgotten all this and disdain even to recognize me.
Only then did Walchelin accept that the knight was indeed his brother.
The two spoke about Robert’s experiences since his death. He explained that he had suffered terribly because of his sins, with his weapons and armour becoming instruments of punishment.
After I last spoke to you in Normandy I left for England with your blessing; there I reached my life’s end when my Creator willed, and I have endured severe punishment for the great sins with which I am heavily burdened. The arms which we bear are red-hot, and offend us with an appalling stench, weighing us down with intolerable weight, and burning with everlasting fire. Up to now I have suffered unspeakable torture from these punishments.
Yet Robert also revealed that the prayers and religious services performed by his living brother had already helped their family.
But when you were ordained in England and sang your first Mass for the faithful departed your father Ralph escaped from his punishments and my shield, which caused me great pain, fell from me. As you see I still carry this sword, but I look in faith for release from this burden within the year.
This was one of the central messages of Orderic’s story. The living could help relieve the suffering of the dead, particularly through prayers, Masses and charitable acts.
As the last members of Hellequin’s Army disappeared, Robert told Walchelin that he could remain no longer.
I cannot speak longer with you, my brother, for I am compelled to hasten after this wretched host. Remember me, I beg: help me with your prayers and compassionate alms. In one year from Palm Sunday I hope to be saved and released from all torments by the mercy of my Creator. Take thought for your own welfare: correct your life wisely, for it is stained by many vices, and you must know that it will not be long enduring.
A Medieval Warning from the Dead
After the ghostly army had departed, Walchelin became seriously ill and remained unwell for a week. Eventually, he recovered and reported his experience to the local bishop.
Orderic Vitalis adds an intriguing detail: he claimed to have heard the story directly from Walchelin himself. He also reported seeing the scar on the priest’s face, supposedly left by the dead knight who had attacked him.
Walchelin survived the encounter and lived for at least another fifteen years.
For Orderic, the importance of the story lay not simply in its frightening supernatural events, but in the moral lessons it offered. The suffering of the dead demonstrated the consequences of sin, while the experiences of Walchelin’s relatives showed how the living could assist souls awaiting salvation.
The account also offers historians a fascinating glimpse into medieval beliefs about ghosts, the afterlife and the relationship between the living and the dead. It combines elements of popular folklore with Christian teachings about repentance and spiritual punishment.
Whether Walchelin’s extraordinary experience was believed by everyone who heard it is impossible to know. But Orderic was clear about why he thought the story deserved to be preserved: “I have recorded these things for the edification of my readers, so the just men may be encouraged in good, and the vicious may repent of evil.”
Further Readings
The Ecclesiastical History of Orderic Vitalis, Vol. 4, edited and translated by Marjorie Chibnall (Oxford, 1973).
The Written World: Past and Place in the Work of Orderic Vitalis, by Amanda Jane Hingst (Notre Dame, 2009).
Ghosts in the Middle Ages: The Living and the Dead in Medieval Society, by Jean-Claude Schmitt (Chicago, 1998).
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