‘Good’ and ‘Death’ are not words that we necessarily associate with one another, are they? In fact, there was something about the awkward juxtaposition of these two words that almost shocked me when I first came across this term. But it was once an expression that was all-too familiar to people. In fact, it was once profoundly important to society.
But let me rewind a little. I’m the author of a series of historical crime novels, set in 14th century Kent and which follow the exploits of my protagonist – a young nobleman called Oswald de Lacy – the ‘spare’ who unexpectedly becomes head of his family when his older brothers die of plague. My latest novel ‘The Good Death’ centres around a death-bed confession that Oswald makes to his dying mother – a confession that tells the story of a murder investigation that Oswald undertook as a novice monk (before he was called upon to become Lord Somershill) and finally reveals the truth behind a very dark and long-hidden family secret.
So, what was a ‘good death?’ And why did it matter so much in the past – especially to the people of the Middle Ages? In essence, it was the belief that the soul should be prepared for the afterlife in the days and hours before death, to make sure that the sufferer’s passage through Purgatory would be quick, and that the gates of Heaven would be open upon arrival. As such, there was a strict set of religious rituals undertaken during these last hours, and in particular the administering of the sacraments of Confession, Communion and Anointing. If these rituals were properly observed, then the person could be said to have achieved a ‘good death.’ But the opposite is also true – in an age where superstition and fear prevailed to die without a ‘good death’ was a truly terrifying prospect.
One of the most important aspects of this ritual, was the idea that you must use these hours to completely and utterly forgive those who might have harmed you in this life. In the words of the Lord’s Prayer, it was important for the dying person to ‘forgive those who have trespassed against us.’ For me, this particular concept was irresistible, as it sets up all sorts of scintillating possibilities. In such circumstances, what secrets and indiscretions might others confess to, and then ask their dying relative to forgive? After all, there is little to lose and everything to gain in this scenario… for both parties. The confessor will be unburdening a secret before it’s too late, and the sufferer will achieve another point towards their ‘good death’. … as long as they can find it in their hearts to forgive, that is. And of course, if they can’t forgive the sinner, then they have only doomed themselves to eternal damnation – or an eternity in Purgatory at the very least.
I guess, in our more secular world, we might find this obsession with the rituals of the death-bed a little quaint? If we think about the concept of a ‘good death’ then it’s probably in the context of a quick and painless exit from this world, rather than any particular concerns about our eternal soul. That’s if we think about death at all. Because I think we’re pretty good at ignoring death in our modern world. I say this, even in the aftermath of this last year, when the Covid 19 pandemic has been raging. Despite this experience, I think that we are still determined ‘death ignorers’, if not exactly ‘death deniers.’
But the average person in the Middle Ages could be neither. Death was a constant companion throughout their lives, in a world where life expectancy was short, child mortality was high, and there was little in the way of effective medicine – for even the most basic of illnesses. This is not to mention the many plagues and pandemics that swept through society at regular intervals (not the 100 year gap that we might expect.) And when a person died, their body was not spirited away to a funeral parlour, never to be seen again. Instead it was washed and prepared for death by the family themselves, before it was proudly put on display, for everybody to visit – until it was finally buried in the ground of the local church, where the grave would be visible every time the surviving family attended weekly communion.
Under these circumstances, I think it’s very easy to understand our ancestors’ preoccupation with a good death, and the importance of following the rules. In his book, The Black Death, John Hatcher tells us that, ‘In the later Middle Ages the deathbed was commonly portrayed as a battlefield where the forces of good and evil, mercy and condemnation, fought over the soul of the dying.’ I hope to have given a true flavour of this ‘battlefield’ in my novel, and to have fully explored the fall-out of the death-bed confessional!
The Good Death by S D Sykes ( Hodder and Stoughton) Out Now
1370. Oswald de Lacy was not always Lord of the Manor, or even meant to be. The third son, he was sent off to become a novice monk. Now, with winter closing in on Somershill, his wife flirting with their houseguest, his sister sniping from the sidelines and his mother still ruling his life even from her deathbed, Oswald is forced to confront the secret that has haunted him ever since those days in the monastery. 1349. Sent to gather herbs in the forest by his tutor, Brother Peter, 18-year-old Oswald encounters a terrified girl, who runs into the swollen river and drowns. In her village, he discovers that she is only one of many poor young women who have disappeared, with no-one in authority caring enough to investigate. Convinced the girls are dead, Oswald turns to the village women for help in finding the murderer - in particular to the beautiful Maud Woodstock, who provokes feelings in Oswald that no monk should entertain. Soon, however, another killer stalks the land. Plague has come and the monastery is locked against it. Brother Peter insists that Oswald should forget his quest. But Oswald will not stop until he has discovered the shocking truth, which will echo down the years to a letter, clutched in his dying mother's hand.
More information about S D Sykes and the Oswald de Lacy series can be found on her website. You can also follow her on Twitter @SD_Sykes
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