Beheading: The Worst Way to Die During the Middle Ages
In the dimly lit halls of medieval castles and the blood-soaked sands of ancient Arabia, the whisper of a blade slicing through the air signaled the end of many a noble life. Beheading, a practice that may seem barbaric to modern sensibilities, was a common form of execution throughout the Middle Ages in Europe and the Middle East. But for the nobility, it was often seen as a more dignified way to meet one’s end compared to the brutal alternatives reserved for commoners. The 14th-century French chronicler Jean Froissart once wrote:
“The sword is the symbol of knighthood, and to die by the sword is the most honorable death a knight can have.”
The use of beheading as a form of capital punishment can be traced back to ancient civilizations such as the Greeks, Romans, and Persians. The Persian King Xerxes I, who ruled from 486 to 465 BC, was known to have ordered the beheading of captured enemy soldiers and even the decapitation of the corpse of his fallen foe, King Leonidas of Sparta. In ancient Rome, beheading was known as decollatio and was typically reserved for Roman citizens of high status, such as members of the nobility or military. The Roman historian Livy records the beheading of the consul Spurius Cassius in 485 BC, who was executed for attempting to establish a tyranny.
However, it reached new heights of prominence during the medieval period. From the 8th century onward, beheading became increasingly popular across Europe, particularly in England, France, and Germany. Notable figures like Sir William Wallace, a Scottish knight who led a resistance against the English in the late 13th century, and Anne Boleyn, the ill-fated second wife of King Henry VIII, met their ends at the blade of a sword or axe. In a cruel twist of fate, Anne Boleyn’s own brother, George Boleyn, was also beheaded just days before her on charges of treason and incest.
In the Middle East, beheading was also a common practice, particularly during the time of the Islamic caliphates. The legendary warrior Saladin, who fought against the Crusaders in the 12th century, was known to have ordered the beheading of captured enemy soldiers. In one infamous incident during the Battle of Hattin in 1187, Saladin reportedly beheaded Raynald of Châtillon, a Christian knight, with his own hands. The Muslim historian Ibn al-Athir wrote of the event:
“Saladin struck him with his own hand and cut off his head, sending it to the caliph in Baghdad as a trophy.”
But why was beheading considered a more honorable form of execution for the nobility? In medieval Europe, death by beheading was often reserved for those of high social status, while commoners were subjected to hanging, burning at the stake, or even more gruesome methods like being drawn and quartered. Beheading was seen as a quicker and more dignified way to die, as it did not involve the prolonged suffering and public humiliation that other methods entailed. In the words of the 15th-century English historian John Stow:
“The death of a beheaded man is speedy, his pain short, and his blood being about the veins suddenly falleth from the head, whereby he dieth presently.”
This belief in the swiftness and mercy of beheading was shared by many in the medieval world. Moreover, beheading was often carried out with a sword—a weapon associated with nobility and chivalry. In medieval art and literature, the sword was a symbol of power, honor, and justice. To die by the sword was to die a warrior’s death, a fate befitting a noble knight or king. The 12th-century French epic, The Song of Roland, tells of the heroic death of the knight Roland, who, mortally wounded in battle, attempts to break his sword, Durendal, to prevent it from falling into enemy hands. The poem reads:
“Many times he strikes it on a dark rock, more than I can tell. The steel grates, but neither breaks nor notches.”
However, the reality of beheadings was often far from the romanticized image of a clean, swift death. Executioners were not always skilled at their task, and it could take multiple blows to sever a head completely. In 1541, when Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury, was beheaded on the orders of King Henry VIII, it reportedly took the executioner eleven strikes to finish the job. The elderly Countess, who was 67 years old at the time, was said to have stood still without stirring as the blows rained down upon her neck.
Despite the grim realities, beheading remained a common practice throughout the Middle Ages and into the early modern period. It is estimated that between the 13th and 18th century, tens of thousands of people were beheaded in Europe alone. In England, the Tower of London was a notorious site of noble beheadings, with victims including two of King Henry VIII’s wives, Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard, as well as the “Nine Days’ Queen,” Lady Jane Grey, in 1554. The French Revolution, with its infamous Reign of Terror in the late 18th century, saw the beheading of thousands more by the newly invented guillotine, including King Louis XVI and his wife, Marie Antoinette.
As the 16th-century English poet Sir Walter Raleigh wrote on the eve of his own execution:
“Even such is time, that takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
And pays us but with earth and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days.”
Heads Will Roll: The Tragic Fates of History
Beneath the gleaming blades of swords and the shadow of the executioner’s axe, the pages of history are stained with the blood of countless nobles whose lives were cut short by the grim spectre of beheading. The 16th-century English poet Sir Walter Raleigh, who was himself beheaded in 1618, wrote in his poem The Pilgrimage:
“Tell them of that joy which flies beyond the farthest skies, where life is ever pleasant and sorrow is never present.”
One of the most infamous cases of noble beheading in English history is that of Anne Boleyn, the second wife of King Henry VIII. Accused of adultery, incest, and treason, Anne was imprisoned in the Tower of London in May 1536. Despite her protestations of innocence, she was found guilty by a court of her peers and sentenced to death. On the morning of May 19th, Anne was led to the scaffold erected on the grounds of the Tower. In a final speech, she declared:
“I pray God save the king and send him long to reign over you, for a gentler nor a more merciful prince was there never; and to me he was ever a good, a gentle and sovereign lord.”
With those words, Anne knelt before the executioner, a skilled French swordsman, and met her fate with a single stroke of the blade. Her final words were:
“To Jesus Christ I commend my soul; Lord Jesus receive my soul.”
Just a few years later, in 1540, another of Henry VIII’s advisers fell victim to the executioner’s sword. Sir Thomas More, the former Lord Chancellor of England, was a staunch opponent of the King’s break with the Catholic Church. Refusing to acknowledge Henry as the Supreme Head of the Church of England, More was charged with treason and imprisoned in the Tower. On the day of his execution, July 6th, More mounted the scaffold with a jest, remarking to the onlookers:
“I pray you, I pray you, Mr. Lieutenant, see me safe up, and for my coming down, I can shift for myself.”
As he laid his head upon the block, More declared:
“I die the King’s good servant, and God’s first.”
More’s execution sent shockwaves through Europe, with the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V reportedly declaring:
“I would rather have lost the best city of my dominions than such a counselor.”
The fate of noble beheadings was not limited to the British Isles. In France, the Reign of Terror during the French Revolution saw the execution of countless nobles by the newly invented guillotine. Among the most famous victims was King Louis XVI, who was beheaded on January 21, 1793, in front of a crowd of thousands in the Place de la Révolution (now the Place de la Concorde). As he mounted the scaffold, Louis attempted to address the crowd, declaring his innocence and forgiveness for those who had condemned him. However, his words were drowned out by the beating of drums, and moments later, his head fell into the waiting basket below. The executioner, Charles-Henri Sanson, later wrote in his memoirs:
“The King died as he had lived, with great firmness and piety.”
Louis’s wife, Marie Antoinette, met a similar fate just nine months later. Reviled by the revolutionaries as a symbol of the excess and corruption of the monarchy, Marie Antoinette was tried and convicted of treason in a sham trial. On the morning of October 16, 1793, she was driven through the streets of Paris in an open cart, subjected to the jeers and insults of the crowd. At the foot of the guillotine, Marie Antoinette accidentally stepped on the executioner’s foot. In a final display of the aristocratic manners for which she was known, she turned to him and said:
“Pardon me, sir, I meant not to do it.”
Moments later, her head too fell into the waiting basket. The revolutionary leader Maximilien Robespierre, who had orchestrated the executions of the royal family, met his own end at the guillotine just a few months later. These are just a few of the countless stories of nobles who met their end at the blade of a sword or the drop of a guillotine. From the brave Sir Walter Raleigh, who jested that his beard had committed no treason as he lay his head upon the block, to the tragic Lady Jane Grey, the “Nine Days’ Queen” who was beheaded at the tender age of 16, the annals of history are filled with tales of those who faced death with a mix of courage and despair.
In 1536, just a few months after the execution of Anne Boleyn, Henry VIII’s illegitimate son, Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond and Somerset, died at the age of 17. Although the official cause of death was reported as consumption, rumors swirled that Henry had ordered Fitzroy’s death to eliminate a potential rival to the throne. The poet Sir Thomas Wyatt, who was imprisoned in the Tower at the time, wrote of Fitzroy’s death:
“These bloody days have broken my heart;
My lust, my youth did them depart,
And blind desire of estate,
Who hast to climb seeks to revert.
Of truth, circa regnat tonat.” (Around the throne it thunders.)
In the end, these stories serve as a reminder of the precarious nature of power and the ultimate price that some were forced to pay for their ambition, their beliefs, or simply their birthright. As Sir Walter Raleigh wrote in his poem The Lie, composed on the eve of his own execution:
“Go, Soul, the body’s guest,
Upon a thankless errand;
Fear not to touch the best;
The truth shall be thy warrant:
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.”
The Executioner’s Toolkit: Instruments of Death in the Medieval Era
In the shadowy realm of medieval executions, the tools of the trade were as varied as they were gruesome. From the glint of a sharpened sword to the thud of a heavy axe, these instruments of death were wielded by skilled executioners whose names have echoed through the ages. The craftsmanship that went into creating these tools was a morbid art form, with each blade and device honed to perfection for the grim task at hand. As the 16th-century English poet Robert Southwell wrote:
“The executioner’s art is to make death a pleasure.”
One of the most iconic tools of the executioner’s trade was the sword. In medieval Europe, the use of the sword for beheadings was often reserved for nobles and those of high rank, as it was considered a more honorable and less painful way to die than other methods. The swords used for executions were typically larger and heavier than those used in battle, with a wider blade designed to sever the head with a single blow.
The most famous of these was perhaps the sword of the Tower of London, which was used to behead a number of notable figures, including Anne Boleyn in 1536 and Lady Jane Grey in 1554. The Tower sword, which was made in the early 16th century, had a blade that was over five feet long and weighed around eight pounds. Another famous sword used for executions was the Joyeuse, the ceremonial sword of the French kings, which was used to behead the Duke of Montmorency in 1632.
Another common tool of the executioner’s trade was the axe. In medieval England, the axe was the preferred method of execution for commoners and those convicted of treason. The axe used for beheadings was typically a large, heavy instrument with a broad blade designed to sever the head with a single blow. One of the most notorious axes in history was the Halifax Gibbet, a massive guillotine-like device that was used in the town of Halifax, England, from the 16th to the 18th centuries.
The Gibbet consisted of a large wooden frame with a heavy diagonal blade that was released by a rope. According to local legend, the Gibbet claimed the lives of over 100 people during its bloody reign, including that of John of Dalton in 1538, who was executed for stealing a horse. In medieval France, a preferred tool of execution was the Maiden, a primitive guillotine-like device that consisted of a large wooden frame with a weighted, angled blade. The Maiden was used to execute criminals and political prisoners in Paris and other French cities from the 13th to the 18th centuries. One of the most famous executions carried out with the Maiden was that of the French King Louis XVI, who was beheaded in 1793 during the French Revolution.
The craftsmen who created these tools of death were often highly skilled artisans who took great pride in their work. In medieval Europe, the art of sword-making was a highly respected trade, with master swordsmiths creating blades of exceptional quality and beauty. One of the most famous swordsmiths of the Middle Ages was a German craftsman named Johannes Liechtenauer, who lived in the 14th century. Liechtenauer was renowned for his skill in creating swords of unparalleled strength and sharpness, and his techniques were widely studied and imitated by other swordsmiths throughout Europe. Another notable craftsman was the French swordsmith Thomas Fivet, who created the famous Joyeuse sword used in the execution of the Duke of Montmorency.
The executioners who wielded these tools were often highly skilled professionals who took great pride in their work. In medieval Europe, the position of executioner was often a hereditary one, with the job passing down from father to son over generations. One of the most famous executioners in history was a Frenchman named Charles-Henri Sanson, who served as the Royal Executioner of France from 1778 to 1795. Sanson, who came from a long line of executioners, was responsible for carrying out some of the most notorious executions of the French Revolution, including those of King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette.
Another infamous executioner was the Englishman Jack Ketch, who served as the Royal Executioner from 1663 to 1686 and was known for his botched executions and drunken behavior. Despite the grim nature of their work, executioners were often respected and even feared figures in medieval society. In some cases, they were even granted special privileges and rewards for their service. In 1476, the English executioner John Halbert was granted a pardon by King Edward IV for his role in putting down a rebellion led by the Duke of Clarence. Halbert, who had served as the King’s executioner for over 20 years, was given a pension and a house in London as a reward for his loyalty. Similarly, in 1606, the French executioner Jean Guillaume was granted a patent of nobility by King Henry IV for his service to the crown.
The tools and techniques of the medieval executioner’s trade may seem barbaric and cruel by modern standards, but they were a reflection of the harsh realities of life in a time when death was an ever-present spectre. As the French philosopher Michel de Montaigne wrote in the 16th century:
“Death is a release from the impressions of the senses, and from desires that make us their puppets, from the vagaries of the mind, and the hard service of the flesh.”
For those who faced the blade of the executioner’s sword or the drop of the guillotine, death was a release from the hard service of life in a brutal and unforgiving world. Yet, even in the face of such brutality, there were moments of humanity and compassion. In 1541, the English courtier Sir Thomas Wyatt, who had been imprisoned in the Tower of London on charges of treason, wrote a poem entitled Innocentia Veritas Viatis Mea (“Innocent Truth and Faith Shall Prevail”) while awaiting his execution. The poem, which was smuggled out of the Tower by Wyatt’s servant, became a rallying cry for those who opposed the tyranny of King Henry VIII and his bloody reign.
From Courtroom to Chopping Block: The Grim Reality of Medieval Justice
In the shadows of medieval courtrooms, the fate of countless souls hung in the balance. The legal procedures that led to the ultimate punishment of beheading were a complex and often brutal affair, steeped in tradition and shaped by the harsh realities of the time. From the accused standing trial before a panel of stern-faced judges to the executioner’s blade glinting in the sunlight, the path to the chopping block was a grim and unforgiving one. As the 16th-century English jurist Sir Edward Coke famously declared:
“The life of the law is not logic but experience.”
The crimes that were considered punishable by beheading varied from place to place and time to time, but they often included treason, heresy, and other offenses against the state or the church. In England, for example, the crime of high treason—which included plotting against the monarch or conspiring with foreign powers—was punishable by beheading from the 13th century onward. In 1388, during the reign of King Richard II, a group of noblemen known as the Lords Appellant were convicted of treason and beheaded for their role in a plot to overthrow the King. Among them was Sir Simon de Burley, a close friend and adviser to the King, whose execution sent shockwaves through the court.
Similarly, in 1478, George, Duke of Clarence, the brother of King Edward IV, was convicted of treason and famously drowned in a butt of Malmsey wine—as a nod to his notorious love of drink—though the official sentence for his rank would have been beheading. The legal procedures that led to a beheading were often complex. In many cases, the accused would first be brought before a panel of judges or a jury to face trial. The trial itself could be a lengthy and elaborate affair, with witnesses called to testify and evidence presented by both sides. In some cases, the accused might be subjected to torture in order to extract a confession, a practice that was widely used throughout medieval Europe.
The use of torture was sanctioned by the church and was seen as a legitimate means of obtaining the truth, despite the obvious potential for false confessions. One notorious example of this practice was the trial of the Knights Templar in the early 14th century, during which many of the accused were subjected to brutal torture in order to extract confessions of heresy and other crimes. If the accused was found guilty, the sentence of beheading would be passed down by the presiding judge.
In some cases, the condemned might be given a chance to speak before the court, offering a final plea for mercy or a defiant last stand. In 1535, during the trial of Sir Thomas More—the former Lord Chancellor of England who had refused to acknowledge King Henry VIII as the Supreme Head of the Church of England—More famously declared:
“I am the King’s good servant, but God’s first.”
His words would echo through the ages as a testament to the power of conviction in the face of death. Similarly, in 1587, Mary, Queen of Scots, who had been convicted of plotting to assassinate Queen Elizabeth I, faced her executioners with regal defiance, declaring:
“In my end is my beginning.”
Once the sentence had been passed, the condemned would be led to the place of execution, often in a public square or on a hill outside the city walls. The executioner, a skilled professional whose job it was to carry out the sentence, would be waiting with his blade at the ready. In some cases, the condemned might be allowed a final moment with a priest or a loved one before being led to the block. In 1541, Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury, was condemned to death for treason at the age of 67. As she was led to the block, she reportedly refused to lay her head down, declaring:
“So should traitors do, and I am none.”
The executioner, unnerved by her defiance, took several blows to sever her head. The role of the executioner was a complex and often misunderstood one. In many ways, the executioner was a reviled figure, a symbol of the brutality and violence of the medieval justice system. Yet, at the same time, the executioner was also a skilled professional, a master of his craft who took pride in his work.
In France, the position of executioner was often a hereditary one. The most famous of these dynasties was the Sanson family, who served as the Royal Executioners of France for over 150 years. Charles-Henri Sanson, who presided over the executions of King Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette, once wrote in his journal:
“It is not enough to cut off the head of the condemned; one must do it with skill, with a single blow, without hesitation.”
Despite the grim nature of their work, executioners were often respected and even feared figures in medieval society. They were seen as the embodiment of the law, the ones who carried out the will of the state and the church. Yet for all the power and respect that executioners commanded, they were also haunted by the weight of their work. In a time when death was an ever-present spectre, the act of taking a life, even in the name of justice, could take a heavy toll on the soul. As the 16th-century French executioner Jean Guillaume wrote in his memoirs:
“It is a terrible thing to have to kill a man, even when the law demands it. It is a burden that never leaves you, a weight that you carry with you always.”
This sentiment was echoed by the English poet John Donne, who wrote in his famous work, Meditation XVII:
“Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.”
Yet even in the face of such brutality, there were moments of humanity and compassion—of individuals who faced death with courage and conviction, and of executioners who struggled with the weight of their terrible duty. One such moment came in 1685, during the execution of the Duke of Monmouth, the illegitimate son of King Charles II, who had led a rebellion against his uncle, King James II. Monmouth faced his executioner with remarkable composure, even after the first blow of the axe failed to sever his head. As he lay bleeding on the scaffold, he reportedly whispered to the executioner, Jack Ketch:
“My friend, you have not done your work. You must finish it.”
It took Ketch several more blows to complete the job, a grim testament to the brutal reality of the executioner’s trade.
The Executioner’s Folly: Botched Beheadings in Medieval Europe
In the medieval era, execution by beheading was a common form of capital punishment reserved for nobles and those of high status. While it was considered a more humane and dignified method compared to hanging or burning at the stake, the reality was often far from swift or painless when the task fell into the hands of inexperienced or incompetent swordsmen. The execution of Manfred von Roven, a German knight and poet in 1340, at the hands of an inexperienced executioner took several blows to complete, leaving the crowd horrified. The famed French philosopher Michel de Montaigne once wrote:
“Death, they say, acquits us of all obligations.”
One of the most infamous botched beheadings in history was that of Mary, Queen of Scots. Accused of plotting to assassinate Elizabeth I, Mary was imprisoned for 19 years before being brought to trial. Found guilty of treason, she was sentenced to death. On the morning of February 8, 1587, Mary was led to the Great Hall of Fotheringhay Castle. In a final act of defiance, Mary wore a crimson dress, the color of Catholic martyrdom. As she knelt before the block, she declared:
“In manus tuas, Domine, commendo spiritum meum.” (Into thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit.)
The executioner, who was likely drunk, took three strikes to sever Mary’s head. The first blow missed her neck and struck the back of her head, while the second cut into her neck without fully decapitating her. It was only with the third stroke that the deed was completed. According to witnesses, when the executioner held up Mary’s severed head, her wig fell off, revealing that her auburn hair had turned completely gray during her long captivity. Mary’s loyal servant, Jane Kennedy, recalled the gruesome scene, saying:
“I shall never forget it, nor the Queen’s courage throughout even to the very end.”
Elizabeth, upon hearing of her cousin’s death, reportedly wept and declared:
“I am not free of this case, which was one of the heaviest that ever was laid upon me.”
Another gruesome example occurred during the execution of Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury, in 1541. The inexperienced executioner—a “wretched and blundering youth” according to contemporary accounts—took eleven blows to hack off Margaret’s head. The Countess, who refused to lay her head on the block, was chased around the scaffold by the executioner as he struck at her with his axe. Her final words were reportedly:
“Blessed be God; though it pleases the King to take my head, he cannot have my heart.”
The execution of Robert Devereux, 2nd Earl of Essex, in 1601 was another notable case. The executioner, who was reportedly inexperienced and nervous, took three strokes to sever Devereux’s head, causing the crowd to cry out in horror. Sir Walter Raleigh, who witnessed the execution, later wrote:
“I saw the head after it was off, and the very face, as it seemed to me, did express a kind of anger and indignation.”
It wasn’t just the nobility who suffered from poorly executed beheadings. In 1540, during the reign of Henry VIII, a group of 50 prisoners were sentenced to death for treason in London. The executions were carried out by a group of inexperienced and ill-equipped executioners who used blunt swords and axes. One witness described the executions as “a very bloody day, and many a poor man lost his head for a word speaking.” The Elizabethan playwright Thomas Dekker wrote of the London executions:
“The very same day 53 were executed in diverse places of the city; the manner of their death being so terrible, and the spectacle so outrageous.”
The skill and experience of the executioner played a crucial role in ensuring a swift beheading. In medieval times, the position was often passed down through apprenticeship, but some were hired on short notice or were themselves criminals offered the job in exchange for a pardon. To minimize the risk of botched executions, some cities employed professional executioners who were well compensated. In 16th-century France, the Executioner of Paris was paid a substantial annual salary and was entitled to a portion of the condemned’s possessions.
The Theater of Death: Beheadings as Public Spectacle
In the harsh light of day, the crowds gathered, their faces a mixture of fear, fascination, and morbid anticipation. The executioner, hooded and grim, took his place upon the scaffold. The condemned, their hands bound and their heads bowed, were led before the jeering multitude. This was the “Theater of Death”—the ritual of public beheadings. As the famous Prussian General Carl von Clausewitz once wrote:
“War is not merely a political act, but also a real political instrument, a continuation of political commerce, a carrying out of the same by other means.”
The public nature of beheadings was a crucial aspect of their power. These were not just acts of justice, but carefully choreographed spectacles designed to send a message. The condemned were made an example of, their deaths serving as a warning to all. As the philosopher Michel Foucault wrote in Discipline and Punish:
“The public execution is to be understood not only as a judicial but also as a political ritual.”
One such example was the execution of the Scottish knight William Wallace in 1305. Wallace was convicted of treason and sentenced to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. He was dragged through the streets of London on a hurdle to Smithfield. There, he was hanged but cut down while still alive; his entrails were cut out and burned before him. Finally, his body was beheaded and quartered, with his head placed on a spike on London Bridge and his limbs sent to the four corners of the kingdom.
The rituals were highly symbolic. In England, the condemned were often paraded through the streets on a horse-drawn hurdle. Upon reaching the scaffold, they were given a chance to address the crowd—a moment known as the “Last Dying Speech.” These speeches were often scripted and designed to reinforce the authority of the state. In 1554, Lady Jane Grey, the “Nine Days’ Queen,” used her final speech to declare her Protestant faith and her innocence of any treasonous intent:
“I do look to be saved by no other mean, but only by the mercy of God, in the blood of his only son Jesus Christ.”
The crowd’s reaction was an integral part of the spectacle. Some would jeer and mock the condemned, while others might show sympathy or even reverence. After the head was severed, the executioner would hold it up for the crowd to see, crying out:
“Behold the head of a traitor!”
In some cases, the crowd might surge forward to dip handkerchiefs in the blood of the condemned, believing it held healing powers or served as a macabre souvenir. Despite the brutality, these spectacles were a deeply embedded part of medieval culture. They were a reminder of the power of the state and the precariousness of life. As the 16th-century English poet Sir Walter Raleigh wrote:
“Our life is a play of passion.”
For those who stood upon the scaffold, that play was coming to a grim and final end, their deaths a testament to the harsh realities of the medieval world. From the Streets of London to the squares of Paris, the “Theater of Death” played out, a chilling reminder of a time when the blade of the executioner was the ultimate arbiter of justice.
