Rose and other historians point out there are several problems with Thomas’s telling of the events. For instance, the girl who supposedly followed William to a Jew’s house was William’s cousin, yet her father, Godwin, never mentioned the incident when he went before the synod in 1144; he also made no reference to his dead nephew’s body showing signs of being crucified. Also, neither the nameless servant woman nor Aelward stepped forward to testify at the synod.
How, then, did an unresolved murder case turn into an accusation of ritual murder? It seems that in addition to Thomas’s fertile imagination, he got some of his misinformation from an apostate Jew named Theobold, who revealed that every year Jewish leaders met in Narbonne to decide in which country a Christian should be sacrificed, to bring about their return to their homeland in Eretz Yisrael. England was supposedly chosen for 1144.
Despite these and other flaws, the leaders of Norwich Cathedral Priory gave Thomas’s account their seal of approval.
A Second Body
While Thomas’s account is problematic, it is thanks to him that we know of a second murder in Norwich. In 1149 a wealthy Jewish moneylender – his name might have been Deulesalt or, in Hebrew, Eleazar – was ambushed and murdered. The perpetrator of the deed was Sir Simon de Novers.
Simon had borrowed money from Deulesalt so he could participate in the Second Crusade. Suits of armor and weapons cost money, as did paying retainers. Knightly Crusaders hoped to get back their investment through the booty they acquired during the wars. But unlike the First Crusade, which did make the knights rich, the Second Crusade was both a military and financial disaster. Simon therefore returned to Norwich with nothing to show for his adventure except his debts. Instead of repaying what he owed to his Jewish moneylender, he had the man murdered.
The Jews of Norwich insisted that Simon be brought to trial, and King Stephen himself presided. It was during this high-profile trial that the Bishop of Norwich, William Turbe, came up with a novel defense for the knight: although there was no doubt that Simon was guilty, he should be acquitted because he had killed to avenge the death of William – a crime that the Jews of Norwich, including the slain moneylender, had never paid for.
This sensational turn of events – and Turbe’s argument did cause a sensation – left King Stephen in a quandary. Both the Jews and the church leaders were too powerful to offend. Stephen therefore decided to adjourn the trial sine die and it was never resumed. Thus, Simon was never found guilty of murdering the Jewish moneylender, and the Jews of Norwich were never found guilty of murdering William.
No Happy Ending
The trial didn’t have an immediate impact on Norwich’s Jewish community. But after the coronation of Richard I in 1189, a rumor spread that the new king had ordered the massacre of all the Jews. Riots broke out throughout England, and in 1190 almost the entire Norwich community was massacred.
The situation of England’s Jews further deteriorated during the thirteenth century, which ended with their expulsion in 1290. However, stories of ritual murder were never completely expelled from the English imagination; they’re too embedded in literary works such as Chaucer’s The Prioress’s Tale and Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice.
From England the blood libel spread to Europe. Like the English before them, European rulers and noblemen discovered that massacring or expelling their Jews was a good way to avoid paying their debts. And despite the fact that no blood libel charge has withstood historical scrutiny, it is still alive today, at least in the Middle East, where it’s often a Muslim child named Muhammed who is cast in the role first played by the unfortunate William, who one hopes would have been aghast at the lies told in his name.