Cornwall: The Curse of Tollman Head

The main character in this story is Richard of Cornwall, the man who goes on to become the Holy Roman Empero, basically by buying the job using money he gains from banking. In the ashcan for the Cornwall material that’s already been released he gets several pages of material, but this story is one that I hadn’t heard before, so I’m collecting it for the Gazetter. The text comes from Scilly and its Legends by Whitfied, which was written in the 19th century.

Richard, Earl of Cornwall, was a powerful prince, surpassing in wealth and resources many sovereigns of his day. The revenue he derived from his Cornish mines was prodigious. He seated a large colony of Jewish merchants at Marazion.. He would not allow the Jews to be oppressed nor wronged, neither would he permit them to oppress nor to wrong others. He upheld all classes of his subjects in their just rights….

The great group of Scilly was not then what it is now,—a vast body of little more than rocks,—but consisted of several large islands, the centre of an important traffic, filled with a numerous and flourishing population, and supporting many religious establishments. St. Martin’s, Tresco, Bryher, Samson’s, and all the adjacent places, then formed one chief main land, under the rich Abbey of Tresco, and were held of it, for the most part, by bridle and spear, as the fief of a bold Baron of the Norman house of Barentin. St. Mary’s was likewise far more extensive than at present. It had wealthy houses also at Old Town, and Friar’s Carn, and Holy Vale. The monks and nuns monopolised all the sources of profit, and though their rule was neither unfair nor heavy, yet it generally happens that clerical landlords, from some reason or other, are unpopular; and so it was with the brotherhoods and sisterhoods of St. Mary’s.

They took no more than their due, though they took their due, even from the hard-working fishermen. The shaven crowns waxed sadly unpopular. But Earl Richard supported them in their sway, and refused to listen to the charges brought against them. There was a report that he failed continually in all his enterprises, how well planned soever they might be, and that, without giving up his lucrative patronage of the Jews, he wished to propitiate the favour of heaven by showing countenance to its servants. Certain it is, however, that all his schemes miscarried, but, in an equal ratio to their want of success, his kindness to the monastic orders increased. He upheld them with a high hand in all their charters and grants. So that it soon became as dangerous to wag a finger against a frock or a cowl, as against the Earl himself.

The Earls of Cornwall had been a fierce and fiery race, loving war and wassail, as did most of the princes of the house of Plantagenet, the most gallant and magnificent dynasty that ever filled a throne. But in that age it was shrewdly remarked, that, in proportion to the excesses of his life, was a Norman noble’s penitence on his death bed; and this penitence was usually shown in substantial gifts to the Church, and not unfrequently by assuming her priestly robes, ere the sinner passed away. It was the same feeling that, in Italy, makes a Brigand consider himself sure of Paradise, if, after a life of murders, he is lucky enough to go to the scaffold, with a priest murmuring absolution in his ear. Now the heirs of a great house had no objection to the death bed repentance, but were apt to oppose very bitterly the cession of worldly substance that, somehow or other, was made to form an indispensable condition of the bargain for heaven.

After this fashion, the Earls of Cornwall had been profuse in penitence. Like old Hugh de Mortimer, as related in Dugdale, they had bought remission at other people’s expense, and grievous were the heart-burnings caused by their pious generosity. Earl Reginald, son of Henry the First, had bestowed upon St. Nicholas of Iniscaw, or Trescaw, and upon the shrines of St. Mary, St. Kumon, and St. Warna, and had confirmed to them in fee, every wreck in the islands, “except whale and a whole ship.” Edmund, the last Earl, heaped wealth and power upon the Church. The brethren were the virtual lords of the islands, and did not bear themselves very meekly in the discharge of their functions.

At the time of my tale, they were somewhat haughtier and more peremptory than usual. As a counterpoise to his support of the Jews elsewhere, Earl Richard went to the contrary extreme at Scilly. He abetted the good fathers in their vindication of their rights; and not only suffered no man to do them wrong, but, it was whispered, allowed them, on the contrary, to do wrong to others, by stretching the law in their favour to the utmost.

The Prior of Trescaw frequently exhorted his flock against covetousness, and was very fond of enlarging on the text “He reproved even kings for their sakes,” and of applying these words to the defence of their rights by Earl Richard. The Sire de Barentin, a shrewd and stout old warrior, twirled his grey moustache, and said nothing, though there was a curious and humorous expression in his eye, which the worthy Prior did not care to fathom. But he common people, with bated breath, murmured to each other, as they went home, that, of the two parties which their Lord was accused of encouraging too much, they would rather have the Jew than the Priest…

Now among the claims of the good Fathers, there was one that gave especial dissatisfaction, even more than the exclusive right to wrecks. This was a somewhat onerous poll-tax, imposed indiscriminately on every person landing on the island.” The principal port was then, as it is now, called Old Town, but it was at that time in a state far different from its present aspect of ruin. Standing in Old Town bay, and facing the sea, you beheld, to the right, a stately church and monastic pile. In front, on the left hand, was a massy landing-place, and pier, the ruins of which are still visible; and, above, towered the noble castle of the Earls of Corn- wall, while the whole circuit of the shore was lined with houses, and edifices connected with trade.

The point, however,^ which my legend principally refers, was a small cluster of buildings a little in advance, to the left. It consisted of an humble shrine or chapel, and a simple kind of guard-house, across the front of which was stretched an iron chain, forming a barrier before a broad flight of steps, that led upwards from the quay, and gave access to the island. It was by this way that strangers first approached land. This projection was called Tolman or Toll-man point, the name being derived from a toll levied by the Monks on every person, without distinction, who set his foot on the shore. They held this power by a grant from a former Earl, confirmed to them by Earl Richard. The revenue they derived from it was not inconsiderable, and was rigidly ex- acted; nor was there any one of their claims which gave such dire offence. It was not only said to be a Pagan custom (in support of which assertion people showed a huge rock on the spot, called Tolmen or, “hole-stone,” and affirmed that it was an object of Druidical adoration, to which they made every worshipper pay toll), but it pressed most unjustly upon the very poorest class, for every fisherman who left the island, though only for a few hours, to gain a little support for his family, was compelled to give his mite, in the way of tribute, on his return. Nay, even holy Palmers from the East, who were always elsewhere considered exempt from tax or charge, were forced to render the dues, ere they were permitted to proeeed.

This was said to be an infraction of the charter, and a clear violation of that most pious and equitable statute, that no priest nor pilgrim ought ever, under any circumstances, to pay any thing, the duty of the good men being solely to receive; but the monks, strong in the buckler of the faith, and of Earl Richard, spoiled not only the Egyptians, but their own order, most pitilessly. Complaints were made, long and loudly, to the Earl, who promised redress, and with some intention of granting it, for he was in sad want of a subsidy, and these allegations, if proved, would authorise him to exact a pretty heavy benevolence from the transgressors, or raise a goodly sum, by way of bounty, on their lands.

It was a sunny evening in May when a small company of pilgrims was seen on the deck of a vessel, that neared the harbour of Old Town, with a favourable wind. They bore down directly to the foot of the steps at Toll-man point, which, as it was then high-water, they reached without difficulty. On coming alongside the broad stones that formed a base to the stairs, they sprang ashore, and began to ascend.

At their head was one apparently of higher rank, or of superior sanctity, for he walked alone. His face was partly buried in his large cloak, and partly concealed beneath his wide-brimmed hat, the deep flaps of which, hanging down, were often employed to hide the features. He passed on, neither speaking, nor apparently heeding any thing, until he reached the heavy chain, which was drawn across the way. Laying his hand upon it, he found that it was fastened with a padlock. As one of the brothers was sitting in the toll- house, reading, as it seemed, his book of prayers, the Pilgrim, after several vain attempts to undo the chain, called to him, in a firm but courteous voice, to unfasten it, and give him passage.

It chanced that the person thus addressed was the Prior, who, having sent the occupant of the place on an errand, had, during his absence, taken his post. Angry at being thus interrupted, and scarcely seeing who it was that spoke, he bade the new comers wait awhile, and resumed his studies. The Pilgrim, however, seemed in no mood to do as he was told.

“How now, Sir Priest,” replied he, “you are malapert, forsooth. Open as I bid you, and let us pass. There is no toll levied on such as we.” The tone in which he spoke was stern and sharp, but the Prior was an old man, hard of hearing, cold and unbending in his disposition, and too much accustomed to this kind of complaint to pay attention to it. He glanced slightly at the group, but looked down again, and made no reply.

He was not, however, long suffered to remain in peace. Laying his hand upon the chain, the Pilgrim vaulted over, and stood before the Prior’s seat, his form erect, his eyes flashing fire, and his whole figure convulsed with passion.

A prudent man would have let him go unchallenged, but the Prior was spoiled by the habits of unquestioned power, which Ecclesiastics of that day assumed over every rank and class. He was, besides, a proud resolute man, who had been a soldier in his youth, and had ridden through a stricken field. His apathy was gone at once. Rising up, with considerable dignity, and drawing to its full height his spare and ascetic form, he laid his hand upon the Pilgrim’s breast, and bade him stand back.

It was an evil chance that he did so. His hand had scarcely touched the Palmer’s chest, ere the latter flung his cloak aside, raised his mailed arm, and smote the old man rudely upon the head.

“Dog of a Priest, thou cowled robber,” he cried, in a voice of thunder, “take that, as a memento of Richard Plantagenet.”

And the Prior sank at his feet, bathed in blood, and over him stood Earl Richard, looking darkly down upon him as he lay. They raised the old man, and tried*to stanch the gore that welled from his temples, but in vain. The blow was given by a hand that seldom struck twice.

He opened his eyes, and looked upon the Earl, whose hot fit was already succeeded by sorrow and remorse. Richard took the Prior’s hand, and spoke to him kindly, but the sufferer was already almost beyond the reach of human blame or praise. He glanced at the Prince, and then at the castle that frowned above them. The spirit of prophecy, which is said to visit the dying, seemed to tremble on his lips.

He whispered, rather than said, ” Lord Earl, that blow has stricken both thy house, and thee.” And word he spake never more.

The prediction was fulfilled. Earl Richard made all the amends in his power. He abolished the toll, and gave to the brethren, in exchange, great largesses, far surpassing in value what he had resumed. On the spot that had witnessed his crime he founded a chantry, where masses were daily said for the soul of the murdered man. But from that hour the Earl’s affairs declined. He wasted his wealth in unprofitable enterprises, and, finally, went down to the grave, a broken, moody, miserable man.

Nor did the curse fail of its accomplishment on the spot. It never prospered again. The sea gradually encroached upon the land, and swallowed up field after field of fruitful ground. The stately church was injured by a storm, and was rebuilt in diminished size and beauty. The castle fell to ruin, why and wherefore no one could tell. Storms of thunder and lightning, so uncommon in Scilly, occurred constantly. Sailors and traders began to shun the place, and believed it haunted by the ghost of the dead Prior, which, it was said, was often seen at Toll-man head, exacting tribute from a spectral figure, at the head of an equally unsubstantial train.

At last the usual effects of such rumours followed. Merchants first landed in a pleasant bay near at hand called Porcrasa, and then discovered that in St. Mary’s pool beyond there was a safer and surer anchorage. Fishermen took thither their produce for sale. So a town was formed by degrees, and on the hill above, a fort dedicated to the Virgin, and called “Stella Marise,” or the “Star of Mary” was afterwards built. Thus there came down upon the Old Town gloom, and desolation, and decay.

The ancient Druids who worshipped there, seem to overshadow it still with their dim phantom presence. The blackness of the churchman’s malediction is still resting there. The Druid goddess, Onvana, the sea, gains upon it daily, and Taranis, the Thunderer, is often heard. It seems abandoned to gloomy influences, and, seen on a darksome day, is a place whose melancholy is not soon shaken off. At no distant period it will be buried beneath the ocean, which will roll silently over all that remains of its former greatness, and leave only a few sibylline leaves, as records of its past history, with the memory of ” the old man’s curse.”

Plot hooks

If you are allied to Richard of Cornwall, and you had a covenant in that castle, it would be ruinous for him to bring down this curse upon himself. What has he done? I’d guess that by murdering a priest, on what is technically holy ground, he’s created an Infernal aura, and that the sea (in which the Spirit of the Lord moves according to the Bible) is washing the Infernal aura away. Is there something that your magicians can do to lift the curse?

Perhaps you can’t. You need to relocate your covenant. When you relocate your covenant maybe it’s to the new Hugh Town, which is why there’s this commercial collapse in the Old Tow. If magi are secretly the economic center of the island the relocation could lead to the movement of the market.

In the section that was cut off at the start of this recording there is mention that at that time Scilly was one large island. If you are founding a covenant on Scilly an inundation claiming a chunk of land (or the illusion of such an inundation) gives you free title to a large chunk of territory.

In past episodes I’ve mentioned House Mercere, sensibly, needs several additional nexuses in its trade network. Would Scilly be a suitable nexus? It’s not badly situated as a central point from which to distribute material to the Hibernian, Loch Leagan, Stonehenge and, perhaps, Normandy Tribunals. It is a little close to Confluensis in Normandy, but there are worse area.

The chapter also notes that the earls of Cornwall have given the right of all wreck to the various churches around. That means if a ship from any covenant happens to crash against the shore you need to recover it right sharpish. Otherwise the servants of the church turn up to grab it.

There are a couple of exceptions. One is that they can’t claim whales and the other is that they can’t claim whole ships. How quickly can you repair a ship? Remember your magic only needs to keep it together long enough for it to be assessed.

If a crate washes ashore with a fine horse that you want to turn into your familiar, and the church comes to claim it, could you turn it, however briefly, into a porpoise? Tracking it afterwards if it got out into the sea might prove difficult, but your saga may vary.