Witches, Poison & Heresy in Kilkenny

A Halloween Tale

Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine finding myself here - halfway across the world in the basement of a 700-year-old building, its cold stone walls closing in on me, sending a shiver up my spine. As I gazed into a mirror, I repeated the words he instructed, “Alice Kyteler, Alice Kyteler, Alice Kyetler.” Suddenly, a loud crash startled me from behind, the room grew quiet and dark… Was this the end? Was the legend true? Had she come for her revenge?

Now, I know what you might be asking. Where was she? What on earth is she doing? Or the question I was asking myself, ‘how did I get here?’ Well, let me back up and tell you a little story... A tale of witches, poison and heresy just in time for All Hallows’ Eve.

My Journey to Ireland

For years, my dream had been to see the lands of my forefathers – Scotland and Ireland. I had dreamed of rolling hills of green covered in lush seagrass as it weaved its way down to the rocky shores of the cold turbulent sea.

The type of landscape full of crashing waves and rocky bluffs you see in movies. This was the land where my grandfathers fought and died for their country – a country whose history paved by constant turmoil and war.

A place filled with cobble stone streets, medieval castles and enchantment. Where misty rain can always be felt upon your cheek and the skies are often gray and overcast.

On Saturday, October 12, I boarded a plane from Edinburgh to Dublin not a care in the world.

So far, the trip had been nothing but magical. I’d crossed off bucket list experiences like watching the Northern Lights dance across the Icelandic sky, seen Highland cattle roam in golden fields, watched rhythmic emerald grass dance in the wind, explored enchanted castles perched high above the bluffs of the North Sea. And now… I was off to Ireland… I could hardly contain my excitement. How could it get any better than this?

After spending the night in Dublin, I was headed south. I was meeting my sister in Kilkenny - a medieval town situated on the banks of the River Nore, a place rich in history.

My niece plays fiddle for an Irish Band called The Fenians from, of all places, sunny Southern California. The band was on tour in Ireland and our dates just happened to overlap. I was to meet her that night at Matt the Millers, a local favorite pub.

I could hear the music blaring before I even exited the cab. The place was packed with excitement, full of cheer, standing room only. I twisted and turned, squeezing my shoulders to my chest as I tried to get past people to where my sister was. We greeted each other with smiles and squeals, tears of joy and merriment. “Can you believe we are here together in Ireland," she asked.

All night, lively music blared - people dancing, hooting and hollering, singing along to old Irish folk songs about times of war and famine, the faint smell of Irish whiskey in the air. The festivities lasted to the wee hours of the morning until I was too tired to stand and had to excuse myself and retire. Let others carry the torch.

The next morning, I wanted to tour Kilkenny Castle, walk the cobble stone streets, marvel at St. Mary’s Cathedral. I was ready to explore all that Kilkenny and Ireland had to offer.

Little did I know that at Kilkenny Castle, a fortuitous encounter awaited. I was taking a million photos, as I often do, wandering the rooms of this well preserved, regal building. I was reading exhibit signs on walls and peeking out the windows at the surrounding landscape. I admired decor in forest greens, burgundy and shades of yellow, gothic frames holding paintings of residents from the past.

However, there was one room I could not enter.

For unknown reason, the door was covered by a plexiglass wall preventing entry, allowing me only to peer in whereas the other rooms of the castle were free to roam. It carried a strange energy. It felt dark and alone. Against the far right wall were three antique dolls with eyes that stared right through me. One doll’s eyes caught my gaze, following my every move, tracking me as I wandered past. Needless to say I scurried along as quick as I could, my senses hyper aware.

I thought it was just me until I overheard a tourist ahead lean over to her husband, and whisper loudly, “this is how horror movies start.” I could not help but laugh out loud inviting a conversation.

Introductions were made. They too were from the states and we found ourselves meandering the castle together, chatting about our travels - where we’d been, what we loved most and what we still wanted to see.

This is when it happened - that fortuitous moment I spoke of. She mentioned they were headed for a drink at an old inn built back in 1324 that was rumored to be haunted. She told me of mysterious happenings that had been documented there after the owner was accused of being a witch. A place called Kyteler’s Inn. An invite followed but I quickly declined as my sister was meeting me, and thought nothing more of it. At least not then…

I met my sister and family across the street at Left Bank, the recently renovated former Bank of Ireland turned bar and nightclub. We had an incredible lunch in this lively spot but it was still relatively early in the day.

So, we decided to walk around town and headed toward St. Mary’s Cathedral to take a peak inside.

In 1842, the project for building the cathedral was announced and work began shortly after in April 1843. It still stands as a historic, active cathedral church of the Roman Catholic Diocese.

St. Mary’s in constructed from locally sourced cut-limestone with a cruciform plan and style often described as Early English Gothic. It sits at the highest point in town and is quite a focal point and significant historical landmark.

Alas, it was getting late and we were left with nothing special planned so we began to wander the streets, window shopping, lost in conversation. I was giving little thought to anything. Of course, this is when you are most vulnerable - whilst aimlessly wandering, no destination in mind, your mind carefree and drifting. This is the time when the unworldly is able to lure you in and pull you toward it.

Before I knew it, we were standing right in front of Kyteler’s Inn as if fate had drawn me to it. I looked at my sister. “Oh wow, this is the place that woman was telling me about…we should take a peak.”

We meandered inside, were shown to a table in the back corner and ordered a round. The place was dimly lit, the walls made of stone, a large bar serving as its focal point.

We picked up the menu which was a replica of an old newspaper with a headline that read, “Alice Kyteler Accused - Witchcraft, Heresy & Murder!” Oh boy… This is when things got strange. The owner’s son who runs the inn wandered over and must have seen the look of curiosity and fear in my eye for this is when he began to tell me the story.

**Alice Kyteler**

After the Norman invasion of Ireland in 1169, William Marshall, the successor to Strongbow, built Kilkenny Castle and developed the city. About 100 years later, the story of the inn’s namesake Alice Kyteler began and how Kyteler’s Inn, one of the oldest inns in the entire country of Ireland, became haunted.

Alice was born in 1280, to Norman parents right here inside the old inn. This was a tumultuous time in history when the town was under Norman-Irish control - a seat of power for the Normans. Her parents were wealthy members of the upper class so it came as no surprise when Alice grew up and married a successful banker in town by the name of William Outlawe, and had a son. A few years after they were wed, William took ill and suddenly died leaving the young mother a widow.

It was not long before Alice took on a second wealthy husband, Adam de Blund of Cullen who also died suddenly and mysteriously. As her fortune amassed, the rumors began.

Alice then married a third husband, Richard de Valle who, like the first two men, died suddenly and mysteriously while being wed to Alice. Whispers grew and the now nicknamed ‘Merry Widow’ of Kilkenny continued the pattern marrying again. This time she wed a landowner named Sir. John de Poer. Just a few years later, John too fell ill – his hair and nails mysteriously falling out. His body weakened and he grew more sickly by the day. But right before John succumbed to his miserable untimely death, he unexpectedly changed his will making Alice and her son the sole beneficiaries - his only heirs.

Family members were enraged. His other children horrified. How could he leave them with nothing? Resentment grew fed on the fuel of nasty rumors growing exponentially and accusations followed. The family pleaded with the English-born Franciscan Bishop of Ossory to do something. The notorious Mistress of Kyteler’s Inn found herself accused of witchcraft and sorcery.

A Court of Inquisition followed with charges that Alice was heading a coven of witches and having sex with a mythical demon. The demanding cries of the town and Bishop were to have her burned at the stake.

Alice found herself a central figure and pawn in the battle between the Church and Temporal Power in Ireland at the start of the Kilkenny Witchcraft Trials - the first person in all of Ireland to be condemned for witchcraft before the ecclesiastical court

But this was just the beginning. Charges of witchcraft and heresy were not only brought against Alice, but were alleged against those closest to her including her son, friends and servants. Her handmaiden Petronella was violently tortured, whipped and burned at the stake. The town was clouded in fear and death.

However, this was not the end of Alice. For after watching her beloved Kyteler’s Inn fell into enemy hands - confiscated by those who had accused her, Alice escaped - not once but twice. The second time, never to be seen again. Alice had vanished.

Back to Present Day

He ended his story in a quiet hushed tone, allowing his words to slowly fade out and linger in the air. I felt the hairs standing up on the nape of my neck. The bar suddenly deafeningly quiet. This is when he asked, “would you like to see the basement?”

**The Basement**

I could not resist. My curiosity betrayed my sense of reason and I found myself following him to a set of stone stairs leading down into darkness. The stairwell was blocked off by a rope draped across it which he untied to let me pass, putting it back up behind him as he followed me preventing others from following us down - the area temporarily off limits.

“Rumor has it,” he continued as we reached the bottom, “that during the month of All Hallows’ Eve, if you look into the mirror hung on the basement wall and repeat her name three times, the spirit of Alice will return.”

No doubt this was a result of the mysterious happenings that had been going on for several days - the alarm motion sensors going off in the middle of the night when nobody was around, after the bar had long since closed. Sightings of spirits, bartenders always leaving in pairs for fear of being alone down here.

It was cold and dark down below the ground - dark and spine-chilling. I grabbed by coat and pulled it tighter around my neck, a harsh iciness going through me as I shivered. The walls were made of black stone and the lights were dim, my eyes were having trouble adjusting. And then I saw it, a mirror on the fall wall - the mirror.

It was too late to turn around now. I mustered all the courage I had, slowly walked over, and caught my breath. I stared into it and repeated the words, “Alice Kyteler, Alice Kyteler, Alice Kyteler.”

The lights suddenly flickered as something came crashing down behind me… I jumped from the noise. Was it Alice? Was I really seeing this? It was her, lingering, floating in the air, looking down at me, analyzing me… I could feel her sizing me up, trying to determine if I was a threat. And then it ended as quick as it began. A Rushing gust of cold air swept across the room and she was gone. Alice had once again vanished into thin air.

Do You Believe?

As I sit here at home just days before Halloween, I find myself thinking about Alice and that night at Kyteler’s Inn.

I imagine the anger Alice must have harbored when her beloved inn was confiscated – her childhood home, the only home she’d ever known, the place she was born and where she raised her son. I imagine the fear she must have felt by thoughts of impending doom and the threat of being burned at the stake. Fear and anger that drove her into hiding where she plotted against her enemies.

It had to have been the type of anger that boils and festers, that can’t be put to rest, not even by death. Anger that follows you to your grave. Anger that would make you want to come back from the dead to make sure those who put you there paid for what they had done - them and their descendants alike. The kind of anger that has lasted over 700 years!

My mind vividly recalls that night often and over the weeks, I think I understand what happened down in the basement of Kyteler’s Inn. I think Alice was sizing me up - figuring out if I had descended along the lines of those who accused and condemned her. I find myself convinced that the only thing that saved me that night was Alice realizing I was not the threat. I only pray that others will be judged so fairly.

Would you dare to explore the basement of Kyteler’s Inn?