The Inquisition is often seen as a stain on the history of the Catholic Church, an example of brutality, intolerance, and militancy. Yet Henry Kelly wants us to know that there is more to the inquisitorial system than the Inquisition. When Inquisition appeared as a new form of criminal trial at the end of the twelfth century, developed fully in constitution eight of the Fourth Lateran Council (1215), it was greeted with a sigh of relief. Most trials were accusatorial in nature, which meant the accuser was subject to retaliation if the trial did not end in a conviction: he or she would undergo the penalty originally intended for the defendant if convicted. As one might imagine, such harsh justice discouraged many from bringing suits forward. Inquisition, which eliminated the need for an accuser as publica fama was sufficient to initiate a trial, became the new standard, and regardless of what the history would seem to suggest, as designed, it was ill-suited for the prosecution of heresy. As Innocent III established it, Inquisition could not be used to prosecute secret crimes: those belonged to the internal forum of the confessor. Nonetheless, within a very short period of time, the inquisitorial system became the chief means of trying those accused of holding heretical beliefs. Procedural safeguards were abandoned; abuse of the system became the mainstay of Continental inquisitors, who regularly denied defendants due process. Not so in England, however. Kelly’s mission, which he successfully achieves, is to restore England’s pristine reputation. Yes, England also abused the system: but in different ways than they did on the Continent, and never as egregiously.

In fourteen chapters, this book is a series of case studies, with a detailed, step-by-step analysis of the procedures employed and their documentary evidence, to explain the nature of England’s own “homegrown abuses” (417) of the system. Kelly investigates some of the most well-known trials of the late medieval and early modern eras: the Knights Templar, Alice Kyteler, John Wyclif, the Lollards, Margery Kempe, the Duchess of Gloucester, Reginald Pecock, Richard Hunne, and Anne Askew. He also addresses many trials that had nothing to do with heresy (because of course, the inquisitorial system was not created to try heresy), such as the prosecution of criminous clerics, and Henry VIII’s “Great Matter.” His inquiry uncovers a pattern of abuse that is specifically English.

In theory, no trial could proceed without first establishing the existence of the defendant’s infamia; and yet, time and time again, English bishops asserted defamation but did not prove it. Secret crimes were off the table; however, accused heretics were regularly tried on their beliefs, rather than past actions. In fact, William Courtenay, fourteenth-century archbishop of Canterbury, elaborated a new form of purgation altogether, in which suspects were presented with a series of condemned propositions about which they were expected to explain their stance or justify their innocence. This model, which Kelly refers to as the Blackfriars method, is what Margery Kempe faced when accused of Lollardy. A less knowledgeable and erudite defendant might well have found themselves convicted by their own responses. English bishops also employed a fluid definition of heresy: Chancellor Arundel, for example, seemed content to equate error with heresy.

Kelly turned his attention also to routing common myths about the church and its use of inquisitorial procedure. Innocent IV’s Ad extirpanda (in 1252) did not authorize the use of torture; rather, torture had long been an accepted practice within the church courts for both civil and criminal trials, although it was customary to torture only after charges had been laid (a common abuse on the Continent). The Continent also popularized the belief that canon law denied the defendant legal counsel or defense attorneys: but there is no canonical justification for doing so, and there are many instances (in England) in which defendants had both. Degradation from orders was not a common offense; by the fourteenth century, it had been abandoned as a punishment altogether and replaced by incarceration. Clerks delivered to the church as convicted clerics were not assumed to be guilty; they were tried by the church upon arrival. The 1401 statute popularly referred to as De heretic comburendo did not authorize the death penalty for heretics: they were already sentencing them to burn when they refused to recant.

Criminal-Inquisitorial Trials in English Church Courts is not for the faint of heart. Dense, technical, jargonistic, and focused on highly specific procedural details, it will be of interest to a small crowd of canon law scholars. As I have come to expect from Henry Kelly’s work, the book is meticulously and admirably researched. Kelly is one of the few scholars in the world qualified to undertake such a challenging project. Not only does he explode long-standing myths, but he frequently produces the documentary evidence in full, the Latin side by side with its English translation. There are many hidden gems throughout the book, including an enthralling discussion of Thomas More as chancellor prosecuting heresy. One aspect that does stand out: the works of other historians rarely make their way into his bibliography, almost as if to suggest that they have contributed little to our understanding of canon law and the church courts. When he does cite an historian, it is usually to demonstrate how they have sorely misunderstood the source material or what Kelly has written in past studies. This is the case with the book’s conclusion, which is not a conclusion at all in the traditional sense, but a point-by-point refutation of John Baker’s critiques of Kelly’s previous work. While historical work is usually corrective, involving plenty of debate, this defensive approach takes away from the remarkable achievement of such an in-depth and useful study of medieval church court procedure.