Gilles de Rais: The World’s First Serial Killer or a Wrongly Convicted Martyr?
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The year is 1400. The Hundred Years' War between France and England has been raging on and off for six decades. The Mad King Charles VI sits on the French throne.

Meanwhile, English King Henry IV believes he is the rightful heir. At the time, France was a sinful concoction of war, pestilence, violence and political theater. Loyalty was sold to the highest bidder. Marriages were loveless arrangements between rich men looking to inflate their holdings. Their sons meant nothing to them.

their daughters meant less. Among the wealthiest families in France at the time was the de Rais line. They, however, were on the verge of dying out. Other nobles, more like vultures, hovered over their holdings, waiting for the last of them to fall. War, disease, crime, something would get them eventually.

A series of marriages and name changes strengthened their lineage, leading to the wedding of Marie de Creon and Guy de Rais, formerly known as Guy Laval. He changed his name to inherit what remained of the de Rais family's properties. Together, Marie and Guy had two sons, Gilles and René.

The DeRay line grew stronger than ever, but greed, psychopathy, and black magic would soon bring it down. They didn't know it then, but Guy and Marie had given rise to what many call the world's first documented serial killer. Gilles DeRay was linked to the kidnapping, torture, rape, and eventual murder of 150 French boys.

A network of co-conspirators would steal them away from their parents and bring them to De Ré castles at Manchoul, Champs-Elysees and Tifouges. But De Ré wasn't always a madman. In fact, before 1430, De Ré was hailed as a war hero. He was appointed as Marshal of France, France's highest military distinction.

He fought alongside Joan of Arc during the Siege of Orleans. He was even under the direct order of King Charles VII to be her personal protector. All DeRay knew was violence. The bloodlust was always there. War simply gave him an avenue to quench it. When his duties declined after Joan of Arc's death, DeRay's life spiraled out of control. His family fortune slipped through his fingers like soft butter. He spent lavishly on decor and servants,

He commissioned works of music and literature that he didn't need. He sold off pieces of land to finance his splendor, which the rest of his family took issue with. DeRay was backed into a corner. Out of options, he turned to the occult to solve his problems. He hired magicians, alchemists, and devil worshippers. He communed with conjurers who knew how to summon Satan, but Satan required a human sacrifice.

De Rais was happy to oblige. He had no problem kidnapping peasant children, ripping their hearts out and offering them to the beast. When Satan appeared, De Rais had a letter of demands ready for him. That letter was never delivered, and De Rais never summoned anything. He descended into madness. He killed without question. He went from being the hero of France to an occultist heretic in the better part of a decade.

In the end, he was hanged for his crimes. But there are some who champion his innocence. De Rais confessed, but only under the threat of torture. Today, there's an entire movement dedicated to exonerating the most notorious serial killer of the medieval era. They claim De Rais was the victim of a vast church conspiracy. Don't forget that the same church tried and executed Joan of Arc for heresy in 1431.

They wanted DeRay's land and were willing to play dirty for them. As long as it was in the name of God, all would be forgiven. In 1992, DeRay's supporters held a mock retrial to clear his name using all the evidence available from the 15th century. In the end, a judge found DeRay not guilty of any crimes. Was Gilles DeRay the world's first serial killer or was he simply crushed by the gears of greed? Part one.

Game of Thrones. As the saying goes, absolute power corrupts absolutely. If you want to case study that adage, look no further than the medieval era. So, before diving into the life and crimes of Gilles De Ray, let's first set the stage for war. In 1066, William the Conqueror sailed from Normandy to England and overthrew the Anglo-Saxons.

he leveraged the death of Edward the Confessor, considered by history to be the last king of the House of Wessex. While King of England, William also retained his role as the Duke of Normandy. Fast forward about 100 years, one of William's descendants, Henry II, married Eleanor of Aquitaine, the former wife of King Louis VIII of France. The marriage made Henry and Eleanor as land wealthy as Louis himself.

tensions between the English and French flared and settled for the next 200 years. Then, a death in the French royal family sent everything into a tailspin. Louis X died without a male heir. French law forbade a female to ascend to the throne at the time.

So the crown passed to Louis' brother, Philip V. Philip died without a male heir in 1322, thus putting the crown on their youngest brother's head, Charles IV. It seemed like the French royal family couldn't produce a son. By the time Charles died, he had left behind his daughter and pregnant wife. If the baby were a boy, it would be named heir to the throne of France. As history would have it, his wife gave birth to a girl.

The House of Campe was dead and the crown would pass to the next closest blood relative. Technically, that relative was Edward III, Charles' nephew and the current King of England. The French didn't like the idea of being ruled by an English king. They especially hated the fact that Edward was only in line because of his mother, Isabella, Charles IV's sister. So they changed the laws, saying you can't inherit the crown through your mother.

The French crown passed instead to Charles' first cousin, Philip VI. Edward didn't like that and thus, in 1337, the Hundred Years' War began. The mad King Charles VI was only 11 years old when he inherited the throne from his father, Charles V, in 1379. Around this time, the De Re line showed signs of fragmentation.

21 years later, in 1400, Jean Lesage, the last of the De Ray line, promised to adopt Gilles' father as her heir. The only caveat is that the former Guy Laval must change his name to Guy de Ray to keep the lineage alive. He did, but was quickly stabbed in the back. Lesage instead gave her land to Catherine de Mechaul, the mother of Jean de Creon, Gilles' maternal grandfather.

To avoid war, Guy married Jean's daughter, Marie, thus linking three influential houses. Their marriage was purely political, and some questioned whether they even liked each other. Nine months later, in 1404, the world's first serial killer was born.

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Paid non-client endorsement. Compensation provides incentive to positively promote Acorns. Investing involves risk. Acorns Advisors LLC and SEC Registered Investment Advisor. View important disclosures at acorns.com slash crimehub. Part two, St. Crispin's Day. Gilles de Rais' life changed forever when he was 11 years old. It was October 25th, 1415. St. Crispin's Day in the Catholic faith. The French and English armies were about to clash on the battlefield of Agincourt.

The English army, then ruled by King Henry V, had been backed into a corner. To their benefit, the area was narrow and easy to defend. Wave after wave of French troops charged in, only to be cut down by Welsh archers. Within an hour, one of the most decisive battles of the Hundred Years' War was over. England emerged victorious, and Henry had a tough decision to make.

He had captured thousands of Frenchmen, far too many to feed or ransom back to the French army. So, he ordered his men to kill them all. The blood of 11,000 Frenchmen soaked the ground that day. Among them was Amarille de Créon, Gilles' uncle and his grandfather's sole male heir. Shortly after St. Crispin's Day, Gilles' father was killed by a boar in a freak hunting accident.

Some believe his mother died of disease around the same time. Gilles came under his grandfather's care. Jean de Creon was essentially looking for someone to make his heir. Gilles was the perfect and only candidate. Until then, Gilles spent most of his early childhood learning the finer points of nobility. By today's standards, it was a cold and loveless life. Back then, noble French children were expected to behave like adults.

They rarely saw their parents and were mainly raised by nuns and nurses. It wasn't until Gilles was seven, the age of reason in French society, that mom and dad finally paid him a visit. He learned to read and write, and he dabbled in the arts and humanities. Most importantly, Gilles' combat instructors taught him how to wield a sword. The only noble skill he lacked was political aptitude. He wasn't the most subtle man in France.

Gilles' father hated his grandfather. As his belly bled from where the boar gored him, he mustered the strength to write a new will. In that will, he forbade Jean de Creon from becoming Gilles and Renée's caregiver. Then he died, assuming that will would hold up in court. It didn't. De Creon was as silver-tongued as he was wealthy. He challenged the will, and in 1416, Gilles and Renée were transferred into their grandfather's care.

Jean de Creon was the second richest man in France. All he cared about was money. Making money, spending money, hoarding money, perhaps even bathing in money. Gilles' parents and teachers tried to impress humility on the boy. His grandfather undid everything. He allowed Gilles and René to run free with little oversight. The world was their oyster. If they wanted it, all they had to do was take it. They were rich. They were above the law.

Decrayon planted that seed in young De Rays mind. Once it blossomed, there was no stopping it. All other lessons were thrown out with the bathwater. Gilles would focus solely on the art of war. At 14, Decrayon marched his grandson onto the battlefield as a squire. It's unclear if he saw any combat at such a young age. When he wasn't training the boy, Decrayon was trying to marry Gilles off to the highest bidder. Two betrothals ultimately fell through.

It wasn't until Gilles was 16 that the topic of marriage came up again. This time, it wouldn't fail. On his grandfather's order, Gilles kidnapped his cousin, Catherine de Touars, and married her in 1420. It was essentially a land grab, as the Touars had real estate adjacent to the de Rais property.

De Rais spent the next nine years making a name for himself on the battlefield. His feats were so impressive that King Charles called upon him for a task that could make or break the war. There was a woman in town, a teenager dressed in white armor who claimed to be in direct communication with God. She would lead an army to raise the siege of Orleans, a critical French river town that had been under English rule for some time.

The French had been fighting to retake Orleans for over a year. With God's help, this woman claimed she could take it back in a few days. Her name was Joan of Arc, the 17-year-old "Savior of France". Gilles was to be her advisor, general, and personal protector. Part 3: A Devil Among Saints In May 1429, Joan, de Rais, and an army of 10,000 Frenchmen took Orleans back from the English.

The victory marked a critical turning point for the French in the Hundred Years' War and cemented de Rais' place in the court of King Charles. He and Joan fought side by side as they drove the English out of northern France. He was soon named Marshal of France, the highest military distinction one could have.

Meanwhile, Joan kept winning battle after battle. Her first and only major defeat came when she tried to retake Paris. The attack failed and she was wounded in the leg by a crossbow bolt. Joan's aggressive independence didn't gel with French royalty. She wanted to keep fighting, but those in charge decided Paris was a lost cause.

The English finally captured her in 1430, and she was tried and executed as a blasphemer. They claimed Joan never spoke to God. Instead, her visions were demonic. In reality, Joan was a threat to their dual kingship over England and France. They painted her as a heretic poisoned by Satan's tongue.

On May 30th, 1431, 19-year-old Joan of Arc was burned to death at the stake. Meanwhile, Gilles de Rais faded from the public eye. He was one of the wealthiest men in France and was ready to enjoy the fruits of his labor. After Jean de Creon's death in 1432, Gilles retreated to his castle at Machaux. Although he was free from his grandfather's shadow, de Creon's influence still controlled him.

Gilles was above the law. He was too wealthy, too decorated, and too well-known. He could do as he pleased and spend how he wanted to. All he knew was death and violence. The sedentary lifestyle would sooner drive him mad. He craved the excitement of battle. Unfortunately, Gilles decided to quench that thirst by kidnapping, sodomizing, and murdering young boys.

Historians believe the first murder happened sometime in 1432. De Ré reportedly had his cousin, Gilles De Sille, kidnap a 12-year-old furrier's apprentice. When the boy's mother came asking questions, De Sille said thieves had taken him on the road. Meanwhile, De Ré pampered the boy at Marchol. He dressed him in fine clothes and fed him the heartiest meal he'd ever seen.

Once well-fed and drunk on wine, DeRay took the boy upstairs to his private quarters. He raped the child and then hung him by the neck from a hook. He'd take him down, comfort him, and rape him again before stringing him up once more. The twisted song and dance continued until DeRay killed the boy himself or had one of his servants do it. The bodies began piling up from there.

According to one accomplice, DeRay used a variety of tactics to carry out his gruesome crimes. He'd behead the children, cut their throats. Sometimes, he'd rip them limb from limb. Other times, he'd snap their necks. Or he'd take a thick, double-edged sword to them until they were dead. If a child walked into DeRay's castle, they were likely dead by nightfall.

Legend has it that DeRay would sodomize the bodies post-mortem or while the child was actively dying. He'd cut open their bellies and gaze upon their internal organs. He'd keep the most handsome limbs and heads as trophies while discarding the rest in the cremation chambers. Servants would then dump the ashes in the moat or cesspool. You may be wondering what the parents are saying in all of this.

Scores of children had allegedly gone missing. Somebody had to have seen something, right? They did see something. They saw plenty. They were simply too scared to speak up. The goings-on at Marchaux became a thing of myth and legend. Some worried that supernatural forces had taken their children. There were stories of a foul woman who roamed the countryside, enticing young children she found wandering alone or out tending their family's animals.

They called her "La Mefraie" or "The Terror". There were, of course, those who knew something was going on in de Rais' castle. But those who dared complain about their lord were subject to punishment, imprisonment and ill-treatment. To quell the grieving parents, de Sille spun a story about the children being given to the English by order of the king.

They would train in England as scholars, and they'd soon lead better lives than anything their lowborn parents could have given them. They, of course, were all dead, sodomized and rendered to ashes floating in the moat around Castle de Ré. Part 4: Black Magic Frenchmen Despite all the murder and depravity, Gilles de Ré was still a man of faith. He funded the construction of several chapels and even commissioned a monastery on his dime.

He'd shower them in gold, ensuring there was always a clergyman present to serve his people. But then he'd turn around and tap the church for coin when his pockets ran thin. By the mid-1430s, DeRay's pockets were basically empty. All of a sudden, alchemy didn't sound so far-fetched. Outlawed by the church in the 15th century, alchemy still had believers scouring the globe, looking for the fabled "sorcerer's stone."

With it, a man could turn lead or iron into solid gold. Say what you will about alchemists, we owe much of what we know about modern chemistry to their many failed experiments. Man's unquenchable thirst for wealth basically gave us the periodic table. That said, most alchemists were conmen. They'd use sleight of hand to make it look like they turned iron into gold. People like DeRay bought it hook, line, and sinker.

After spending so much time with Joan of Arc, Gilles believed wholeheartedly in the supernatural. He recalled her miracles, which were really just strokes of extremely good luck. For example, during the siege of Orleans, Joan said her prayer and the wind suddenly shifted in France's favor. She accomplished in four days what the whole of France's army couldn't in over a year. During the battle, he watched her recover from wounds that would have sidelined a night for months.

If this teenage girl could put all of France on her back and win, who's to say Gilles couldn't turn iron into gold? His naivete made him an easy target for 15th century charlatans. According to de Rais's biographers, he was taken by tricksters on two humorous occasions. The first was a goldsmith whom de Rais had met through his priest. The man claimed he could turn silver into gold, so de Rais tested him.

He met the alchemist in a tavern and gave him a single silver coin. DeRay then left the man alone to work his magic. When he came back, the man was piss drunk. The silver was gone. It had magically transformed into a flagon of strong wine. The second con was more costly. DeRay's priest came back with yet another magician. This man, however, claimed to commune with Satan himself.

One night, he took DeRay and a small company into the woods. They stopped in a clearing where the magician said he would summon the devil. The man put on a face like he'd seen a ghost. He claimed the devil had crept by them in the form of a leopard in the woods. DeRay was enamored with his skills and was willing to do whatever it took to summon Satan. The man said he needed money for supplies. DeRay obliged, giving him all the coin he asked for. Nobody ever saw the magician again.

But by then, DeRay was hooked. The idea of summoning and speaking to Satan kept him up at night with joy. Think about all the power in money. Having the literal devil in his back pocket would make him the richest, most powerful man in France. He'd scour the known earth, looking for anyone who could produce the beast.

That's when his priest, the same one who'd already gotten him ripped off twice, produced a necromancer named Francois Prelati. Prelati was a 22-year-old Frenchman living in Italy. He was handsome, intelligent, and fluent in three languages, including Latin. Most of all, he was as cunning as a fox. De Rais' priest told him of all the riches and luxuries his lord could provide if Prelati would accompany him back to France.

Prelati, knowing a sucker when he sees one, smiled and said he'd be happy to. Let's go meet the devil. Prelati arrived in France in mid-May 1439. However, he told de Rais that they'd have to wait until the vernal equinox to perform the ceremony. As everybody knows, spirit and mythical forces are most active around this time. The day finally came.

Just before midnight, DeRay, Prelati, the priest, and a few others gathered in the lower hall of the castle. Prelati drew a large circle on the floor and surrounded it with diagrams, crosses, and strange symbols. Meanwhile, DeRay held a heavy, leather-bound book with a metal lock. Rumor has it that the pages were filled with incantations written in the blood of DeRay's victims.

Those incantations could summon demons from hell and keep them under DeRay's control. Before the ceremony began, Prelati made one thing crystal clear: none of them were to make the sign of the cross, no matter how frightened they became. He opened the windows and lit candles around the room. To DeRay, this was it. The moment he'd been waiting for. To anybody in the 21st century, it was a cheesy seance.

Teeming with excitement, de Rais ordered everyone to leave him alone with Prelati. This relieved his cousin, De Sille, who had once jumped from a window after a conjurer convinced him and two others that a demon was present in the room. While it might sound silly, especially for these battle-hardened and fearless Frenchmen, you must put yourself in the shoes of a 15th century Christian. The unexplainable was often pinned on God or the devil.

A sudden change in the weather? God must be angry. Strange coincidences? Untimely deaths? Sounds like Lucifer's work. Therefore, it made sense that someone like DeRay or DeSille, who'd both proven their valor in battle, would cower like children in the presence of evil. It's what gave Prelati the confidence to take them for everything they had. Just when he thought DeRay couldn't get any more gullible, he produced a written list of demands for the Devil.

DeRay wanted to make a deal. He'd give Satan anything he wanted except his life and soul. And in exchange, Satan would grant him wealth beyond his wildest dreams. Clearly, DeRay had never made a deal with the devil. As we all know, that's not how it works. For two hours, Prolati had DeRay kneeling, standing, chanting, and praying, all to summon a demon he called Baron. Baron, of course, never showed up.

Berlotti did get lucky though. There was a sudden shift in the weather during the ceremony, bringing with it rain and thunder. He spun it as a sign from God, which only bolstered DeRay's confidence in the young necromancer. By then, Berlotti could see that things had gone too far. The long con was over, and he needed a way out. So, he asked for the unthinkable. The hearts, eyes, and sex organs of children to be offered as sacrifice to the great demon baron.

Little did he know, DeRay had those items waiting in storage. Now, he was in too deep. Thinking on his feet, the Necromancer told DeRay that he needed to be alone to summon Baron. Ferlati locked everyone out of the room. He pretended like Baron showed up and beat the ever-living crap out of him. He screamed and wailed and cried for mercy. One non-believer present during the seance said it sounded like someone hitting a feather bed.

During another solo summoning, Prelati allegedly conjured a mighty serpent that wrestled with him around the hall. He wiggled free and fled the room, leaping into DeRay's arms. Terrified, everyone fled to the chapel, where they huddled around a crucifix that allegedly contained a piece of the cross Jesus was crucified on. Their prayers worked, and the serpent returned to the netherworld from whence it came. Part 5: The Fallen Lord

Gilles de Rais spent all of 1439 trying to summon a demon. He, of course, failed every time. Meanwhile, the murder and debauchery continued in the background. Historians have long believed that his brother, René, and other close family members knew what was going on but said nothing. People like René were more upset about Gilles' frivolous spending.

You could say that Gilles and René had a classic sibling rivalry. So, when Gilles began selling off de Rais family land to cover his expenses, René took issue. He secured an order from the king that prevented Gilles from selling more land and gave René control over the château at Champs-Elysees. Gilles panicked, thinking his brother would come for Machol next. He ordered his men to burn the bodies of 40+ children he'd kept stored in the tower.

In the end, Gilles was right to suspect his brother. René marched on and occupied Marchol three weeks after taking Champs-Elysees. Gilles tried to clean as best he could, but there was simply too much evidence. René's men found two skeletons on the property and, according to historians, a wall of silence was erected around the family. The fear was that if word got out, the local peasant class would come forward with accusations against the Duret family.

Justice meant nothing to them. As their grandfather taught them, money, power, and reputation were the only things that mattered. But for all the murder, rape, devil worship, and illegal alchemy, DeRay was ultimately arrested thanks to his own vanity.

In May 1440, on or around Pentecost, de Rais ambushed a troop of between 50 to 60 men traveling in the woods near Saint-Étienne-des-Mers-Mortes, a commune about six miles from Machaux. In a nutshell, the treasurer of Brittany had laid claim to one of Gilles' castles that he'd sold to recoup his lost money. Gilles wanted it back and was willing to take it by force.

He stormed a church during Mass, brandishing a large double-edged battle-axe. He threatened the priest, who happened to be the brother of the treasurer of Brittany. Basically, he told the priest, "Tell your brother to leave, or I'll gut you like a pig." Kidnapping a priest is where French authorities drew the line. The Duke of Brittany, who had long coveted de Rais' land, formed an alliance with the church to uncover everything they could about Gilles de Rais.

But don't get their quest confused with justice. It was driven purely by greed and economics. Still, witnesses came forward, revealing all the horrors of Chateau de Marchaux. They told church investigators how de Rais liked to sit on the stomachs of children and masturbate while watching them die.

The parents of those missing kids spoke of men in black veils whisking their children away to de Rais' estate, never to be seen again. The myth of La Mefraie spread far and wide. The church went public with its findings in the summer of 1440. They accused de Rais and his cohorts of murder, sodomy, devil worship, and human sacrifice.

Despite this, de Rais held strong. Remember, he's still the Marshal of France. He thinks so highly of himself that there's no way these charges will stick. His cousin felt differently. Gilles de Sille had been hiding money for this exact situation. He basically grabbed his go bag and fled into the annals of history, never to be heard from again. On September 14th, 1440, the High Bishop issued an arrest warrant for Gilles de Rais

Area priests, who served like police officers of the church, were ordered to gather De Ré and bring him to Nantes to face his inquisition. Gilles, his servants, and his remaining cohorts were arrested the next day. In Nantes, he faced questioning regarding the priest he'd kidnapped.

Transcripts from the trial make no mention of murder or devil worship. But soon, more families came forward. Between mid-September and early October, the court heard stories from wailing parents who blamed Gilles De Ray for their missing children. By mid-October, the court had heard enough to charge De Ray with 34 counts of murder, sodomy, and heresy. They accused De Ray and his cohorts of kidnapping and murdering 140 children over 14 years.

They claimed the first murders happened in 1426, when Gilles was 21 years old, though historians believe he didn't start killing until 1432. Gilles only admitted to his crimes after the church excommunicated him. Fearing for his soul, he begged the church for forgiveness and to let him back in. They ultimately did. The only crime Gilles wouldn't confess to was summoning demons and devil worship.

That's when people like Prelati were called to testify against him. When he still refused to talk, the judges allowed for the use of torture to extract the truth. It was only under the threat of torture that DeRay finally pleaded guilty to everything. The man who used the same tools of torture to murder countless children couldn't stand the thought of those tools being used on his highborn body. He sang like a bird.

On October 26th, 1440, Lord Gilles de Rais walked up to the gallows with several of his co-conspirators. The only major name not present was the necromancer Prelati. He was sentenced to life in prison, but escaped and fled back to Italy. He, however, was caught shortly after and, this time, hanged.

Before he died, Gilles professed his sins to a large crowd. Then, they lit the brush below him on fire and hung him over the flames. Before it burned completely, the bishop ordered it be recovered and buried with Catholic rites. The church where he is buried, however, was destroyed during the French Revolution. His wife, Catherine de Touar, remarried a nobleman and ally to the Duke of Brittany.

She then faded into obscurity, as did Gilles' only daughter, who died childless. His brother René remained at Champs-Elysees until his death. His only daughter also died childless, and thus, the De Re name for which their ancestors fought so hard to preserve was dead. As was the world's first serial killer. But did they hang an innocent man? Part 6. Guilty Until Proven Innocent

Gilles de Rais was an innocent man, according to several scholars and activists. His confession, along with that of his cohorts, was extracted under the threat of torture and thus, tainted. The first to question de Rais' guilt were Enlightenment-era writers and philosophers like Voltaire. While never taking a firm stance, he put the de Rais trial in the same category as other medieval trials about witchcraft and heresy.

They were absurd and driven by pure superstition when looked at through a modern lens. The argument over De Ray's guilt died down for the next 200 years. Then, in 1992, the Breton Tourist Board commissioned French author Gilbert Prolton to write a book about the life and crimes of Gilles De Ray. By then, the ruins of his many castles, especially Machaur, had become popular tourist destinations.

People wanted to learn more about the world's first serial killer, and the tourist board thought a book would bring in more money. Instead, Proutou's book made the case that Gilles de Rais was innocent. He believed so strongly in his case that he called for a mock retrial through France's highest appeals court. A year later, Gilles de Rais was unofficially exonerated.

Those on the side of innocence believed de Rais was the victim of a vast church conspiracy. They were threatened by his wealth and his political connections to the King and Joan of Arc. One of them is Margot Juby, a writer from Cottingham, England. She calls herself "Gilles de Rais' representative on earth" and has been fighting to prove his innocence since 2010.

Margaux maintains a website called "Gilles de Rais was innocent" where she posts original documents in English and French, explaining how each myth about his story has been taken as fact over the past 500 years. Was Gilles de Rais tortured into confessing to a crime he did not commit? Did the Catholic Church scheme with other French lords to seize de Rais' land through any means necessary?

Or was he a madman responsible for the rape, torture, and murder of over 140 children? We'll never get a definitive answer. The truth is likely lost to history. All we have now is a story that almost sounds too vile to be true. If Gilles de Rais was innocent, then the church killed a good, God-fearing man because they wanted his money. If he was guilty, well, he got what he always wanted. He finally met the devil.