Did you know?
As you wander beneath the covered market hall in the centre of Belvès, take a moment to look up. Hanging quietly from one of the wooden beams is a rusted iron chain.
The Pillory Chain of Belvès – A Story Hanging in the Shadows
Right in the heart of the village, beneath the shade of the ancient covered market hall, something curious still hangs quietly from a beam. A simple iron chain, rusted with time, sways ever so slightly in the breeze. It doesn’t look like much—but if it could talk, it would have a few stories to tell.
This is the pillory chain of Belvès, known in French as la chaîne du pilori. And although it might be small, it offers a rare and fascinating glimpse into everyday life in medieval times.
A Market Hall With Many Roles
The market hall itself is a remarkable building. With its timber frame, thick stone pillars, and sloping tiled roof, it has stood at the centre of village life since the 13th century. For hundreds of years, it’s been the site of weekly markets, harvest fairs, festivals, political speeches, and community gatherings. It’s sheltered farmers, butchers, craftsmen, and neighbours meeting to exchange not only goods, but also news and gossip.
But the market hall was also a place of justice.
In the Middle Ages, most towns and villages had their own local authorities—known as seigneurs, baillis or even village councils—who were responsible for enforcing order and delivering punishment. The market hall wasn’t just a place of trade. It was a place where laws were upheld, where disputes were settled, and where punishments were handed out publicly.
That’s where the chain comes in.
What Was a Pillory?
The pillory was a form of public punishment widely used across France and much of Europe during the Middle Ages and early modern period. Unlike a prison sentence—which required guards, space, and resources—a pillory was cheap, symbolic, and highly visible.
In most cases, someone accused of a minor crime or offence—theft, drunkenness, slander, refusal to pay fines, or breaking local regulations—would be sentenced to spend a period of time restrained in a central, public space. The goal wasn’t to physically harm them (though sometimes they were exposed to harsh weather or the insults of onlookers), but to publicly shame them.
In Belvès, that central space was the market hall.
The iron chain you see today was likely used to attach people to a wooden post, or directly to a stone pillar of the hall. They would be left there for a few hours—or even longer—where villagers passing by could see them, judge them, or sometimes mock them.
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Justice in Full View
In medieval society, justice wasn’t hidden behind closed doors. It was part of public life. The market square would have been bustling on market days—with sellers shouting their prices, animals braying, children running around, and villagers exchanging news—and amid all that activity, the chain would be waiting, a subtle but powerful symbol.
For those restrained by it, it was a moment of humiliation. For others, it was a warning: behave, or you might be next.
The punishments were often symbolic and short-lived. But they were meant to make a mark. In a small village like Belvès, where everyone knew each other, public shame could be worse than a fine.
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Myth vs. Reality – Not for Pilgrims
Over the years, stories have circulated that the chain was used to “tie up pilgrims” as they passed through on their way to Santiago de Compostela. It’s a romantic idea—imagining tired, dusty travellers taking shelter under the market hall, bound by tradition or ritual—but it’s almost certainly just legend.
There’s no historical record linking the chain to pilgrims. And it’s hard to imagine why a religious traveller would have been chained up, even symbolically. The term “pilgrim’s chain” has crept into some tourist tales over time, but the truth is more grounded—and more revealing about how justice worked in small medieval communities.
This wasn’t a place of spiritual pause, but of civic correction.
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A Rare Survivor
What makes the chain in Belvès so special is that it’s still in its original place. Many towns had chains or stocks like this, but few have survived. Time, modernisation, and the discomfort of remembering these old practices have made them rare.
In Belvès, the chain still hangs—simple, rusty, and quiet. It’s not signposted. There’s no plaque. But it’s one of those little details that give this village its sense of authentic history. It hasn’t been polished or made into a spectacle—it’s just there, exactly where it’s always been.
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A Symbol of Change
Seeing the chain today, it’s impossible not to reflect on how much has changed. Public punishment of this kind began to fade in the 18th and 19th centuries as legal systems modernised and became more private and institutional. Today, the idea of shaming someone in the village square feels like a scene from a distant world.
But walking through Belvès, with its cobbled streets and ancient stone walls, that world doesn’t feel so far away. And that’s the magic of places like this—the past isn’t behind glass in a museum. It’s still part of the scenery.
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Don’t Miss It
So next time you’re wandering through the village—perhaps on a Saturday morning, when the market is in full swing—pause beneath the wooden beams of the market hall. Tilt your head back. Look for the chain.
Most people pass by without noticing it. But once you’ve seen it, you won’t forget it.
It’s a small detail, yes. But it tells a big story.
The pillory chain of Belvès is a thread connecting us to a time when justice was public, when stories lived in the stones, and when every object—even an old iron ring—had something to say.