In the autumn of 1546 Henry, Lord Neville, was convicted of trying to murder his wife and father by means of magic. In his prison cell he wrote out his confession, and on eight pages of closely packed handwriting he told a lurid if, on occasions, incredible story. Neville had been beset by gambling debts when he was approached by a family retainer who suggested a remedy; he knew a man who made magic rings that would turn the dice. He was “a cunning man in his craft”. Enter Gregory Wisdom (apparently his real name), part physician and part alchemist; he was one of those confidence tricksters, a practitioner of several arts, who have always existed in London.

He invited himself into the Neville household and, with the supposed help of heavenly agents, he manufactured the ring in exchange for an annual pension of £10. Neville was impressed, and delighted with his initial success at the gaming tables of Tudor London. But he was a foolish young man who was led farther by Wisdom down the path of criminal- ity. It was Wisdom who offered to kill, by means of sorcery, Neville's wife and father. The death of the father would fill his purse. His wife was generally believed by everyone other than Neville himself to be saint-like, so why postpone any further her entry into Heaven? It would be a kindness to kill her.

By this time Henry Neville was deeply compromised. The machinations of the magician had done for him. An Act against conjurations had been passed four years before. He was arrested on the charge of witchcraft and only his full confession saved him. He was released on the accession in 1547 of the new king, Edward VI, and resumed a life of moderate duty to a succession of sovereigns until his death at 50.

But his life provides an opportunity for Alec Ryrie to bring on to the stage his real subject. Gregory Wisdom was a physician in a world where medicine was in large part an informal and chaotic affair; wise women were often more effective than doctors, and practitioners veered between common sense and sorcery in the pursuit of cures. Wisdom and his father, John Wisdom, were “empirics” otherwise known as “quacks”, but they were given a royal warrant largely on the grounds that they had found a successful treatment for the new scourge of syphilis.

But they were not above the resort to astrology and magic, both pursuits then considered more fruitful than physical diagnosis. This brought them in turn to the gates of the Tudor underworld where fraud and gimmickry were plentiful. There were many medical gamesters ready to swindle suffering victims. But Tudor medicine was not all fraudulence. It was believed that a good 16th-century doctor had also to be an astrologer. Only by following the stars was it possible to judge the days to draw blood or to pick certain medicinal herbs; different parts of the body were deemed to be influenced by the different constellations; the human world and the Universe were judged to be of a piece. To salve a wound it was also important to rub medicine on to the weapon that had caused it.

The general picture of Tudor society to be taken from this book is one of fruitful chaos. Alec Ryrie associates this very clearly with the immediate aftermath of the Reformation. It becomes, as it were, the background to Wisdom's activities. In a world of shifting allegiances and uncertain identities, of theological and intellectual controversy, the actions of magicians and fraudsters become more deeply implicated in, and more wholly representative of, the age itself. This is an historical work based on the principle that the past is better seen from the inside, and from as low a vantage as possible. It has become fashionable to narrate the life stories of people who would otherwise disappear into the margin of historiography, but it is still an effective contrast to the official histories of events or prominent people.

Ryrie's work suggests that his approach is much better at conveying the taste and texture of a particular epoch. The book is also very elegantly written, and Ryrie shows himself to be as much a stylist as a scholar. The investigative work he has undertaken must have been arduous, but his surmises are apt and his interpretations happy.

This story of superstition and credulity is perfectly suited to its setting in London where, as Steve Roud reveals, the supernatural is alive and well. Many people have seen visions in the heart of the city. Barking was the area in which to search for mandrake roots, which screamed like a child when taken out of the ground. Simon Forman saw, and communi-cated with, the Devil in Lambeth Fields in the summer of 1569. Black magic itself has been practised in the city since the carving of the Dagenham idol in 3000BC.

It is perhaps not surprising that the superstitions of London are touched by dereliction and despair. It has always been a dark city. Ghosts have been seen in abundance, in streets where the past and present seem to touch. The Devil has been seen in various quarters, and there are places such as Old St Pancras churchyard where the unwary were warned not to walk by night. There are other areas, such as St James's Park, that seem to encourage murder. There was a tree in Hyde Park that had a branch exactly resembling a human arm and hand; a Londoner of the neighbourhood remarked that “it fascinated people, fascinated them so much that they used to like to sleep under it... One or two, I believe hanged themselves from its bran-ches”. The tree was eventually cut down because of its attraction to suicides.

There are other areas of London that seem to attract suicides, Blackfriars Bridge being the most notorious in the 19th and 20th centuries. There are spots of the city that have been considered cursed, and areas where strange knockings and thumpings could be heard. There have been stories through the centuries of secret treasure and underground passages of stone that link otherwise unrelated buildings. The Thames has thrown up strange relics, including witch-bottles, small altars and human skulls.

These are some of the objects and stories that make up Steve Roud's book. It is fitting tribute to London itself, packed to blackness with accumulations of suffering and sorrow. Fearful rumours would sweep through the streets like a contagion, arousing the citizens to a fever of anxiety and speculation. Such a rumour concerned the fearsome figure of Spring Heeled Jack in the 1830s, a figure with metal claws breathing flame; he wore a great black cloak and carried a bull's-eye lantern. It sounds like the merest fiction, but in fact such a figure was reported in the police courts. It almost seems as if he emerged fully armed from the streets of the city. London had created him.

There were popular delusions as well as rumours. In the mid-17th century an old lady of Camden Town became known as Mother Damnable, and was generally held to be a witch; hundreds of people reported observing, at the time of her death, the Devil entering her cottage situated where the Underground station now stands. So do urban legends grow.

There is also much arcane lore and local legend in this collection, testifying to Roud's intense curiosity and learning; he has explored hidden byways, and opened secret doors, to reveal the spiritual topography of the city. If you want to know the origins of the names of the places, Seven Sisters and Bleeding Heart Yard - or if you want to know why bread and cheese are thrown on December 18 from the steeple of the church on Paddington Green - then read this book. It is a wonderful collection of stories and legends, to be recommended to anyone who is at least half in love with the dark side of London's past.

London Lore: The Legends and Traditions of the World's Most Vibrant City by Steve Roud
Penguin, £20; 464pp Buy the book here

The Sorcerer's Tale: Faith and Fraud in Tudor England by Alec Ryrie
OUP, £12.99; 212pp Buy the book here

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