Rather than just swear to rule justly, as was normal at a coronation, Henry had his promises written down and widely circulated. He promised to bring back the laws of Edward the Confessor. He would rule with consent, like an Anglo-Saxon king, and not with force and extortion. He vowed to remove the tyrannical rule of the oppressed people that his father and brother had practiced. He was crowned in Westminster Abbey on August 5, 1100.
Henry’s Charter of Liberty was followed by all the kings up until the Magna Carta in 1215, and was copied fairly closely therein. He also set up the Curia Regis, or King’s Council, to settle disputes between the monarch and the people. He married a Scottish princess, Edith, who was descended directly from Alfred the Great and Edward the Confessor, which helped him to placate both the Scottish and Saxons to some degree. She did, however, adopt the Norman name Matilda, and their two children were named Matilda and William.
However, a problem arose. Galloping inflation set in when the silver money began to be mixed with tin. England’s stable currency had been the envy of Europe for three centuries. Henry arrested the one hundred and fifty men who had worked in the mint and put them on trial. Ninety-four of them were found guilty and were punished with barbaric severity. Even though these men were not Normans, but Englishmen of high status, the people were behind Henry in the matter. The coinage must be protected at any cost.
For Henry, the greatest problem of all was the death of his young heir William at age seventeen. William was returning to England from Normandy in a ship. It crashed against rocks because of the drinking on board, and though William was safely put into a boat, he insisted on returning to the area to save his illegitimate sister. The only survivor was a butcher.
William’s sister Matilda was, at the time, living as Empress Consort of the Holy Roman Empire in Germany.
King Henry is said to have never smiled again, and he was now faced with the need to choose a new heir to the throne. His nephew Stephen had no Saxon blood, something that had been important to Henry for his heir, and so he chose instead his daughter Matilda, a descendant of Alfred. We’ll see how well that went in the next post of the series!
Sources
Buskin, Richard. The Complete Idiot’s Guide to British Royalty. Alpha Books, 1997.
Monarchy with David Starkey. Directed by David Hutt and Mary Cranitch. 2006. Acorn Media. DVD.
Ross, Josephine. The Monarchy of Britain. William Morrow & Co., 1982.
The Mysterious Death of King William the Second
by Judith Arnopp
The New Forest is a timeless place, with many areas remaining unchanged since medieval times. If you venture away from the tourist spots you will find ancient woodlands, rusty-coloured streams, and vast areas of heath that seem to belong to another era.
As a child, I spent so much time in the New Forest that it became like a second home. Even now, forty-odd years later, the aroma of heather, the tang of the pine, the vague hint of the salty Solent evoke those wonderful days.
The tales of William Rufus and the “Rufus Stone” were familiar, repeated over and over until they became part of my psyche. I could easily imagine him riding out to hunt with the hounds baying and the pennants casting an unnatural splash of colour on the woodland.
A few years ago when I was looking around for ideas for my next novel, the name William Rufus seemed to jump from nowhere into my head, and I quickly determined that the New Forest would provide an ideal setting for my story, a story that was already embedded in the British consciousness—the mystery surrounding the death of William Rufus.
The early Norman period is very much neglected in fiction. Perhaps the events were too long ago for to us to properly engage with, or maybe publishers are just not prepared to take the risk of straying too far from their beloved Tudors.
As a lover of early British history, I think there is a place for fiction set earlier in the calendar and so I went ahead regardless. The Forest Dwellers is not just the story of Rufus, but the early Norman regime and the mysterious deaths of the Conqueror’s sons form the backdrop to the fiction of Ælf and Alys.
The Domesday Book tells us that in 1065, before the invasion, the villages cleared for the main part of the forest consisted of an estimated five hundred families, possibly two thousand men, women, and children. This estimate does not allow for slaves, personal retainers, or men working under villains; it only represents the landowners or occupiers. It is not a huge number when compared with devastation caused elsewhere by the conquering Normans but enough, I think, to generate a considerable amount of resentment.
The defeated Saxon population of England did not welcome the Normans; all over Britain there are accounts of uprisings and dissent. There were Saxons who fought and lost, those who retired into obscurity to die in poverty and want, and there were those that collaborated, pretended to accept Norman authority.
In the forest, new rules meant that making a living was impossible—punishment was harsh and frequent, but life went on. People lived and died in oppression while memories of the old way of life slowly faded. The thing that remained unchanged was hatred and resentment for the Norman interloper.
Like the Saxon kings before them, the Normans were lovers of the hunt, but whereas Harold and his predecessors were content to share the forest with the commoners, the Normans were less tolerant.
King William I had four sons: Robert (known as Curthose, later to become Duke of Normandy); Richard, who died young; William (known as Rufus, his father’s successor who became King William II); and Henry (known as Beauclerc, later to become Henry I). The king’s second son, Richard, should have inherited the English throne, but he predeceased his father. Records of Prince Richard’s death are scarce; most simply relate that he was killed during a chase in the New Forest.
Fatal hunting accidents were not uncommon, but losing his heir to the English throne was King William’s first major blow. The people of the forest would undoubtedly have seen it as divine retribution, and there would certainly have been no mourning or pity among the commoners. It occurred to me that, perhaps, twenty years later, the memory of the first royal death in the forest gave life to the more mysterious demise of his brother, King William Rufus.
According to William of Malmesbury, William Rufus was “well set; his complexion florid, his hair yellow; of open countenance; different coloured eyes, varying with certain glittering specks; of astonishing strength, though not very tall, and his belly rather projecting.”
Not a very flattering picture and, all in all, William seems to have been a complex fellow.
He was popular among his companions but his relationship with his brothers was volatile and the church regarded the king almost as an anti-Christ. Rufus was a very luke-warm Christian and not above selling church positions to the highest bidder rather than filling them by appointment. He left many positions empty, depriving the church of revenue and pocketing the income himself.
The most recorded characteristics of the king seem to have been his love of hunting, his delight in rich cuisine (particularly eels), a predilection for young male companions, and excessive monetary greed. He was a man of eclectic tastes; his companions at court were reported as effeminate, adopting ridiculous fashions and wearing their hair long.
Some say he was homosexual, some that he was not, but there are no recorded offspring, either legitimate or otherwise. This does not mean that he did not father any children. A man like Rufus would be more than capable of ignoring his responsibilities. In The Forest Dwellers, which is a fictional tale, he is an amiable but selfish man whose sexual impartiality eventually leads to his downfall.
On the day of his last hunt, Rufus had been taken ill and the outing was postponed, but quite late in the evening the king, deciding he was well enough after all, called up the horses and the party rode off into the forest. The company consisted of many powerful magnates that
were close to the king, among them his brother, Henry Beauclerc, and Rufus’ friend, Sir Walter Tyrell.
The Peterborough manuscript of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle states that “on the morning after Lammas Day, the king William was shot with an arrow in hunting by a man of his” (Anglo Saxon Chronicle (E) 1099).
Another chronicler, Geoffrey Gaimer stated, “We do not know who shot the king,” and Gerald of Wales wrote, “The King was shot by Ranulf of Aquis.” Research into Ranulf of Aquis draws a blank. There is no clear indication of who he was, but what is clear is that Rufus’ death was as much a mystery then as it is now.
The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle goes on to say what a wicked fellow Rufus had been, but it must be remembered that the church had many grievances against Rufus. In fact, all contemporary accounts written of William Rufus are the work of those with an agenda against him, so the picture we have of him is distorted.
At the time there seems to have been little fuss made about who shot the fatal arrow. Rufus was dead, his body abandoned in the forest while his erstwhile companions fled to secure their holdings and their place in the court of the new king.
Tradition has it that Rufus’ body remained where it fell until it was picked up by a charcoal burner named Purkiss, and taken to Winchester for burial.
Rufus’ brother Henry, being in the right place at the right time, became the next monarch and perhaps had a reason for not pursuing the truth—perhaps he was complicit in his brother’s death, perhaps not.
Later historians and fictional representations of the tale point the finger at Sir Walter Tyrell, Lord of Piox de Picardie in France and friend of the king. The night before the hunt Rufus is said to have presented Tyrell with two rather splendid arrows with the words “to the good archer, the good arrows.” It was one of these arrows that was later found embedded in the king’s heart. Allegedly, Tyrell shot at a stag but the arrow deflected and lodged in the king’s chest. Tyrell, on seeing what he’d done, fled to France.
Tyrell was never pursued for his crime—perhaps it suited the new king that he was never found and questioned, perhaps he housed dangerous truths. Some say he was Henry’s man, paid well for his services, but, although Henry undoubtedly had the best motive, Tyrell spent his remaining years exiled in France, receiving no reward and never speaking out against the English king. Therefore, his involvement seems unlikely and one chronicler, Abbot Suger, maintained until he died that,
It was laid to the charge of a certain noble, Walter Thurold, that he had shot the king with an arrow; but I have often heard him, when he had nothing to fear nor to hope, solemnly swear that on the day in question he was not in the part of the forest where the king was hunting, nor ever saw him in the forest at all.
The fact remains that almost a thousand years have passed since that day and during those centuries, historians have been over and over the story, seeking a culprit, patching together fact and fiction, mismatching truth with legend until the real story is totally lost in speculation.
I suppose the main message I want to make in The Forest Dwellers is this: the forest was teeming with people that day—it could have been anyone! The Forest Dwellers is an action-packed adventure, peopled with plausible characters. You will find no “goodies” and no “baddies”, just complex humans, struggling to survive in an unkind world.
Monarchy: The Normans—Stephen and Matilda
by Debra Brown
Following the early death of the only legitimate son of Henry I, William, few of the English and Norman barons were prepared to stand by their oath to him to support his daughter’s claim to the throne. Matilda was, after all, a woman, and was said to have been arrogant and unpopular. She was also married to the Count of Anjou. He was the ruler of Anjou—England and Normandy’s traditional enemy.
When Henry died in 1135, the barons met to choose a king. Despite Matilda’s having an infant son, they chose Count Theobald of Blois, the grandson of William the Conqueror by his daughter, Adela.
Negotiations were in progress when Stephen, Theobald’s younger brother, made himself King of England.
Stephen had been brought up by Henry I, who had loved him and made him one of the richest men in England. Stephen now pointed to this as evidence that Henry had been grooming him to become the next king, despite Henry’s having obtained Stephen’s oath to support Matilda.
As soon as Henry was dead, Stephen sailed for England. He obtained the support of his brother, whom Henry had created Bishop of Winchester, as well as the citizens of London. The Archbishop of Canterbury crowned him king on 22 December 1135.
Stephen was charming, courageous, and chivalrous. He became the first English king to allow jousting. He had humbly earned the people’s affection and was generous toward the church. Most of the barons and even Henry’s favorite illegitimate son, Earl Robert of Gloucester, swore allegiance to him.
Stephen was a brave soldier, but a failure as a king and commander. Because of it, Robert turned against him, and many followed. Matilda’s uncle, David I of Scotland, invaded England, and though Stephen defeated David, Matilda could see that Stephen’s support was bleeding away and that it was time for her to act.
In an attempt to weaken King Henry’s bureaucracy, which might support Matilda, Stephen arrested bishops and councilors, some of whom were his own family. This lost for him the vital support of the church.
He made strategic mistakes in battle defending his rule, not the least of which was to decide not to besiege Arundel, the castle where Matilda had taken up residence after arriving from France with Robert, and to allow her safe passage to join Robert in Bristol.
Chivalrous it was, but foolish, and the result was full-scale civil war. Barons built illegal castles and plundered. They sold their allegiance to the highest bidder and then changed sides at will. Anarchy existed and no one felt safe.
Finally, Stephen was a prisoner in chains at Bristol, and Matilda rode to London to claim her throne with the help of Stephen’s brother, the Bishop of Winchester. She was called Lady of the English by her supporters, but she had imposed high taxes and was still a woman, and the people would not have her. They drove her out of the city.
Stephen’s wife, also named Matilda for the sake of confusion, was rallying his forces. Robert was captured, and the Matildas made an exchange. Henry’s daughter was forced to release Stephen in exchange for her main supporter. The Bishop of Winchester had by now realigned himself with Stephen.
Matilda sent Robert to Anjou to request help from her husband. The count was, however, engaged in a successful invasion of Normandy and could not leave. Stephen had become reconciled to the clergy, and Matilda’s supporters were under threat of excommunication.
Stephen laid siege to Matilda in Oxford Castle.
On a frozen, snowy night Matilda and four knights dressed in white (she was in a nightgown) climbed down from a tower. They slipped through Stephen’s lines and ran to London. The war dragged on, but five years later Robert died and Matilda was forced to give up. She left for Anjou.
Since the Count of Anjou had taken over Normandy, some of the English barons who owned Norman estates felt their only hope of retaining their possessions across the Channel was to support Anjou in England. They threw their support to the son of Matilda, Henry, the heir to the house of Anjou. And the war dragged on.
Stephen attempted to secure the succession of his line by having his son and heir, Eustace, crowned during his own lifetime. The Archbishop of Canterbury, however, with the Pope’s backing, refused to perform the coronation.
Young Henry returned to England in 1153. He was now the most powerful feudal prince in Europe. Through inheritance and marriage, he was now Duke of Normandy and Aquitaine. He landed with a small army, and barons flocked to join him.
Fear of reprisals caused the barons to conclude a peace agreement, but Stephen remained adamant that his son shou
ld succeed. When Eustace died, however, in 1153, Stephen gave up interest in the succession. Peace through the Treaty of Westminster meant that Stephen would rule till his death and that Henry was acknowledged as his heir instead of his own second son, William. Stephen did not enjoy the peace for long—he died the next year.
Henry II was crowned in 1154. Matilda lived till 1167, long enough to know of her son’s succession, though she did not attend his coronation in Westminster Abbey, and she never returned to England.
Why I Love Eleanor of Aquitaine
by Christy English
I love to write about Eleanor of Aquitaine because she always surprises me. Even though she is an historical figure and the events of her life are set in stone, the character of Eleanor as she comes to life in my novels always teaches me something new.
On the pages of history books her life was dynamic enough—Duchess of Aquitaine at the age of fifteen, Eleanor finished brokering her own marriage to Louis VII of France.
Years later, Eleanor rode at her husband’s side on Crusade, and on her way home, sick of being married to Louis, she began working to annul her marriage. Only months after she earned her freedom, Eleanor married her second husband, Henry of Normandy, who became King of England two years later…and that is just the first half of her life. So you see what I mean when I say Eleanor of Aquitaine was a dynamic woman.
Nothing stopped Eleanor from achieving her goals. For decades, she wanted the County of Toulouse back under the control of her family. After sending both husbands out to reclaim it through warfare (and after both men failed), she simply arranged her daughter’s marriage to the Count of Toulouse, effectively putting her family in line to inherit that county and thus to take control of it once more.
Castles, Customs, and Kings: True Tales by English Historical Fiction Authors Page 10
