It was into this turbulent, dangerous world that the future conqueror of England was born, around 1027 or 1028.1 Known to contemporaries as Guillaume le Bâtard, William was the illegitimate son of Duke Robert I, the younger son of Duke Richard II. Robert’s elder brother, Richard III, had been confidently expected to rule for many years. However, he died barely a year after assuming the duchy in 1026. The suddenness of his death led many to suspect foul play on the part of his brother—variously called “the Magnificent” and “the Devil”—who had rebelled against him and was now quick to seize the reins of power.2
It is likely that by this time, William had already been conceived. Shortly before his death, Robert’s father had conferred upon him the title of Count of Hiésmois, an area in southern Normandy.3 The principal town was Falaise, from where Robert had launched his rebellion against his elder brother in 1027. It was also here that he met and fell in love with a young woman named Herleva,4 the daughter of Fulbert, a local tradesman. Although Fulbert is most commonly believed to have been a tanner (the tanneries at Falaise were famed throughout the duchy), inconsistent sources and ambiguous translations make it possible that he was an undertaker, furrier, or apothecary.5
According to popular legend, Robert first spotted Herleva from the castle at Falaise while she was washing clothes in a stream. Unless he had been gifted with exceptional eyesight, this is unlikely, for the castle was situated some considerable distance above the stream. Writing almost one hundred years after the event, William of Malmesbury took a different stance, claiming that Robert saw Herleva dancing and fell instantly and passionately in love.6 The truth is that we know little of their relationship: indeed, if not for the son that it produced, it would probably have escaped notice altogether. After all, there was nothing remarkable about a member of the aristocracy taking a local girl to his bed.
At the time of their meeting, Robert was in his mid-twenties. Herleva’s age is not recorded, but the date of her death suggests that she was of a similar age to her lover. That there was genuine affection between them is suggested by the fact that Robert did not abandon Herleva when she fell pregnant: indeed, he showed great favor to both her and her relatives, appointing them to prestigious positions in his court.
Legends flourished around the Conqueror’s birth. One of the most quoted was by Malmesbury, who claimed that even before William was born, it was clear that he was destined for greatness. According to this account, Herleva had dreamed that her “inward parts” were stretched out to cover Normandy and England—a clear sign that the child she was carrying would rule both domains.7 As soon as William was born, he made it apparent that he would fulfill the prophecy. Malmesbury described how the infant was left on the floor of Herleva’s room while she recovered from the trauma of the birth. To the astonishment of the midwife standing by, the tiny baby grabbed at the rushes covering the floor with such strength that it was obvious he would become a mighty man, ready to acquire everything within his reach, “and that which he acquired he would with a strong hand steadfastly maintain against all challengers … The gossiping women received this as a portent with cries of joy, and the midwife, greeting the good omen, acclaimed the boy to be king.”8
This account owes more to Malmesbury’s imagination than to any real evidence. The truth is that William’s birth was accorded no mention in reliable contemporary sources. He was, after all, the bastard offspring of an apparently casual liaison between the duke’s younger brother and a low-born girl with no connections. At the time, not even the most far-sighted of political observers could have predicted that he would go on to rule Normandy—let alone England. As well as his own illegitimacy, there was the fact that his father was not expected to inherit the dukedom. Even when Robert did become duke, it was expected that he would marry and beget legitimate heirs. His bastard son would surely soon be forgotten.
But Robert chose not to marry, instead seeming content to remain with his mistress, Herleva. Malmesbury claims that he “loved her above all others, and for some time kept her in the position of a lawful wife.”9 According to the chronicler Robert of Torigny, they had another child, Adeliza (or Adelaide), who went on to make three prestigious marriages.10 Herleva later married one of Robert’s favorite noblemen, Herluin de Conteville. Some accounts claim that her lover arranged this match as a selfless act to ensure her future because she was of too lowly a status to become his own wife.11 Another theory is that she married Herluin after Robert’s death. What is certain is that this marriage produced two sons: Odo and Robert.12 Both men would play a hugely significant part in the later history of their half-brother, William.
Duke Robert consistently recognized William as his son throughout his reign and seemed to be immensely proud of the boy, who from a young age showed remarkable military prowess. Shortly before embarking upon a pilgrimage to Jerusalem in January 1035, Robert showed William the ultimate favor by naming him his heir. This may seem surprising—even shocking—but illegitimacy did not carry quite the same stigma then as it would in later centuries. Christian marriage was still being regularized, and William’s grandfather, Duke Richard II, had been the first of his line to make such a formal union. Many rulers contented themselves with concubines rather than taking a wife. Although William became widely known as “the Bastard,” this was not as insulting as might be supposed. Orderic Vitalis claimed that “as a bastard [he] was despised by the native nobility,” but he was writing at a time when social mores had changed significantly.13 Yet William himself certainly seems to have been sensitive on the subject of his birth; the fact that his “official” chroniclers, Jumièges and Poitiers, omitted to mention his beginnings suggests that he was ashamed of them—but this perhaps owed more to his mother’s lowly status than to his illegitimacy per se.14 By contrast, his origins were seized upon by writers who were more sympathetic to the English, notably William of Malmesbury, who described him rather dismissively as “the child of a mistress.”15
Nevertheless, Duke Robert knew that he was taking a risk by leaving his domain to a boy whose claim could be called into question, particularly as there were several rival claimants, notably the duke’s half-brothers, Archbishop Mauger of Rouen and Count William of Arques, who were untainted by bastardy. In an attempt to negate the threat of civil war while he was on his crusade, Robert “presented” his son William, then just seven or eight years old, to the powerful Norman magnates and “besought them to choose him as their lord in his place and to accept him as military leader.”16 According to Jumièges, “everyone in the town rejoiced in his encouragement and in accordance with the duke’s decree readily and unanimously acclaimed him their prince and lord and pledged him fealty with inviolable oaths.”17 But Duke Robert was not satisfied. As a further precaution, he secured formal recognition of his son’s new status from Henry I. The French king was pleased to return the favor that Robert had shown him two years earlier when he had been driven out of his domains by rebels and the duke had offered him refuge. Apparently content that he had done everything in his power to protect his young heir, Duke Robert duly took his leave for the Holy Land.
According to Jumièges, Robert succeeded in reaching Jerusalem, and soon afterward embarked upon his return journey. However, he made it only as far as Nicaea in Turkey, where he died suddenly at the beginning of July 1035. As with his brother’s demise, foul play was suspected, but nothing was ever proved.18 His son, William, was genuinely grieved upon hearing the news, and he revered his father’s memory throughout his life.19 But in the immediate aftermath of Robert’s death, he was faced with a more urgent matter—namely, the battle to hold on to his inheritance. As Malmesbury recounts: “Soon everyone was fortifying his own towns, building his towers, collecting stores of grain, and on the lookout for pretexts to plan a break with the child as soon as possible.”20
The fact that William was a minor served to inflame the situation even more, as did his bastard status, which strengthened the claim of the descendants of Dukes Richard I an
d II—the so-called Richardides. Jumièges tells how one adversary, Roger of Tosny, who could trace his descent back to Rollo, “hearing that the young William had succeeded his father in the duchy … became very indignant and arrogantly refused to serve him, saying that as a bastard William should not rule him and the other Normans.”21 It was a familiar cry. Those same power-hungry nobles whom Robert had tried to rein in quickly forgot their oath of allegiance to his young heir and seized the opportunity that the accession of a minor brought in its wake. In this bloodthirsty, lawless land, the race was on to see who could murder the boy first.
William had scant resources to draw upon in this most one-sided of conflicts, and his chances of survival seemed remote indeed. The guardians who had been appointed to protect him soon fell by the wayside. The archbishop of Rouen died in 1037, followed by Count Alan of Brittany in 1040. The latter’s replacement, Gilbert of Brionne, was murdered by assassins a few months later as he was out riding, along with another guardian, Lord Turold. Security around the boy was tightened as a result, and he was often concealed in peasants’ houses for safety. William himself later recalled: “Many times, for fear of my kinsmen, I was smuggled secretly at night by my uncle Walter out of the chamber in the castle, and taken to cottages and hiding-places of the poor, to save me from discovery by traitors who sought my death.”22 His steward, Lord Osbern, took to sleeping in the same room with him—a precaution that cost him his life. Orderic Vitalis tells how Osbern “unexpectedly had his throat cut one night … while he and the Duke were sound asleep in the Duke’s chamber at Vaudreuil.”23 The perpetrators had evidently been disturbed or William had awoken in time to escape the same fate.
This was William’s education. Instead of reading and writing, he was taught the brutal lessons of murder, violence, and betrayal. Honing his military skills became a question of survival, not merely a nicety of aristocratic upbringing. As Jumièges observed, living in “hardship and deprivation,” he had been forever trying to escape from “the snares of his enemies.”24 None of the courtly refinements befitting a duke of one of the most powerful territories in Europe were bestowed upon him. The contrast to the pampered upbringing of his future wife could not have been greater.
During his first tempestuous twelve years in power, William’s main achievement was to escape the clutches of his rapacious and murderous nobles—which, given the extraordinary number of attempts on his life, was no mean feat. He had been able to do little to assert his control and bring his rebellious subjects to heel. The turning point came in 1047, when he was in his twentieth year. Count Guy of Burgundy was one of his deadliest enemies. As a grandson of Duke Richard II (and thereby a cousin of William), he claimed that he had a stronger right to the duchy than this bastard upstart. By 1047, he had amassed such a dangerous body of support—as many as twenty-five thousand troops—in western Normandy that William had little choice but to take up arms.
The two armies met at Val-ès-Dunes. If William had been forced to rely solely upon his own forces, the day would have been lost. Jumièges describes how the duke was confronted by “an army of innumerable hostile and aggressive warriors with drawn swords ready to join battle.”25 Fortunately, he was able to call upon the support of the French king, Henry I, whose goodwill William’s father Robert had been wise enough to cultivate. Malmesbury claims that Henry supported the young duke “most vigorously” during this and other campaigns.26 Thanks to his backing, William’s army was bolstered by an additional ten thousand men. This swung the balance firmly in his favor, and their combined forces won the day. It was a momentous victory, for defeat would have meant deposition. William had emerged as a force to be reckoned with. Gone were the days of being forever on the run from his enemies. Now the twenty-year-old duke was on the offensive. Jumièges proudly described “how valiantly he crushed their reckless necks under his feet.”27
By vanquishing his enemies at Val-ès-Dunes, William had proved that he had the one quality that was prized above all others when it came to governing medieval states: eleventh-century rulers were military leaders first, politicians second. It was not just Normandy that saw exceptional violence in this period; across whole swaths of western Europe, leaders had to be more than mere figureheads to survive. They had to fight every bit as ferociously as their subjects—if not more so—in order to justify their position. There were few constitutional or legal limitations to their power. Although in theory they were responsible for upholding and enforcing the law, they did not have to abide by it themselves. The fact that they had to exercise some degree of conciliation toward their nobles in order to avoid rebellion did not detract from their immense arbitrary power. They ensured the stability of their kingdom through the sheer force of their personality. Ruthlessness, not diplomacy, won the day.
Duke William of Normandy flourished in such an atmosphere. His military prowess was matched by his unbending will and “superb self-confidence,” and he never flinched from imposing his authority by force.28 Val-ès-Dunes was just the first in a series of bloody conflicts that secured his predominance within the province and repelled the threats from outside. Those whom he conquered were shown no mercy. The savagery of his regime was notorious. According to one chronicler: “Nations foreign and far-distant feared nothing so much as his name.”29 By the age of twenty-two, he had become one of the most respected—and feared—rulers in western Europe.
He was also one of the most hated. His cruelty and brutality were not tempered by conciliation or compromise. His will was the only one that mattered, as anyone who stood in his way found out to his cost. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle describes him as “a very stern man, and violent, so that no one dared do anything against his will.”30 Eadmer, another contemporary, claimed that he was “stiff and terrifying to almost everyone because of his great power.”31 Intolerant and self-righteous to the extreme, William scorned weakness in others—perhaps driven by the deep-seated insecurity that he harbored about his own illegitimacy. Although he was praised for his justice, when blinded by fury his vengeance could be swift and terrible. According to several reliable contemporary accounts, while he was besieging Alençon in 1051, the inhabitants “had beaten pelts and furs in order to insult the duke,” a clear allusion to his menial origins as the grandson of a tanner.32 When the town fell, William ordered that the hands and feet of every man who had participated in the siege should be cut off. The sources contain no further references to the duke’s being insulted for his bastard status by the citizens of Alençon.33
William was not a subtle man, and his attitude to most matters was conventional, as Matilda would find out to her cost. Domineering and direct, he bulldozed opponents into submission and was merciless in pursuit of his ambitions. But he would not have achieved such staggering success if he had not also had a degree of animal cunning, gained from the hazardous period of his childhood. At its worst, this manifested itself in corruption and avarice, particularly in his later years, but it also made him a match for the most brilliant political strategists. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle describes him as “a very wise man,” and Henry of Huntingdon concurred that he was “wise, but crafty.”34
The duke was also pious. Jumièges claims that “while in his flowering youth, [William] began to devote himself wholeheartedly to the worship of God.” In typically sycophantic style, William of Poitiers, who as well as being William’s apologist was also his chaplain, praises the “utmost zeal” with which he protected the Norman church.35 The duke’s piety apparently stayed with him for life: “He was a holy and devout worshipper of the Christian religion in which he had been brought up in childhood. And if health permitted him he assidiously [sic] attended church at morning and evening and at mass.”36 In 1071, Pope Alexander II would praise him for his “outstanding reputation for piety among the rulers and princes of the world.”37 This manifested itself topographically, and during his reign, a far greater number of religious buildings were founded across Normandy than ever before. The duke was also a keen reformer, d
etermined to root out corrupt ecclesiastical practices. According to Orderic Vitalis, in appointing high-ranking churchmen, he paid more heed to “wisdom and a good life” than to wealth and power.38 Although it was common for military leaders to justify any number of brutalities in the name of religion, it seems that William’s dedication to the church was more than mere lip service. His “devout and eager” belief bordered on the puritanical, and he protected the church every bit as fiercely as he did his dominions. Even the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, which mostly depicts him as a cruel tyrant, admits that he was “kind to those good men who loved God.”39
The young duke was also capable of intense loyalty, particularly toward the relatives of his mother, to whom he seems to have been close. Malmesbury observes that he treated Herleva “with distinguished generosity” throughout her life.40 He promoted her two sons by Herluin de Conteville, Odo and Robert, to the prestigious positions of bishop of Bayeux and count of Mortain respectively.41 He also made Herluin himself a rich man by granting him vast swaths of land across Normandy. When Herleva died in 1050, William made careful provisions for her final resting place, ordering that she should be buried at the abbey of Grestain, founded by Herluin in a beautiful setting near the river Seine.
If William had a softer side, it surfaced most often in his relations with women. Matilda herself would benefit from it, although she would also learn that if crossed, William’s tender feelings would give way to terrifying fury. The duke also believed in fidelity and was known to be chaste.42 This was viewed with some suspicion by contemporaries and “gave occasion for his manhood to be called into question,” for it was positively expected of a young nobleman to sow his wild oats and father a number of illegitimate children before (and indeed after) taking a wife.43 Perhaps William eschewed such behavior because of his intense shame about his own illegitimacy. William of Malmesbury provides another explanation by referring to reports that the duke was impotent.44 His marriage to Matilda would prove how ill-founded these were.
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