Despite his daughters’ worth as currency in the international marriage market, for William it was his sons who counted. Indeed, from the charter evidence, one would be forgiven for thinking that the duke had only sons and no daughters. In a grant addressed to the Abbey of St. Peter, Préaux, he offered several gifts “for the redemption of his soul and those of his wife Mathilidis and his sons.”38
By contrast, it was upon her daughters that Matilda focused most attention. This may seem odd, given that the career choices available to girls from noble families were limited to marriage or a nunnery. As at least one of her daughters would learn to her cost, the former option was by no means guaranteed. Even for the daughters of a distinguished family, finding a suitable husband was not necessarily a straightforward undertaking. There was an abundance of marriageable girls compared to boys, which meant that many were obliged to follow the celibate life of the cloister, there being no other option.
Despite the limited prospects that faced her daughters, Matilda resolved that they should have aspirations far beyond the desire to please a prospective husband. In her view, learning should not be the privilege of men alone. She knew from her own education that this was one sphere in which women could hold sway. It is a telling indication of her sense of ambition that she wished her daughters to set their sights higher than convention dictated.
The more sophisticated lessons in noble households were usually assigned to tutors, and Matilda conformed to this by appointing Arnulf of Chocques, the son of a priest in south Flanders, as schoolmaster to her daughter Cecilia.39 Arnulf was a renowned scholar, and Cecilia no doubt benefited from his instruction, which included the arts, Latin grammar, rhetoric, and logic.
All of Matilda’s children would be remarkable for their level of education—something that would not have been the case if their upbringing had been left to Duke William. The daughters in particular were a credit to the ducal family, and although the sources are sparse in their descriptions, the few references are all complimentary. They were lauded for their beauty, which they inherited from Matilda, as well as for their honesty and chastity.40 The evidence suggests that they were close to their mother, and they lived with her at court until they were obliged to enter marriage or the cloister.
Unlike her husband, Matilda did not show a prejudice for either sex. Although she seems to have given greater attention to the education of her daughters, this was by no means to the exclusion of her sons. Her involvement included appointing their tutors.41 As the eldest, Robert received the greatest attention. He was known to have had at least three tutors during his childhood,42 and both William and Matilda were anxious to ensure that he was groomed for the role of duke. Meanwhile, William Rufus was later tutored by the influential Lanfranc of Bec—“a man comparable with the Ancients for learning and religious fervour.”43 Lanfranc became prior of the magnificent abbey that William built in Caen, and William Rufus may have been educated there. Rufus grew up with a stammer, which tended to manifest itself when he was angry. Speech defects such as this often result from an excessively strict or repressive childhood. Whether this was at the hands of Lanfranc or his father is not certain. It could well have been both.
Although Matilda’s sons benefited from being taught by some of the most renowned scholars of the age, they did not seem to appreciate it. A method of teaching that was common in the eleventh century was the lectio, whereby the master would recite passages from selected texts and painstakingly explain their meaning while their pupils were obliged to listen passively and take notes. Robert Curthose later complained of the tedium of such lessons in an argument with his father, exclaiming: “I did not come here to listen to a lecture, for I have had more than enough of those from my schoolmasters.”44
The contemporary descriptions of Matilda’s sons are a good deal less positive than those of her daughters. Only her second son, Richard, is universally praised in the contemporary sources. By contrast, the chroniclers are highly critical of both Robert and William Rufus. Although Robert had initially given every appearance of being a dutiful son and had done “exactly as his father told him,” as he and Rufus grew into adulthood it became obvious that their characters were flawed in one way or another.45 Both were prone to sin and became notorious for their sexual license. They were also short-tempered, greedy, and at times brutal—characteristics that they shared with their father. In common with other children from noble households, they would also have picked up the baser aspects of life from servants.
William Rufus was perhaps the least likable of all the ducal children. He became known for his cruel, calculating nature. His cynicism and ironic humor did little to endear him to people, and in stark contrast to his parents’ piety, he enjoyed nothing better than shocking high-principled churchmen. In appearance, he was the most like his father, being of stocky, muscular build, and like him he excelled in the military arena. He also inherited the elder William’s “harsh,” booming voice. The nickname “Rufus” was probably intended as an insult, because red hair (which the elder William also had) was seen as a sign of wickedness.
The fact that Robert and William Rufus shared negative character traits did not create any degree of affinity between them. Indeed, the evidence suggests that they harbored an intense dislike toward each other. This animosity would become ever more obvious as the years passed. The bias shown by their parents might have fanned the flames of discord. While William favored his namesake, Matilda made no secret of her adoration of her firstborn son. What began as sibling rivalry would one day tear the ducal family apart.
The late 1050s and early 1060s were one of the most stable periods of William and Matilda’s marriage. Their domestic harmony and burgeoning dynasty made them a formidable partnership. This was bolstered by the duke’s military successes, which helped to establish Normandy’s preeminence in western Europe. The growing self-confidence of the duchy was reflected in a marked cultural and economic development during the 1050s. The towns of Rouen, Caen, and Bayeux throve on the profits of merchants and artisans, while to the south, a prosperous wine trade brought wealth to the duchy from neighboring principalities and overseas.
Normandy’s prosperity was reflected by the style in which its duke and duchess lived. Although little survives of their palaces at Falaise, Bayeux, Bonneville-sur-Touques, Rouen, and Fécamp, the locations still evoke a powerful sense of the past. It is easy to see why Bonneville-sur-Touques was said to be William and Matilda’s favorite residence, as it commanded breathtaking views of the sea to the north and the Touques valley to the south.
There is more tangible evidence of the buildings in which they lived at Caen, where excavations carried out in the 1960s provided an impression of what the ducal palace would have looked like. It was built on a huge scale and would have dominated the entire city as well as the surrounding countryside. Designed for defense as much as for comfort, it was encircled by a thick stone wall that would have had a continuous walkway for William’s guards to patrol. The entrance to the palace was through an imposing tower gateway, no doubt designed to impress visitors with the power of the residents within.
Once they had passed through the gateway, visitors would have been confronted by a bewildering array of buildings. In addition to the structure holding the duke and duchess’s suite of rooms, there were also numerous private houses for their officials and attendants. At the center of the complex was the Great Hall. Measuring eighteen meters by six, this was modest compared to the halls in the palaces that William would later build in England, and was less than half the size of the Great Hall that Henry VIII would build at Hampton Court some five centuries afterward. Traces of a chapel were also found, which would have been for William and Matilda’s private use.
Comfortable they may have been, but such residences were by no means as luxurious as those enjoyed by later rulers. Space was at a premium within each palace and castle, so it was common for the larger rooms to serve several purposes. The Great Hall, for example, was inten
ded for large assemblies, but it was used as a dining hall in between times. Trestle tables were erected for meals and then removed at night so that the hall could be transformed into a dormitory for hundreds of courtiers. The lucky ones might secure a bench on which to sleep, but most would have to make do with the rushes that covered the floor.
The ducal couple enjoyed rather more creature comforts. Their private apartments were situated in the warmest—and safest—part of the castle, above the Great Hall. This area, known as the solar, included a bedchamber each for the duke and duchess. Their beds were surrounded by curtains made from heavy, richly embroidered fabric to keep out the drafts in winter, as well as to provide some privacy.
Throughout the duchy, castles were more common than palaces. Some of these, such as Falaise, William’s birthplace, as well as Arques and Brionne, were made of stone, but most were the so-called motte-and-bailey construction that would later dominate England. The motte, or mound, was a raised earthwork on top of which was built the bailey, an enclosed courtyard typically surrounded by a high wooden fence. In the center would be the keep, also most often made from wood, which is why so few examples of this once prevalent type of castle survive today. All of these castles were essential to the duke’s exercise of power within Normandy, and to withstand threats from outside.
William and Matilda’s residences formed an important backdrop to the ducal courts, which became more frequent and imposing as their authority and prestige increased. The venue was to a large extent dictated by the duke’s campaigns, although the Easter court would usually be held in the castle at Fécamp. Set within a coastal town that is as picturesque today as it was then, it is easy to see why it was so favored by William and Matilda. State business was not always conducted in the splendor of the ducal palaces, however. For example, one charter was witnessed by William as he sat on a carpet between a forester’s house and the church at Bénouville, near Caen.1
The ducal courts were essential to the administration of the duchy. The overall function of the court was in theory to provide support and advice to the duke, although in practice it became increasingly a means by which William could assert his power. The business that was most often transacted, judging from the surviving evidence, was the confirmation by the duke of land or privileges to religious houses. The courts also fulfilled an important judicial function by settling long-running claims or disputes. The resulting charters are one of the most valuable historical sources for the period, for the clues that they provide both to Matilda’s itinerary and, more important, to her role in government, which steadily grew more prominent throughout the 1050s and early 1060s.
William and Matilda’s courts were attended by the most powerful nobles and churchmen in the land. Chief among the ecclesiastics were bishops Odo of Bayeux, Hugh of Lisieux, William of Évreux, and John d’Avranches, later archbishop of Rouen. Meanwhile, the counts of Eu, Mortain, and Évreux—who belonged to some of the oldest and most distinguished families in Normandy—were particularly prominent secular advisers, along with William fitzOsbern, Roger de Beaumont, and Roger de Montgomery. The latter three men all shared kinship with the duke. William fitzOsbern was one of his most trusted counsellors. His father, Osbern the Steward, had been killed while defending William from an assassination attempt during his minority. Osbern’s son had probably been raised as part of the young duke’s court, and the two men had struck up a close friendship. FitzOsbern’s fellow adviser Roger de Beaumont was nicknamed “La Barbe” because of his mustache and beard, which made him stand out among the clean-shaven Norman crowd. His family had long enjoyed influence in the duchy. The other principal adviser, Roger de Montgomery, had one of the sharpest minds of any of the duke’s courtiers. When the court was in full session, it was usually also attended by members of William’s family, most notably Matilda and their eldest son, Robert.
This group of Norman aristocrats—or comtes—in whom William vested power was extraordinarily tight-knit. Together with the vicomtes, the second tier of nobles, they served as agents of ducal justice, finance, and military administration. They occupied castles on William’s behalf, which gave them a pivotal role in the defense of the duchy and the maintenance of order within it. It was thus through these men that the duke implemented his authority at a local level, and the fact that national and local power was concentrated in so few hands lent William’s system of government a cohesion that was unrivaled elsewhere in contemporary Europe.
As well as being the nexus of political power, the ducal court was also a center of culture and refinement, largely thanks to Matilda’s influence. Her husband was a military man at heart, and this was reflected by the company that he kept. He preferred rough, bawdy entertainments to the refinements favored by more learned rulers, and he often used violence in jest. On one occasion, he beat a forester with an animal bone for querying a grant to a monastery.2 That he took such pleasure in terrifying and humiliating the victims of his cruel jests proved him more a bully than a man of genuine humor.
Although the duke did welcome poets to court, the surviving works that were presented to him were often crude rhymes rather than the eloquent and romantic verses that Matilda inspired.3 As one recent commentator has observed, “this was a rough existence, the life of a crude, unlettered soldier, always surrounded by men of similar accomplishments and interests.”4 This is perhaps not surprising, given that William was far more used to living off the countryside while on campaign than enjoying the niceties of court ceremonials.
But it was Matilda, rather than William, who increasingly set the tone for court life. Having been raised in one of the most cosmopolitan courts in medieval Europe, she soon brought her influence to bear on the etiquette and ceremonial of the Norman court. Given her interest in intellectual pursuits, it was no doubt thanks to her that literature flourished there. She and William became active literary patrons, and the chronicler Jumièges noted approvingly that “illustrious men excellently versed and learned in letters” surrounded the duke and his family.5 As well as encouraging Latin poets, the Norman ruling house commissioned histories of its dynasty from the likes of Dudo of Saint-Quentin and William of Poitiers.
Matilda’s role at court included overseeing the preparation of the banquets held in honor of important visitors or to mark significant days in the religious calendar. The fare served was among the finest of any court in Europe, influenced by French and Scandinavian cuisine. An array of meats and poultry was presented, including venison, pork, beef, swan, heron, and duck, all flavored with spices and dressed with rich sauces. The entertainments that followed were provided by musicians, jesters, dancers, and poets, and would last long into the night. Such occasions were devised for more than mere frivolity, however. They were a highly effective way of emphasizing the potency and prestige of the Norman dynasty.
In between the magnificent occasions of court, William and Matilda’s daily life there would have followed a more routine pattern. The duchess’s household, like her husband’s, was strict in its observances, and she heard Mass every day. For the duke, this was followed by several hours of rigorous exercise. His great passion was hunting. A satirical poem written shortly after his death claimed: “He loved the stags so very much, as if he were their father.”6 If anyone killed a stag or a wild boar unlawfully, his eyes were “put out” as a punishment.7 William would typically go hunting in the morning, return for lunch, and continue the chase or embark upon martial training in the afternoon.
Matilda lived a more sedentary life, but she was by no means idle. Her time would be taken up with hearing petitions, overseeing her accounts, and receiving important visitors. Her leisure hours would have been spent with her ladies, either embroidering, reading, or conversing. They may also have played or listened to music. Contemporary manuscript drawings show a variety of instruments, such as early forms of harps, viols, and horns. The resident court minstrels would sometimes be joined by singers, who performed the popular ballads of the day. Other pastimes at cour
t included games such as chess and “tables,” a form of backgammon.
For all the stability and status of William and Matilda’s regime that their court life suggests, the specter of the papal ban was forever in the background. But in 1059, everything changed. In January of that year, Nicholas II deposed Benedict X and was formally elected pope. The ousted Benedict soon began drumming up a powerful opposition force, and Duke William saw an opportunity. He quickly offered the new pope military assistance against Benedict in the hope that it would persuade him to revoke the ban on his marriage to Matilda. As an insurance measure, he sent representatives to Rome to reinforce his case. The duke’s two-pronged strategy worked. At a Lateran Council convened that Easter, Pope Nicholas granted a retrospective papal sanction for their union. Perhaps repeating the arguments used by William’s negotiators, he “wisely pointed out that if he were to order a divorce this might cause a serious war between Flanders and Normandy.”8 William and Matilda’s triumph was complete.
Perhaps to appease his ecclesiastical colleagues, the Pope ordered the duke and duchess to make a penance by founding a monastery “where monks and nuns should zealously pray for their salvation.”9 This was a small price to pay for legitimacy, and William and Matilda undertook it with alacrity. Indeed, they exceeded Nicholas’s instructions, founding hospitals at Cherbourg, Rouen, Bayeux, and Caen “to feed and clothe a hundred poor people, the maimed, the powerless, the infirm, the blind” in reparation.10 But their greatest benefactions by far were the lavish new abbeys that they built. Matilda’s—named La Trinité—was a convent for nuns, while her husband’s, St.-Étienne, was a monastery. The couple chose the same location for their twin projects. Two centuries later, the chronicler Wace reflected:
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