Her forehead’s calm and pure expanse,
Ne’er ruffled by an angry glance,
Those eyes, so steadfast and serene,
That peaceful, still and gracious mien.35
Meanwhile, a French account of the following century described her as “beautiful and blonde,” and like “a freshly bloomed rose.” It also praised the elegance of her dress, with her “fur-lined cloak and close fitting gown, her two plaits falling near to the white veil that surrounded her neck.”36 However, it is not clear upon what this account can have been based, because it matches none of the later engravings of Matilda—all of which were admittedly completed many years after her death. The description of her clothes does, however, tally with the typical apparel of a well-born lady in the eleventh century. As duchess, Matilda would have worn gowns of comparatively simple design, albeit made from rich fabrics. The fashion was for long dresses, reaching to the ground and tied around the waist with a girdle, which was often the most elaborate part of the ensemble. The gown would have been complemented by a matching cloak fastened by shoulder clasps, and a hood. Not until the twelfth century did the fashion change to more decorative and elaborate attire. Although the later engravings of Matilda show her with long, flowing tresses, in general women’s hair was concealed by a wimple, which was wound about the head and thrown over the shoulder. The fact that the monks at Coutances had been so shocked to see Matilda with her hair loose suggests that she usually conformed to this fashion.
A wall painting of the duchess, executed at her command, once adorned the outside wall of an ancient chapel in the abbey of St.-Étienne in Caen, which had been built before the abbey was founded. It was destroyed when the chapel was pulled down in 1700, but an eighteenth-century engraving of it survives.37 Though it does not help us understand Matilda’s physical appearance, it does give us clues as to how she might have dressed. It shows her wearing a simple robe gathered at the waist by a belt of precious metal, possibly gold, with a cloak around her shoulders. A transparent veil covers her long, dark hair and is held in place by a crown bedecked with fleur-de-lys and precious stones. In her right hand she holds a scepter of the same design, and in her left a book—perhaps an indication of her intellect. Her graceful pose, with head slightly inclined as if to signify compliance or assent, and the simplicity of her apparel give the impression of modesty and serenity.
However, this is a heavily stylized portrait that bears more resemblance to Queen Victoria than to a woman of Norman times, so its accuracy is dubious. There is also a sketch of the fresco, which seems to date from an earlier period. This shows Matilda wearing a similar crown and carrying the same scepter, both adorned with fleur-de-lys, but her features are much plainer and her hair is shorter and fair. However, the provenance of this sketch is no more certain than that of the later engraving.
Some sources claim that Matilda’s image, flanked by two lions, can be found on a capital of one of the columns in La Trinité.38 A statue of her was also erected in the eleventh century on the west front of Croyland Abbey in Lincolnshire, toward which she had proved a generous benefactress, but it was destroyed by fire in 1091. A number of statues of Matilda can be found in French cities today, notably in the Place Reine Mathilde in Caen and the Luxembourg Garden in Paris. But these are stereotypical representations of a medieval queen, and there is no consistency in facial features.
Despite the lack of visual evidence, the written accounts of Matilda’s appearance, which are overwhelmingly complimentary, suggest that she was a striking woman—and, moreover, that she retained her physical charms through much of her life. This might have helped keep her husband in thrall. Almost all of the contemporary accounts attest that William was utterly faithful to his wife. Poitiers was careful to stress that “he had learnt that marriage vows were holy and respected their sanctity.” Malmesbury concurs that from the day of their wedding, “his conduct was such as to keep him free for many years of any suggestion of misbehaviour.”39 While this might be expected of one so devoted, it was highly unusual for a male ruler of the time. Aristocratic marriages being political unions rather than romantic ones, husbands tended to find sexual gratification outside the marital bed, although spousal copulation was required to beget heirs. An extreme example was King Aethelred of England, who devoted himself entirely to his mistresses at the expense of his wife, Emma. Malmesbury observed with some distaste: “He was so offensive even to his own wife that he would hardly deign to let her sleep with him, but brought the royal majesty into disrepute by tumbling with concubines.”40 Two contemporaries of William, Henry IV and Philip I (later Holy Roman Emperor and king of France respectively), would both become embroiled in similar marital scandals.
Historically, the dukes of Normandy had chosen a different but no less problematic path, not marrying at all but instead keeping a string of mistresses. Perhaps this, as well as the shame of his own birth, made William determined to break the mold, giving him a further incentive to lead a private life beyond reproach. His intense piety was perhaps also a reaction against this shady heritage. He lent his full weight to the church’s campaign to prevent priests from keeping illicit wives and mistresses, and he believed in the strict teachings on marriage propagated by Lanfranc.
Whatever the cause, his sexual restraint still made his contemporaries uncomfortable. William’s temperance must have seemed something of an oddity amid the red-blooded warrior types with whom he was surrounded, and they no doubt sought a more scandalous explanation than that he simply loved his wife. While the rumor that he was impotent had been thoroughly discounted, they bandied about other possibilities—was he carrying on an illicit affair and, unlike so many of his contemporaries, succeeding in keeping it a secret?
Cracks do appear in the idealized vision of William and Matilda’s relationship. For example, the sources contain hints of the duke’s violent behavior toward his wife. One even has him kicking her in the breast with his spur.41 Although most of these accounts were written by hostile English chroniclers, William certainly had a strong streak of cruelty, as evidenced by the treatment that he meted out to the beleaguered citizens of Alençon. Moreover, wife beating was common in the Middle Ages, and it was not just excused but expected of a man to physically chastise his wife. It is therefore possible—even probable—that a man of William’s naturally violent temperament occasionally resorted to physical force in order to quell any disobedience on Matilda’s part.
But to the outside world, the duke and duchess were careful to present themselves as the head of a tight-knit family unit. The birth of two more daughters boosted this image—Matilda in around 1061 and Constance the following year, the latter named after Matilda’s grandmother. The younger Matilda is the most shadowy of all the daughters. She is not mentioned by any of the Norman chroniclers, but there is reliable evidence for her existence in Domesday Book, which refers to a man named Geoffrey who was employed as her chamberlain.42
The apparent strength and unity of the Norman dynasty was further reinforced by William’s decision in 1063 to formally designate his eldest son Robert as the heir to Normandy. William made the great nobles swear fealty to him—just as his own father had done with him almost thirty years before. He and Matilda witnessed a charter for “Robert, their son, whom they had chosen to govern the regnum after their deaths.”43 It must have been a proud occasion for Matilda, given the strong affection that she felt toward her eldest son.
In the same year, the final piece of the jigsaw was fitted into place when the duke conquered the troublesome province of Maine, which lay to the south of his principality. William had long coveted this territory, and had initially tried diplomacy to obtain it. He had arranged a betrothal between his son Robert and Margaret, a sister of the count of Maine, Herbert II. So determined was the duke to ensure the match went ahead that he had the young girl “guarded with great honour in safe places” until his son was of an age to marry her.44 But all of his efforts proved to be in vain, for Margaret died befo
re the marriage could take place. Malmesbury claims that the count himself subsequently asked William for the hand in marriage of one of his daughters. William agreed, but in March 1062, before the girl was of marriageable age, Herbert fell sick and died.45 It was said that on his deathbed, Herbert promised Maine to William, “adjuring his subjects to accept no one else,” and the latter wasted no time in claiming his inheritance.46
Acquiring Maine established William as the undisputed duke of Normandy. It also ensured that he need fear no interference from northern France in any overseas enterprise that he might undertake—a fact that would prove enormously significant during the following three years. The traditional hostility toward France had in any case been substantially reduced, thanks to Matilda’s family connections. Count Baldwin of Flanders had played an increasingly active part in international politics during the years following his daughter’s marriage to William. He had been assiduous in cultivating the goodwill of Henry I of France toward his son-in-law, drawing upon the strong blood ties that existed between the two dynasties. So successful were his efforts that the French king had even named Baldwin regent of France on behalf of his infant son, Philip. When Henry died in 1060, Baldwin took charge and “ruled the French kingdom with distinction for some years.”47
The ducal couple, who together had established a spectacularly successful regime on their home turf, were on the brink of international glory. And Matilda, who had rapidly established her independence and authority as duchess of Normandy, would be central to their success.
With their duchy secure and the papal marriage ban a distant memory, William and Matilda’s prestige was greater than it had been at any time during their reign. As a result, the duke had leisure to turn his energies to an enterprise that had long been occupying his thoughts.
Whether or not Edward the Confessor had really promised William the crown of England in 1051 is a matter for debate, but in the early 1060s, bolstered by his military and dynastic success, the duke now chose to press his claim. The situation in England had changed significantly since that time, and there were other contenders for the throne. The person with the best hereditary claim was Edward’s nephew, Edward the Exile, whom he ordered to be brought back to England from Hungary in 1057 so that—as Malmesbury put it—“his own lack of offspring might be made good by the support of his kinsfolk.”1 However, this nephew died shortly afterward in rather mysterious circumstances, and his son, Edgar, who was only around six years of age, inherited the claim. He was given the designation of “Aetheling”—that is, throneworthy—which might indicate that the king considered him as a potential successor. If this was the case, then his promise to William was probably little more than a diplomatic maneuver, aimed at securing a useful ally across the Channel.
Edward’s flimsy promise and William’s faint hereditary claim were by no means a guarantee of success. True, they both constituted qualifications for kingship in England, but there were two other such qualifications—namely, being accepted by the English nobles and being consecrated by the church. Almost all of the other claimants met at least one of these four criteria.
Within England, the most powerful contender by far was Harold Godwinson, the earl of Wessex, eldest son of the late Earl Godwine, who had died in 1053. His hereditary right to the throne was tenuous. He was Edward the Confessor’s brother-in-law, and he was distantly allied with the Danish royal house through his mother, Gytha. Nevertheless, together with his brother Tostig, he had a considerable body of support among the English people, who saw him as one of their own. His immense wealth further strengthened his campaign.
Prior to the Viking invasion in the ninth century, what we now know as England was a series of independent kingdoms. They included Wessex, the kingdom named after the West Saxons, which embraced regions south of the Thames from Kent to Cornwall; Mercia, which covered much of the Midlands, stretching from the Thames to the Humber; East Anglia; and Northumbria, which began to the north of the river Humber and extended well into what is now the Scottish lowlands. The Vikings had gradually drawn each of these kingdoms into their domain. The only one to remain was Wessex, which was ruled by Alfred the Great. His descendants were able to turn the tables by steadily taking control of the Viking territories, until the last Viking king, Eric Bloodaxe of York, was driven out in 954.2
But England remained vulnerable to the great warrior kings of Scandinavia, who saw the kingdom as their right because of the extensive Scandinavian settlements that remained—particularly in the north of the country. One of the most dominant cultures was that of the Danes. This race was “noble of blood and fighters by nature.”3 Now that Edward the Confessor looked set to die without an heir, their king, Sweyn Estrithson, a nephew of King Cnut, began to circle his prey, as did King Harald III Hardrada of Norway. Both had the military might to pose a serious threat. In view of all of this, the chances of William’s inheriting the English throne must have seemed distant indeed.
But the kingdom was worth fighting for. England was one of the most prosperous realms in western Europe, and its kings had amassed a rich treasury. It had a population of between one and a half and two million—although it could have been considerably more. Although the majority of the inhabitants lived in small villages or hamlets, there were a number of impressive urban centers, notably London, York, and Winchester—the capital of the ancient kingdom of Wessex—many of which were burgeoning centers of trade. The country was well placed to partake in both the Scandinavian and North Sea trade and the cross-Channel trade with northern France, Flanders, and the Rhineland. Archaeological finds have revealed that the landscape was also effectively exploited, from arable fields and woodland to rivers, quarries, and mines.
By the standards of the day, the system of governmental administration was extraordinarily sophisticated—certainly more so than in Normandy. Particularly impressive was the single national silver coinage and the ability of kings to levy taxes across the country, as first occurred with the Danegeld tax, which was introduced in the late tenth century in order to pay off invading Danish armies. The king could also raise a national army and navy, and he had a central secretariat to issue documents in his name. A similarly efficient organizational structure existed at a local level, with defined communities and courts within shires and their subdivisions, known as hundreds. The religious life of the kingdom was also increasingly ordered, and the English church was an effective unitary body. Comprising the two archbishoprics of Canterbury and York, numerous bishoprics and monasteries, and a huge number of village churches, it was also far more extensive than the Norman one.
Now that William had seen off his most troublesome rivals on his home turf, the idea of conquering England evolved from an appealing but distant prospect into an immediate priority. Even the most brilliant military strategist needs the occasional stroke of luck, and early in 1064, fate played into William’s hands. Word reached him that Earl Harold of Wessex, one of his fiercest rivals for the English throne, had been shipwrecked at Ponthieu, on the coast of Normandy, and taken prisoner by the local lord, Count Guy. According to Malmesbury, the English earl suffered all the indignities of a common prisoner, having his hands bound and feet shackled and being kept in chains until the count decided what should be done with him.4
Just why Harold had been journeying to France in the first place is not known. Malmesbury’s theory that he had strayed too far from the English coast while on a fishing expedition is hardly credible.5 Meanwhile, William of Poitiers claims that it was to confirm King Edward’s promise of the crown to Duke William, but this is not corroborated by any other source; moreover, it is highly unlikely that Harold—a major rival for the crown—would have been chosen to relay such a message.6 Bishop Eadmer of Canterbury asserted that Harold had been dispatched to retrieve his brother Wulfnoth and nephew Haakon, who had been held hostage in Normandy for several years. He claimed that Edward had given Harold permission to go, but warned him: “I have a presentiment that you will only succeed
in bringing misfortune upon the whole Kingdom and discredit upon yourself.”7 The Bayeux Tapestry supports this version of events, and there is a scene that appears to show the English king admonishing Harold for having proceeded with the mission.
Whatever had brought Harold to France, William was quick to seize the opportunity of having the powerful English earl on home territory. He ordered that Harold be released immediately and brought to Eu, where he received him and conducted him with all honor to his court in Rouen. Although it appeared that the duke had rescued his English visitor, for Harold it was a case of out of the frying pan, into the fire. He might have been fêted as an honored guest, but it was clear that he was just as much a captive as he had been in Ponthieu. William had no intention of releasing him without exploiting his unexpected visit to the full.
But for the time being, Harold was shown every courtesy by the duke and his family. Malmesbury records: “The duke received him with great respect, and fed and clothed him splendidly, according to the custom of his country.”8 Eager to show off his status as a powerful ruler, William ordered a series of lavish entertainments at his court. He also made sure that his wealth was ostentatiously displayed, and Harold’s apartments were hung with rich jewels, fabrics, and ornaments. It is likely that some if not all of William and Matilda’s children were presented to their English guest, because the duke would have been keen to demonstrate the strength of his dynasty.
Not content with these displays, William also contrived to impress Harold with his military prowess by inviting him to accompany him on campaign to Brittany.9 The image was one of brothers in arms fighting against a common enemy, but the subtext was clear: William wanted his rival to see just how much he deserved his reputation as one of the most feared warriors in Europe. As Malmesbury neatly put it, the duke had “the deeper design of showing him [Harold] William’s warlike preparations, so that he could see how much Norman swords were superior to English axes.”10
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