Matilda did not allow herself long to mourn the loss of her daughter to the religious life. The prospect of becoming queen of England was evidently an appealing one, for she threw herself into William’s invasion effort with even more directness. Her contribution was both spectacular and unique: she commissioned a magnificent new ship in which her husband might cross the Channel and lay siege to his prospective kingdom. Considering its scale, the vessel was constructed with remarkable speed, and the result was formidable. Clearly, it was built for show as much as for service. The Bayeux Tapestry depicts it as a vast ship (magno navigo), larger than the rest of the fleet and carrying more men.14 It is highly decorated and modeled on the Viking style, with billowing four-cornered sails painted in stripes of red (or brown) and yellow.15
Matilda had planned every detail with meticulous care, and each of the embellishments was loaded with symbolism. A contemporary document known as the Ship List of William the Conqueror tells how the duchess ordered her craftsmen to make a figurehead of a golden child with his right forefinger pointing toward England and his left hand pressing an ivory horn against his lips. Although Wace believed that this represented one of William and Matilda’s sons, it may have symbolized a future son rather than a present one. There is evidence to suggest that the duchess had become pregnant shortly before her husband embarked upon his invasion of England. If this was the case, then the figurehead would have been intended as a secret gesture, the true significance of which was understood only by the ducal couple themselves—or even, perhaps, by Matilda alone.16
It was exceptionally rare for a figurehead to be in the form of a child; they usually depicted animals or fantastical creatures such as dragons or monsters. The fact that the one commissioned by Matilda was crafted out of gold may also have been significant, for William of Poitiers described England as a land of silver and gold. Matilda’s message could therefore have been that the child she was carrying symbolized the birth of a new Norman dynasty in England.17
This patriotic symbolism continued throughout the rest of the ship. The prow was ornamented with a lion’s head, a sign of bravery and strength. In order to demonstrate that God was on her husband’s side, Matilda also employed the consecrated banner that had been sent to William from Rome, hoisting it at the masthead.
The end result inspired awe in all who saw it. The ship was named the Mora, the literal translation of which was “mansion” or “habitation.” Certain romantic historians claim that it was a knowing anagram of amor. Perhaps more likely is that it was a subtle allusion to Matilda’s distinguished past—the Flemish counts from whom she was descended were known as the Morini. Such a gesture would have been typical of the duchess’s pride in her pedigree.18
In commissioning such a highly decorated and sumptuous vessel for her husband to sail in, Matilda appeared to be showing him great veneration and respect. Wace observed that she had built the ship “in honour of the said Duke.”19 To achieve maximum impact, she had kept the whole project a secret from William, and it was only as he was assembling his fleet at the mouth of the River Dives in Normandy during the summer of 1066 that she unveiled the Mora to him. He was so delighted with the magnificent vessel that he immediately made it his flagship. His admiration for his wife was greater than ever before. To show his gratitude, he confidently promised her the county of Kent when he became king of England. This would make Matilda a rich woman, for the county was one of the most prosperous in England, and its revenues would keep her in an extremely comfortable style even if she received no other income.
According to Wace, Matilda’s family contributed rather less toward William’s enterprise than she did herself. He claims that the duke wrote to his father-in-law asking for his assistance. But the shrewd count refused to commit either men or money until William had told him “how much of England he would have and what part of it he would get.” William promised to discuss this with his nobles, and a short while later he sent Baldwin a letter, sealed with wax. Upon opening it, the count was bemused to find that the parchment was blank, and asked the messenger what it meant. The latter replied: “You will have nothing and should expect nothing … He will conquer it [England] and not have any help from you.”20 Entertaining though it is, this tale is not repeated in any other source, and given that it was written more than a century after the event, its authenticity is dubious.
Nevertheless, Baldwin did indeed prove reluctant to help his son-in-law, and it was only after William had promised him an annual sum of 300 marks of silver if he became king of England that the count agreed to provide troops for the invasion. Admittedly, Baldwin was in an awkward position, for although William was his son-in-law, he was also related by marriage to another contender for the throne—Harold Godwinson’s brother Tostig, who was married to his half-sister Judith. Baldwin also had to take account of the interests of his overlord, the French king. In the end, he chose to hedge his bets. As well as providing limited support to Duke William, he also supplied Tostig with ships and men to attack England.
Meanwhile, in the kingdom upon which the duke had set his sights, there was a growing sense of unease at the gathering storm. The chroniclers tell of a portentous event that occurred in April 1066, just three months after Harold’s accession: “Throughout all England, a sign such as men never saw before was seen in the heavens. Some men declared that it was the star comet, which some men called the ‘haired’ star.”21 The phenomenon was also seen in Normandy, and Jumièges marveled: “its three-forked tail stretched far into the southern sky remaining visible for fifteen days.”22 To a God-fearing people who were ever watchful for heavenly portents, this was a sign of unprecedented significance. Great change—good or bad—must be afoot. With the wisdom of hindsight, Orderic Vitalis was more specific about what this change might be: “this portended the transfer of a kingdom.”23
By July of that year, Duke William’s preparations for the invasion were complete. He had amassed a formidable force of men. Historians disagree about its size, but William of Poitiers’ claims of fifty thousand men are almost certainly an exaggeration, especially in the light of what we know of other cross-Channel invasion forces.24 In fact William’s army may have numbered as few as seven thousand. Even so, Orderic Vitalis describes how the duke “gathered an immense army of Normans, Flemish, French and Bretons” and claims that his fleet comprised as many as three thousand ships, although the actual figure was probably between seven hundred and a thousand.25 When these were all ready to sail, “he loaded the vessels with vigorous horses and very strong men armed with hauberks and helmets.”26 Although contemporary chroniclers exaggerated the size of William’s force, it would undoubtedly have presented a formidable sight. The sense of expectation, among both the troops and their leader, must have been high.
Although William had achieved remarkable success in stabilizing the duchy during the previous three decades, he knew better than to trust the protestations of loyalty by his powerful noble subjects, who were no doubt already scheming to seize control as soon as he had set sail for England. He therefore had to ensure that his domain was left in the hands of someone whom he could trust absolutely to govern in his name and prove immune to corruption or rebellion. It is a testament to how much he esteemed and valued his wife that he decided that she was the only person capable of fulfilling this role.
William and Matilda’s eldest son, Robert, might have expected to rule in his father’s absence. At fourteen years of age, he would have already been considered a man, and he had been nominated William’s heir some three years earlier. He had on one occasion been allowed to confirm a charter on his father’s behalf, which he no doubt took as a sign of trust. Moreover, the fact that he had been trained in military and political affairs from his infancy meant that he had the capability—and no doubt the desire—to rise to the challenge. After all, his father had been six years younger than he when he had assumed control of the duchy. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle notes: “the best who were in the land had sworn wit
h oaths and taken him [William] as lord.”27 But Robert was given only nominal responsibility; Matilda was to act as regent on his behalf, and it was clear that she, not the boy, would hold all the authority.
That William should bypass his eldest son in this way was no great surprise, given the disdain that he had always felt toward him. In his opinion, Robert was a feckless, pampered young man, overly indulged by his mother and with no real credibility among the aristocracy of Normandy. It would be the first of many occasions on which the duke disregarded his son’s wishes, and relations between them rapidly began to sour. However, Robert’s being passed over did not mark the beginning of an estrangement between Matilda and her eldest son: far from it. As the acknowledged heir to the duchy, Robert’s safety was paramount, and he was therefore kept at his mother’s side throughout her regency. Later events suggest that this period strengthened the bond between them, allowing Matilda to indulge the affection that she had always felt toward her firstborn.
The significance of Matilda’s new role cannot be overstated. Although women were beginning to play a powerful role in the emerging dominance of the Christian church, they were still largely sidelined in political affairs. The teachings of St. Paul were held fast by most European rulers: wives should be meek, passive, and silent. Thus, no female consort before Matilda had exercised such power. Even the formidable Queen Emma, who had confidently expected that her husband, King Cnut, would name her regent in the event of his death, had seen her ambitions dashed in 1035 when his illegitimate son, Harold Harefoot, had been appointed instead.
Still, Matilda was not the first woman in western Europe to have the honor of the regency bestowed on her. In France, King Henry’s widow, Anne of Kiev, was appointed coregent for their young son Philip in 1060, along with Matilda’s father, Baldwin.28 The first consort to be explicitly charged with the powers of regency was Matilda’s contemporary, Agnes of Poitou, who took charge of the Holy Roman Empire on behalf of her young son, Henry IV, after her husband’s death in 1056. More common was for a royal wife to be spoken of as “nourishing the young king” or “keeping the kingdom.”29 However, Agnes was not a role model to which others might wish to aspire. Her chief adviser, Henry II, Bishop of Augsburg, was despised for his arrogance and for the level of influence he enjoyed over Agnes, which led to rumors of an illicit affair. She was eventually ousted when a group of hostile noblemen abducted her son, thus depriving her of authority.
However, both Anne of Kiev and Agnes of Poitou were able to exercise sole power only after the death of their husbands. A more direct comparison with Matilda is Gunnor, the long-term mistress and later wife of William’s great-grandfather, Duke Richard I. She wielded considerable authority during Richard’s lifetime and remained influential long after his death, when their son Richard II was in power. Gunnor’s skill in the political arena has led one recent commentator to highlight the similarities between her and Matilda, describing her as “one of those women who could make her influence felt in a predominantly masculine world.”30
There are also examples of women who defied their conventional role in society to the extent of taking part in military campaigns. They include another of Matilda’s contemporaries, Matilda of Tuscany, daughter of the powerful Italian prince Boniface III. The death of her brother in 1055 left her as sole heiress to the family’s vast estates at the age of just eight. From that time onward, she was trained in military as well as diplomatic affairs, and it was said that she rode into battle on behalf of the papacy when she was in her teens. Malmesbury describes her as “a woman who, forgetful of her sex, and compared to the ancient Amazons, used to lead forth her hardy troops to battle.”31
As regent during William’s absence, Matilda would now have the power to make laws throughout the duchy, dispense justice, levy taxes, and mint money. She also had a military force at her disposal, should she choose to use it. That the duke, a staunch traditionalist, should elevate his wife to such a position ahead of the potential male candidates—who, as well as Robert, included William’s half-brother Odo, and his right-hand man William fitzOsbern—would have sent shock waves throughout the duchy. Moreover, the planned invasion of England must have seemed an enormously risky enterprise, and it was very possible that William, like his father more than thirty years before, would never return. Whatever his fate, though, he seemed confident that the duchy would stay safe under Matilda’s guidance. Indeed, as he stated to King Philip of France, who—perhaps disingenuously—expressed concern over his rival’s departure and the future of the duchy: “That is a care that shall not need to trouble our neighbours; by the grace of God we are blessed with a prudent wife and loving subjects, who will keep our border securely during our absence.”32
To ensure that Matilda’s appointment would be honored by his subjects, William summoned a great council at the ducal castle in Bonneville-sur-Touques and forced his chief magnates to swear an oath of fidelity to his son as heir and to his wife as regent.33 Three of his most trusted counsellors—Roger de Beaumont, Roger de Montgomery, and Hugh d’Avranches—were appointed as advisers to Matilda.34 Of these, Montgomery was William’s closest companion. Described as “a wise and prudent man,” he was renowned for his learning. These qualities would have endeared him to Matilda, and she was no doubt glad to have such a man among her advisers.35 Like her, he was also an active religious patron, and made several generous grants to monastic houses. He was married to the formidable Mabel of Bellême, and they showed their loyalty toward Matilda by naming one of their daughters after her.36 Among the advisers, Roger de Beaumont was described as being “first in dignity,” and his “mature age” lent him wisdom and experience that would be useful to the duchess.37 Whether the duke genuinely believed that his wife would need the guidance of Beaumont and his fellow counsellors, or whether this was a sop to their wounded pride, cannot be known for certain. Either way, everyone present knew that in practice Matilda would have the power to disregard their advice if she chose and to act according to her own volition.
The challenge that Matilda faced as regent of Normandy was considerable. As her husband once observed: “The Normans are a turbulent people, always ready to cause disturbances.”38 Even though William had achieved much in establishing his authority as duke, the Norman aristocracy was still dominant in both secular and ecclesiastical affairs, and power had become concentrated in the hands of a few great families. The fact that William had strategically appointed representatives of some of these families to assist his wife in her regency was no guarantee of their loyalty.
Not only was Matilda confronted by potential threats from within the duchy, but the French king always had an eye to exploit any sign of weakness on the part of his rival. The same was true of Geoffrey III, the count of Anjou, whose territory bordered Normandy to the southwest. Both had been temporarily subdued by William’s campaigns prior to 1066, but his preeminence was unlikely to last for long. His wife was therefore a good deal more than just a caretaker; she must seize the initiative and rule as fully and effectively as her husband would have done.
While William waited for favorable winds to convey him and his fleet to England, his opponent was amassing substantial forces to defend his throne. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle records: “King Harold … gathered a greater raiding ship-army and also raiding land-army than any king here in the land had ever done before, because he was informed that William the Bastard wanted to come here and win this land.”39 But it was at this moment that his attention was diverted by a serious threat in the north of his kingdom, led partly by his own brother. Tostig had been made earl of Northumbria in 1055, but he was unpopular with the people of that region, and after suffering a decade of his ascendancy, they finally rebelled against him. He sought refuge in Flanders, the native land of his wife, Judith (Matilda’s aunt), and became deeply embittered against his brother, Harold, for failing to support him. Orderic Vitalis claims that Tostig gave his wife into the care of her half-brother, Baldwin, the count of Flanders, whil
e he went to Normandy to seek William’s support.40 Having “boldly rebuked” the duke for allowing Harold to rule in England, Tostig swore that he would secure the crown for him if William agreed to invade England with a Norman army.41
At the head of a fleet of some sixty ships, Tostig proceeded to launch a series of “piratical” raids along the English coast, only to be driven off by Edwin of Mercia, and Morcar, his replacement as earl of Northumbria. After taking temporary refuge in Scotland, Tostig then joined forces with Harald Hardrada of Norway, who had declared himself the rightful heir to King Cnut and assembled a fleet of three hundred ships with which to press his claim.42 In late summer 1066, he and Tostig invaded northern England. On September 20, in the first of the three great battles of 1066, they defeated Edwin and Morcar at Fulford and captured York, the most important city in the north.
Hardrada’s invasion was bad news for Harold, for, as the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle relates, a shortage of supplies had forced him to stand down both his army and his fleet. Undeterred, he regrouped his forces and marched north, and on September 25 he surprised Hardrada and Tostig’s forces at Stamford Bridge, a few miles northeast of York. The ensuing conflict was ferocious and bloody. Malmesbury described it as “an immense battle … in which both nations did their utmost.”43 But with the benefit of surprise, Harold was able to gain the upper hand, and both his brother and Hardrada were killed. The king did not have long to enjoy his victory, for word reached him, probably on October 1, that William had landed at Pevensey a few days earlier. He therefore turned his troops around, headed south, and, in a remarkable forced march, reached London in just five days. He then spent about six days there gathering troops (and presumably resting) before setting off on October 11 to confront William.
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