Henry might have been viewed as the rightful heir to the throne by most Englishmen, but for all the royal commemoration of his birth, it was out of the question that he would supplant his three elder brothers. It would set a dangerous precedent to so flagrantly disregard the natural order of succession. Instead, William and Matilda intended for him to follow the usual path of youngest sons and embark upon a career in the church. To this end, he was given a more extensive schooling than his brothers, and was tutored by their father’s closest adviser, Lanfranc, who from about 1070 had held the post of archbishop of Canterbury, despite his initial reluctance.11 So effective was Henry’s education that he grew up with a passion for intellectual pursuits, and is said to have remarked that an illiterate king was little better than a crowned ass.12
Among Henry’s most important lessons was English, and he became more fluent in this language than any of the rest of his family—a fact that further endeared him to the native population. He could also read and write in Latin, which, together with his command of English, later earned him the nickname “Beauclerc.” Moreover, the young Henry apparently possessed the opposite temperament to his father, for Malmesbury claimed that he “preferred contending by counsel, rather than by the sword.” He would grow up to be much more withdrawn than his outgoing and flamboyant elder brothers, Robert and William Rufus, but his natural reserve masked a shrewdness and cunning that would one day make him the most successful of all Matilda’s sons.
It seems the royal family overestimated the healing effects of Henry’s birth on the Saxon population. At the end of 1068, they felt their monarchy secure enough to return to Normandy to celebrate Christmas, where they no doubt enjoyed the traditional festivities at court.
But William had misjudged the situation. The imposing fortresses he had erected across the country had become a target for rebellion, and within a few short weeks, fresh trouble had broken out. Edgar the Aetheling, who had been steadily building support from his base in Scotland, headed south to Northumbria and led a huge uprising. His intention was to seize the throne from William and thus reestablish the Anglo-Saxon monarchy. His cause attracted large numbers of men hostile to the Norman regime, and in February 1069 the rebels won a major victory by taking the city of York in William’s absence.
William had no choice but to set sail for his new kingdom once more. He left Matilda behind, presumably as regent—her position being that much higher than that of her son Robert, who had guarded the kingdom in his parents’ absence. By April 1069, he had succeeded in retaking York. Any conciliatory feelings toward the English that this victory, together with the birth of his fourth male heir, might have inspired were soon forgotten. Outraged, the king exacted a terrible revenge. Throughout 1069 and well into the following year, he launched a series of blistering attacks on a vast swath of territory stretching from the Humber to the Tees. During this “Harrying of the North,” his forces showed no mercy as they razed villages, destroyed crops and livestock, and slaughtered thousands of men and women—innocent and guilty alike. Over a period of two years, thousands more—one account estimates as many as a hundred thousand—died of starvation after their food stores had been laid to waste.13 As Malmesbury observed: “the citizens perished by famine or sword.”14 According to Orderic, the severity of the attack was such that William himself later repented of it: “In mad fury I descended on the English of the north like a raging lion, and ordered that their homes and crops with all their equipment and furnishings should be burnt at once and their great flocks and herds of sheep and cattle slaughtered everywhere. So I chastised a great multitude of men and women with the lash of starvation and, alas! was the cruel murderer of many thousands, both young and old, of this fair people.”15
Even by William’s standards, this was ruthlessness on an unprecedented scale. It appalled contemporaries and alienated many who had previously been sympathetic to the Norman cause. The horror of it was still raw when Orderic Vitalis wrote his account forty years later:
He [William] cut down many in his vengeance; destroyed the lairs of others; harried the land, and burned homes to ashes. Nowhere else had William shown such cruelty … My narrative has frequently had occasion to praise William, but for this act which condemned the innocent and guilty alike to die by slow starvation I cannot commend him. For when I think of helpless children, young men in the prime of life, and hoary greybeards perishing alike of hunger I am so moved to pity that I would rather lament the griefs and sufferings of the wretched people than make a vain attempt to flatter the perpetrator of such infamy.16
Another contemporary, Simeon of Durham, was appalled by the devastation that he witnessed firsthand:
So great a famine prevailed that men, compelled by hunger, devoured human flesh, that of horses, dogs, and cats, and whatever custom abhors; others sold themselves to perpetual slavery, so that they might in any way preserve their wretched existence; others, while about to go into exile from their country, fell down in the middle of their journey and gave up the ghost. It was horrific to behold human corpses decaying in the houses, the streets, and the roads, swarming with worms, while they were consuming in corruption with an abominable stench. For no one was left to bury them in the earth, all being cut off either by the sword or by famine.17
Even William’s apologist, Jumièges, admitted: “by sword and fire they [the Normans] massacred almost the entire population from the very young to the old and grey.”18
But even this dreadful campaign did not stamp out the resistance of William’s most recalcitrant subjects. Thousands rose in support of Sweyn Estrithson, King of Denmark, when he invaded Yorkshire in the summer of 1069, assisted by William’s now-perennial enemy, King Malcolm III of Scotland. The rebels recaptured York in September. Although Sweyn was in theory acting in support of Edgar the Aetheling, he had long coveted the English throne for himself, so his intervention added a dangerous new dimension to an already highly volatile state of affairs.19
Matilda had returned to England in early spring 1069.20 Jumièges claims that during her absence from Normandy, the regency was again entrusted to Robert, who, being a minor, was no doubt still surrounded by strong advisers.21 It may seem puzzling that she should leave Normandy at a time when her husband’s attention was so diverted by his English kingdom. Although the duchy was stable by comparison, this stability could never be taken for granted, with ambitious noblemen ever watchful for an opportunity to seize power. Matilda had already proved adept at keeping all threats to ducal power at bay, so it might reasonably have been expected that William would have wished her to remain there as regent until the situation in England had improved. Yet perhaps she and her husband recognized the importance of having a figurehead for the royal family in the south of their new dominion. While William struggled in the north, a strong presence was required to guard against any sympathetic uprisings elsewhere. Matilda, already gaining favor among the English people thanks to her dignified bearing and gentle demeanor, formed a welcome contrast to her husband’s brutality. She was therefore ideally suited for this task.
Having returned to England, Matilda embarked upon a series of carefully planned public relations opportunities. These included the Easter celebrations that were held at the court in Winchester. Here, in a display of family unity no doubt intended to remind the populace of the strength of the Norman dynasty, she was joined by her second son, Richard, as she presided over the ceremonials. But while she was intent upon promoting goodwill, her husband had other ideas. At a council meeting held as part of the Easter gathering, he confirmed the perpetual security of a grant of property to the abbey of Holy Trinity in Rouen “by a knife which the king playfully gave the abbot [Rayner] as if about to stab his hand.” Given William’s notorious cruelty, the poor abbot must have been greatly alarmed. Matilda was there to witness her husband’s tasteless prank, for her signature appears on the grant that Abbot Rayner hastened away with.22 No doubt thanks to her influence, the rest of the celebrations passed without in
cident.
Religious festivals such as Easter and Christmas provided an important focus for court ceremonials. William and Matilda were quick to realize the potential of such dates as a means of showing off their power and majesty. Malmesbury describes the splendor of these occasions, and was clearly not fooled by the intention that lay behind them:
The dinners in which he [William] took part on the major festivals were costly and splendid—Christmas at Gloucester, Easter at Winchester, Whitsun at Westminster in each of the years in which he was free to stay in England; all great men of whatever walk of life were summoned to them by royal edict, so that envoys from other nations might admire the large and brilliant company and the splendid luxury of the feast. Nor was he at any other season so courteous or so ready to oblige, so that foreign visitors might carry a lively report to every country of the generosity that matched his wealth.23
A medieval queen played a crucial role in such gatherings. She acted as housekeeper, the traditional duty of women at every stratum of society—only on a much greater scale. One of her primary concerns was the provision of hospitality. The ninth-century commentator Hincmar claimed that the queen was responsible “for good order … for the presentation of the king in dignified splendour, for annual gifts to the men of the household.”24 Thus the feasting, pageantry, and other social aspects of life at the royal court would have been superintended by Matilda, just as they were in Normandy. She would preside over feasts and entertainments, ensuring that every detail was in place for the comfort and enjoyment of her guests. This was regarded as a natural feminine duty, and any queen who did not fulfill it would be much criticized. In the poem Beowulf, the fictional queen Radegund courted disapproval by leaving the care of the royal hall to others, arriving late to meals and failing to preside at the nobles’ feasts.25
A whole host of attendants would be on hand to serve the royal couple at these banquets. Duties included “giving the king water for his hands … bearing a towel before the queen … serving the king with his cup … being the king’s butler … being the king’s pantler … making wafers when the king wears the crown … being turnspit.”26 The king’s table was covered with a cloth, and the servants would carry clean napkins for the use of the most important guests. They would serve the king and queen on bended knee with a selection of dishes and wine.
Even the royal couple’s daily meals retained an element of grandeur and ceremony. Although William and Matilda ate breakfast in private, they were joined by the rest of the court for dinner (which was usually taken at around eleven o’clock in the morning) and supper (at five or six o’clock in the afternoon), supplemented by substantial snacks in between. No matter what the occasion, they and their courtiers were presented with a staggering array of dishes to choose from at each meal.
Fish was an important part of the eleventh-century diet. Much of it was fresh, as it was common for fishponds to be created at royal palaces and castles. Otherwise, it was salted. The royal diet was also rich in meat, except during Lent and on certain other religious days, and it tended to be roasted on spits. Beef, mutton, pork, and venison were all popular fare, along with a vast array of poultry, ranging from swans, ducks, and herons to blackbirds, pigeons, and greenfinches. The scarcity of fresh meat during the winter months meant that most of it was salted, and its pungent flavor would often be disguised by spices imported from the East. Bread was also a staple of the Norman diet. The highest ranks of society ate wheat bread, which was served in the shape of flat cakes embellished with a cross or other decoration, whereas the lower ranks had to make do with rye bread.
Other dishes would include dillegrout, a soup made from capons, almond milk, and spices, which had become popular since being served at Matilda’s coronation. This would have been eaten with a spoon, but Norman diners—including the king and queen—used their fingers to eat most of the food that was put before them. “Forks were not among the royal luxuries at the board of the mighty William and his fair Matilda, who both, in feeding themselves, verified the proverb which says ‘that fingers were made before forks.’ ”27 It was therefore customary for diners to wash their hands before and after a meal. Anything they did not wish to eat was thrown on the floor for the dogs or beggars who frequented the feasts. All of the fare served at court was washed down with vast quantities of wine, as well as a beverage called Neustrian cider, which was famous throughout Normandy.28
The luxury enjoyed by the court was essential to uphold the royal dignity. But this dignity came at a price. Keeping the court supplied with food was an enormous undertaking, particularly for landowners in the south of England. Domesday Book recorded that each year the estate of Edward of Salisburys, sheriff of Wiltshire, yielded “130 porkers, 32 bacon hogs … 480 hens, 1,600 eggs, 100 cheeses, 52 lambs, 420 fleeces and 162 acres of unreaped corn”—and this was just in case the royal household’s usual suppliers ran out of produce.29 Even on an average day, the queen’s table was furnished with viands costing forty shillings, and each of her female attendants received a daily allowance of twelve pence for her sustenance.30
Such luxury was also evident in the queen’s apparel. Matilda, keenly aware of her status, “dressed in queenly purple, in a prosperous condition, with sceptre and crown,” according to one eyewitness.31 The contemporary accounts suggest that her attire was much more lavish as queen of England than it had been as duchess of Normandy. She commissioned dresses from English embroideresses, who were renowned as being the best in the world. Among the possessions mentioned in her will is a “tunic, worked at Winchester by Alderet’s wife, and the mantle embroidered in gold … two golden girdles.”32 She also employed a woman from Wiltshire named Leofgeat, “who made and makes the King’s and Queen’s gold fringe.”33
Both Matilda and William kept their jewels and robes in a small chamber adjoining their bedroom, which became known as the wardrobe. During the winter months, they and their attendants wore fur-lined garments to guard against the cold and drafty interiors of their palaces and castles. Surprisingly, though, the custom was to go to bed naked, swathed in rich fur-lined coverlets. Contemporary artists did not shy away from sketching images of kings and queens in bed wearing only a crown to delineate their rank.
Superintending the spectacle of court life was just part of Matilda’s role as queen of England. Appreciating the need to be as visible as possible during her latest stay there, she subsequently traveled to Wells for the Whitsun Council in late May or early June 1069 and witnessed a charter to the city’s cathedral. It may be a measure of the queen’s success in generating support for the Norman regime that there were no reported troubles in the southern counties during this time.
Despite the relative calm that prevailed in the south, it is an indication of just how threatening the situation had become elsewhere that William sent “his beloved wife Matilda” back to Normandy soon afterward, charging her “to pray for the speedy termination of the English troubles, to encourage the arts of peace in Normandy, and to take care of the interests of their youthful heir.”34 According to Orderic, this visit was simply “so that she might give up her time to religious devotions in peace, away from the English tumults, and together with the boy Robert could keep the duchy secure.”35 It is unlikely that either William or Matilda envisaged her having much peace. Indeed, the evidence suggests that the duke was concerned to maintain his authority in Normandy and prevent his overmighty subjects from taking advantage of the troubles in England and the young regent in his homeland. Unable to make the visit himself at this critical juncture, he would have known that his wife was more than capable of flying the ducal banner on his behalf.
The exact date of Matilda’s return to Normandy is difficult to determine, but it would have been sometime between the Whitsun Council1 and the beginning of the northern uprising in the autumn of 1069. She assumed the regency, with Roger de Beaumont and Archbishop John of Rouen (an influential ecclesiastic who mirrored Lanfranc’s role in England) as her advisers. It would prove h
er longest and most challenging tenure to date.
As usual, one of the most pressing demands upon Matilda’s time as regent was the administration of justice. The cases over which she presided would have varied enormously in nature and complexity. For example, among the many disputes upon which she had previously passed judgment was one that involved the abbey of St.-Martin in Marmoutier, which had been granted an income from customs by William. The new vicomte, Robert Betran, denied all knowledge of the grant and kept the money for himself. One of the monks, Goscelin, was dispatched to England to seek justice from the king in person. Upon hearing the case, William angrily sent the monk back to Normandy so that the queen could deal with it. It was clear that if any Norman sought redress from him rather than Matilda, they would receive short shrift. And indeed Matilda wasted no time in reprimanding Betran and demanded that he restore the funds to the abbey.2
The legal affairs of Normandy were no less demanding during Matilda’s latest regency, and her authority in such matters was stronger than ever before. However, a series of crises meant that she had a good deal less time to devote to them. Although the situation within the duchy itself was stable when she returned there in 1069, trouble was brewing beyond its borders. She had only been back in Normandy a short while when the province of Maine, which William had conquered in 1063, broke out in rebellion. It was led by the powerful nobleman Geoffrey de Mayenne, who gained a huge groundswell of support from inhabitants of the province (known as the Manceaux) who wanted to regain their independence from Normandy. Before long, the capital city, Le Mans, had been lost to the rebels, and Normandy’s hold on the province began to crumble.
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