Summoning the archbishop of Rouen, the dying Conqueror decreed his wishes for the future of his dominions. He ordered that William Rufus should make haste to England to receive the crown. Triumphant at having superseded his elder brother, Rufus embarked for England straightaway. By contrast, the archbishop and the nobles who were present were aghast at William’s apparent resolve to deny Curthose his rightful inheritance, and “feared that he [William] would remain implacable towards his eldest son Robert, knowing that a wound frequently cut or cauterized causes sharper pain to the wounded.” They urged upon him the fact that they had already sworn oaths of allegiance to the young man, and that these could not be broken without a loss of honor. Eventually, and with great reluctance, William gave in to their persuasions. Mustering his strength, he told the anxious throng: “Because he does not want to come or he spurns to come in order to apologise, I shall do what I think is correct. With you and God as my witnesses I forgive him all the sins he has committed against me, and I grant him all the duchy of Normandy.”17
Shortly after making this bequest, in the early hours of September 9, the mighty Conqueror conceded defeat in this, his last earthly battle.18 Orderic describes how the late duke’s chamber was robbed by his servants, and his corpse was left “almost naked” on the floor.19 Such disrespect would never have been allowed if Matilda had been alive.
William had decreed that his final resting place should be his abbey of St.-Étienne in Caen. A country knight named Herluin20 took on the task of organizing the funeral out of kindness, but it was hardly the lavish occasion that might be expected for such a formidable ruler. The duke’s body was conveyed “without any ceremony … in a small boat down the Seine.” Even the place that was chosen for the internment was disputed by a “yokel” named Ascelin fitzArthur, who claimed that William had stolen the land from him.21 Ascelin was pacified only when William’s youngest son, Henry, recompensed him for the loss.
The occasion fell woefully short of the dignity and honor that should have been accorded the late king. It was attended by scores of ecclesiastics but, according to Malmesbury, very few laymen. Neither was his family well represented. William Rufus was already on his way to England, “thinking it more to the purpose to secure his own future interests than to attend the burial of his father’s body.”22 Robert had not yet returned from waging war against Normandy. Only their younger brother, Henry, was at the ceremony.
As well as being poorly attended, the funeral also degenerated into the same chaos that had marked William’s coronation more than twenty years before. During the ceremony, one of the houses in the city caught fire, “sending up great balls of flame.”23 The blaze quickly spread to neighboring houses, and the congregation of St.-Étienne was seized with panic. Many of the guests fled, leaving the monks to lay their late ruler hastily to rest.24 Then, as they attempted to force William’s bloated corpse into a sarcophagus that was too small, the body suddenly burst open, emitting “an intolerable stench that soon filled the entire church.” The presiding ecclesiastics hastily concluded the last rites and took flight. In describing these events, Orderic mused that this once all-powerful Conqueror was reduced to nothing by such indignities.25 Without Matilda, the calm and brilliant controller of public spectacle, William’s funeral had been a woeful ceremony, wholly unfit for a king.
Within weeks of the Conqueror’s death, Normandy was on the brink of civil war, and the fragile cross-Channel realm that he and Matilda had created looked set to collapse. Robert soon justified his father’s misgivings by proving a dissolute and ineffective ruler in Normandy, and his authority was easily circumvented by the nobility. Although he and William Rufus had reached an uneasy truce by agreeing to be each other’s heir, upon the latter’s untimely death in 1100, their younger brother Henry seized the crown of England. Robert made a number of unsuccessful attempts to claim what he saw as his rightful inheritance, but he could barely keep hold of Normandy, let alone wrest England from his much more capable brother.
The rapid disintegration of William’s regime during the last years of his life and in the immediate aftermath of his death reveals its underlying fragility. But this regime had been the envy of the world during Matilda’s lifetime. Her efficacy as regent of Normandy and queen of England had been essential to William’s exercise of power on both sides of the Channel. She was the vital ingredient in his success, and without her, the balance that was so crucial to his power broke down irretrievably. If Matilda had outlived her husband, it seems almost certain that his final years and the future of his domains would have been more secure.
Matilda’s achievements as duchess of Normandy and queen of England had been considerable. She had carved out a position of power and influence in the male-dominated political arena of both countries, and in so doing had confounded the conventional stereotypes of women. Far from being a meek and submissive wife and consort, subject entirely to her husband’s will, she had wielded authority in her own right and had enjoyed an independence of action matched by few of her contemporaries.
In the dangerous, brutal world of conquest and rebellion, fragile alliances and bitter familial rivalries, Matilda had possessed all the attributes required for a woman to thrive. Her impeccable lineage, combined with her loving, pious, and loyal nature, had made her a paragon of fidelity and motherhood. But strength, intelligence, and ambition were also prerequisites to survive in such an environment. This side of her character, coupled with a fiercely independent nature, had made her essential to William’s rule, giving her unparalleled influence over the king. She had proved such an able and effective ruler that he had come to rely upon her completely.
Matilda’s ambition and strength of will had ultimately contributed to the fracturing of the Norman dynasty. But without the unifying influence that she had exerted for so long, this fracturing would arguably have occurred much sooner. It should not therefore detract from the extraordinary achievement of this remarkable woman—an achievement that would prove an inspiration both to her immediate successors and for hundreds of years to come.
Matilda’s influence was particularly apparent in the lives of two of her daughters. Cecilia made a resounding success of her career at the abbey of La Trinité, rapidly gaining renown for her virtue and dedication. The noted intellectual Baudri of Bourgueil, the archbishop of Dol, wrote in praise of her, as did the poet Hildebert of Le Mans. To them, she was “a queen, a goddess and a royal virgin married to a heavenly husband.”1 Cecilia lavished care and attention upon the abbey that she seemed to have come to love as much as her mother had, and she commissioned a number of improvements. She also played a leading role in the administration of La Trinité, acting as coadjutor to its long-lived abbess, Matilda. Her efforts were rewarded in 1113, when she was appointed abbess upon the death of her superior. That same year, she granted her first charter—an indication of her newfound power.2 She held that exalted position until her death fourteen years later, at the age of sixty-eight.3
While Cecilia inherited her mother’s piety, her youngest sister, Adela, echoed her political achievements. Of all Matilda’s children, Adela seems to have been the closest to her in appearance, character, and spirit. The amorous archbishop of Dol, who seemed to be a little in love with her, praised her “beauty, dignity and grace” and claimed that she had “the brilliance of a goddess.”4 At the time he wrote these words, Adela would have been in her forties. It is interesting to consider whether she inherited her lasting good looks from Matilda, whose beauty had been praised even in middle age and who had held William in thrall for most of their marriage.
Adela certainly inherited her mother’s extraordinary fecundity, giving birth to as many as eleven children during the course of her marriage to Stephen of Blois, including a daughter whom she named after Matilda.5 Having been inspired by the education that her own mother had given her, she paid as much attention to their studies. Like Matilda, Adela was strong-willed and politically astute, and she ruled her husband every bit as effec
tively. Malmesbury describes her as “a powerful woman with a reputation for her worldly influence.”6 This was demonstrated most forcefully in 1098, when her husband returned from the siege of Antioch, a key encounter in the First Crusade. Rather than welcoming him home like a dutiful wife, Adela promptly ordered him back to rejoin the crusade.7 At first Stephen shrank from the idea of returning to the danger and hardships of the crusading life, but Adela eventually wore him down with “these speeches and many more like them.”8
Continuing the similarity to her mother’s life, Adela acted as regent for her husband while he was abroad on campaign. Orderic praised her competence: “This noble lady governed her husband’s county well after his departure on crusade.”9 Judging from her reaction to his return from Antioch, she evidently relished the role just as much as Matilda had. Thanks to her insistence that he return to the Holy Land, she had the chance to exercise her authority to the full, because her husband met his death on this crusade in 1102. Their eldest son, William, would probably then have been old enough to inherit his father’s title, but he was deemed unfit to rule. His mother therefore had him married off to a lady of her household and gave him lands in the north of the principality, well away from court.
This left Adela free to seize the reins of power herself. She proved more than equal to the task, and her shrewd political judgment and wise government were widely praised. Jumièges observed that she “ruled the country nobly for some years,” while Orderic lauded her as a “wise and spirited woman” who ably led the province until her sons had reached maturity.10 The archbishop of Dol, meanwhile, claimed that although she was a countess, she was “worthy rather of the name of queen.”11 Having learned from her mother’s example, Adela became active in every sphere of government, wielding authority over political, ecclesiastical, and military matters as well as the administration of justice.
In 1107, Adela’s second son, Theobald, was invested as count of Blois. Theobald was much more stable than his elder brother. He was also entirely subject to his mother’s authority. Just as Matilda had ruled on behalf of her son Robert, so Adela retained power even after Theobald had been made count. Only when she was confident that he would continue the work that she had begun did she gradually cede authority to him. Even then she remained at the heart of government, advising her son and keeping him firmly under her control—just as Matilda would have done if she had outlived her husband.
It was no doubt at Adela’s instigation that Theobald intervened on her brother Henry’s behalf when he attempted to take Normandy from Robert Curthose in 1106. As the two youngest siblings, Adela and Henry shared a natural affinity, and the countess certainly favored him over their reckless elder brother. On September 28, 1106, forty years to the day since their father had embarked for the conquest of England, Henry defeated his elder brother in the Battle of Tinchbrai and became duke of Normandy, thus reuniting the Norman empire. It was fitting that, through the influence of Adela, the spirit of Matilda had played a part in such a reunification.
In April 1120, Adela finally relinquished the political life and entered the nunnery of Marcigny-sur-Loire. Like her sister Cecilia, she possessed her mother’s piety and would thrive in the religious arena. Jumièges wrote admiringly that she “served God in a praise-worthy manner till the end of her life.”12 Adela also shared her elder sister’s longevity, and was in her seventieth year when she died in 1137.
Matilda would have taken great pride in Henry’s restoration of the might of the Norman dynasty, even though he had ousted her favorite son from power. Yet her influence over the English monarchy would far outlive her youngest son. Her bloodline would continue for more than a thousand years. Indeed, all sovereigns of England and the United Kingdom, including the present queen, are directly descended from this remarkable woman.
But Matilda’s legacy extends beyond even this extraordinary feat. The first crowned queen of England to be formally recognized as such, she had established a model of female rule that would last for hundreds of years. Thenceforth, the consorts of kings would expect to do far more than fulfill the conventional role of producing heirs. For instance, because the tradition had been set by the first Matilda, her daughter-in-law, Edith-Matilda, the wife of Henry I, was the natural choice for regent when her husband was away. Moreover, Henry subsequently bequeathed his throne to his daughter, even though his nephew Stephen had a stronger claim in the eyes of most of his subjects; clearly, his mother’s example had inspired a confidence in female rulers that few of his contemporaries shared. In so doing, he became the first English king to put down in written form the right of a daughter to inherit land.13 Farther afield, other female consorts, such as the formidable Eleanor of Aquitaine, or Isabella the “She-Wolf” of France, the wife of Edward II, would aspire to the same authority and influence over their husbands and their kingdoms that Matilda had exercised to such brilliant effect.
It is a legacy of which Matilda, whose formidable skills of leadership and political guile have been overshadowed by the achievements of her conqueror husband, would heartily have approved.
A nineteenth-century sketch of Matilda, which hints at her diminutive size. (illustration credit i1.1)
An engraving of a fresco showing William and Matilda that used to adorn the walls of a chapel at St.-Étienne in Caen. The fresco, now lost, is the only known contemporary likeness of Matilda. (illustration credit i1.2)
A nineteenth-century version of the engraving that formed the frontispiece to Agnes Strickland’s Queens of England series. Here, Matilda bears a striking resemblance to Queen Victoria, which was no doubt intended to flatter the reigning monarch. (illustration credit i1.3)
Matilda’s abbey of La Trinité (Abbaye aux Dames), Caen. The abbey was dedicated in 1066, prior to William’s invasion of England. Matilda was later buried there, and her tomb can still be seen today. (illustration credit i1.4)
William’s abbey of St.-Étienne (Abbaye aux Hommes), Caen. Both abbeys were commissioned by William and Matilda in 1059 as a penance for defying the papal ban on their marriage. (illustration credit i1.5)
The castle at Falaise, the town of William’s birth. Legend has it that it was from here that William’s father, Duke Robert, spied Herleva washing clothes in a stream. (illustration credit i1.6)
The remains of Bonneville-sur-Touques castle, said to be one of William and Matilda’s favorite residences in Normandy. (illustration credit i1.7)
A thirteenth-century illustration showing the descendants of William and Matilda. At the top is William, and directly beneath him are the children that Matilda bore him: (left to right) Robert “Curthose,” William Rufus, Richard, Henry, Adela, Cecilia, Constance, and two unnamed daughters (probably Adeliza and Matilda). (illustration credit i1.8)
Harold Godwinson swears an oath recognizing William’s claim to the English throne. (illustration credit i1.9)
The Mora, the magnificent flagship commissioned by Matilda for her husband’s invasion of England. (illustration credit i1.10)
An imaginary portrait showing Matilda and her ladies working on the Bayeux Tapestry. The widespread belief that Matilda was responsible for the tapestry has been convincingly disproved in recent years. (illustration credit i1.11)
A romantic depiction of Matilda watching her husband set sail for England in 1066. (illustration credit i1.12)
The White Tower, built by William to subdue the “evil inhabitants” of London. (illustration credit i1.13)
A modern illustration showing William and Matilda granting a charter to the city of London. (illustration credit i1.14)
A charter bearing Matilda’s signum, a distinctive Jerusalem-style cross. (illustration credit i1.15)
Statue of Matilda, Jardin du Luxembourg, Paris. (illustration credit i1.16)
Matilda’s tomb in the choir of La Trinité, Caen. (illustration credit i1.17)
To Eleanor, with love
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It is no exaggeration to say that this book could not have
been written without the unstinting support of my parents, John and Joan Borman. Between them, they have clocked up so many miles on the East Coast Railway that they deserve shares in the company. My mother in particular has spent many days looking after my daughter in order for me to be able to visit the British Library and other places necessary for research. I am deeply grateful for her kindness, and that of my father, who made regular trips to the London Library on my behalf. I have also been lucky enough to have the support and encouragement of my sister, Jayne, her husband, Rick, and their two lovely daughters, Olivia and Neve.
This book has been greatly enhanced by the dedication and expertise of my publishers. In particular, I would like to thank my editors at Jonathan Cape and Bantam Dell, Alex Bowler, Jessica Waters, and Tracy Devine, for their invaluable insight and meticulous attention to detail. I am also delighted to have been supported by my wonderful publicists Hannah Ross and Lisa Barnes, and I am grateful to Steven Messer for his excellent detective work with the picture research and to Tom Avery for seeing the book through to completion. My agent, Julian Alexander, has—as ever—supported me throughout with his sage advice, patience, and humor.
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