Queen of the Conqueror Read online

  Copyright © 2011 by Tracy Borman

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of

  The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  BANTAM BOOKS and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  Originally published in hardcover in Great Britain as Matilda: Queen of the Conqueror by Jonathan Cape, an imprint of the Random House Publishing Group Limited, London, in 2011.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Borman, Tracy.

  Queen of the Conqueror : the life of Matilda, wife of William I / Tracy Borman.

  p. cm.

  eISBN: 978-0-553-90825-1

  1. Matilda, Queen, consort of William I, King of England, d. 1083. 2. Great Britain—History—William I, 1066–1087—Biography. 3. William I, King of England, 1027 or 8–1087—Marriage. 4. Queens—Great Britain—Biography. I. Title.

  DA199.M39B67 2012

  942.02’1092—dc23

  [B]

  2011029689

  www.bantamdell.com

  Jacket design: Belina Huey

  Jacket photograph: Richard Jenkins

  v3.1

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

  GENEALOGICAL TABLES

  MAPS

  INTRODUCTION

  1 “OF KINGLY LINE”

  2 WILLIAM THE BASTARD

  3 THE ROUGH WOOING

  4 BIRTH OF A DYNASTY

  5 DUCHESS OF NORMANDY

  6 EARL HAROLD

  7 CONQUEST

  8 “A FATAL DISASTER”

  9 QUEEN OF ENGLAND

  10 “THE ENGLISH TUMULTS”

  11 “MUTUAL AND LASTING HOSTILITY”

  12 “MATILDA, WEALTHY AND POWERFUL”

  13 A “WHOLLY WRETCHED MOTHER”

  14 “A FAITHLESS WIFE”

  15 “MURMURS OF LOUD AND HEARTFELT GRIEF”

  16 “THE STORMS OF TROUBLES”

  Epilogue “MOTHER OF KINGS”

  Illustration Insert

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  NOTES

  BIBLIOGRAPHY

  Other Books by This Author

  About the Author

  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

  1.1 A nineteenth-century sketch of Matilda (© National Portrait Gallery, London)

  1.2 An engraving of a fresco showing William and Matilda (Bibliothèque nationale de France)

  1.3 Engraving from frontispiece to Agnes Strickland’s Queens of England series (illustration by G. P. Harding, Esq., produced expressly for Strickland, Lives of the Queens of England from the Norman Conquest, vol. 1 © Cambridge University Press)

  1.4 Abbey of La Trinité (© Olivier Petit)

  1.5 Abbey of St.-Etienne

  1.6 The castle at Falaise (Getty Images)

  1.7 The remains of Bonneville-sur-Touques castle (courtesy of www.bzho.com)

  1.8 Illustration showing the descendants of William and Matilda (British Library Board)

  1.9 Harold Godwinson swears an oath recognizing William’s claim to the English throne (Musée de la Tapisserie, Bayeux, France/with special authorization of the city of Bayeux/Giraudon/The Bridgeman Art Library)

  1.10 The Mora (Musée de la Tapisserie, Bayeux, France/with special authorization of the city of Bayeux/Giraudon/The Bridgeman Art Library)

  1.11 Matilda and her ladies working on the Bayeux Tapestry (Musée Baron Gérard)

  1.12 Matilda watching her husband set sail for England in 1066 (© Mary Evans Picture Library)

  1.13 The White Tower (Getty Images)

  1.14 William and Matilda granting a charter (illustration from Hutchinson’s Story of the British Nation, c. 1920 [color litho] by Lucas, John Seymour [1849–1923]. Private Collection/The Stapleton Collection/The Bridgeman Art Library)

  1.15 A charter bearing Matilda’s signum (reproduced with permission from Canterbury Cathedral Archives. Ref. No. CCA-DCc-ChAnt/A/2)

  1.16 Statue of Matilda, Jardin du Luxembourg, Paris (© Marie-Lan Nguyen)

  1.17 Matilda’s tomb

  GENEALOGICAL TABLES

  INTRODUCTION

  Around the year 1049, William, Duke of Normandy and future conqueror of England, rode furiously to the palace of Baldwin V, Count of Flanders, in Bruges. Upon reaching it, he encountered the object of his rage as she was leaving the palace chapel: Matilda, the count’s only daughter. This headstrong girl had dared to refuse his offer of marriage, haughtily declaring that she would not lower herself so far as to accept a mere bastard. Without hesitation, the young duke dragged her to the ground by her hair and beat her mercilessly, rolling her in the mud and ruining her rich gown. Then, without another word, he mounted his horse and rode back to Normandy at full speed. Shaken and humiliated, Matilda was helped to her feet by her terrified ladies and carried home to bed. A few days later, she shocked her family, the court, and most of Europe by declaring that she would marry none but William. Thus began one of the most turbulent marriages in history.

  Matilda of Flanders was the diminutive yet formidable wife of William the Conqueror. She broke the mold of female consorts and established a model of active queenship that would influence her successors for centuries to come. By wielding immense power in both Normandy and England—not just on behalf of her husband, but at times in direct opposition to him—she confounded the traditional views of women in medieval society. Her remarkable story is played out against one of the most fascinating and transformative periods of European history. Dutiful wife, ambitious consort, doting mother, cold pragmatist, proud scion of a noble race, her character emerges in all its brilliantly contrasting facets.

  And yet Matilda has been largely overlooked by historians, and there has never been a full biography of her in English. In the many modern-day accounts of William the Conqueror and the Norman invasion, his wife is accorded little more than an occasional reference. One leading medievalist has dismissed her as “a completely colourless figure,” and in a printed collection of contemporary legal documents (in which her name features time and again) she does not even warrant her own place in the index, which lists her instead under the entry for her father, Baldwin V of Flanders.1

  Such neglect can be blamed partly upon the perceived lack of contemporary sources for Matilda’s life. The lives of women in this period are often so scarcely covered that it raises the question of whether it is possible to write a biography of any of them. The Bayeux Tapestry, for example, depicts six hundred men and only three women, and as a leading authority has observed, “the bulk of medieval records were written by men for men.”2 Moreover, even if women had wished to contribute to the historiography of the age, most were illiterate.

  Nevertheless, there is a staggering array of contemporary records upon which I have been able to draw for this biography. The eleventh and early twelfth centuries were a time of intense activity among monastic historians. Motivated by a desire to preserve the traditions of their communities, they would spend many hours in the scriptorium recording the history of their own religious house, including the lives of its abbots and lay patrons. This grew to encompass local, national, and even international events that occurred during their lifetime or that could be remembered by the elders of the community in which they lived.

  The accounts—or chronicles—that emerged from the labors of monks across England and Normandy span the entire period of Matilda’s story. Some were written at the time that the dramatic events of her life unfolded, whereas others were retrospective accounts from the later eleventh and early twelfth centuries.
They vary enormously in scope, detail, and accuracy, from the fulsome (and often salacious) early-twelfth-century narratives of Orderic Vitalis and William of Malmesbury to accounts such as the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, which at times is so concise that the events of an entire year are covered by a single sentence.

  The major chroniclers all drew upon a common pool of earlier sources, either quoting them verbatim or embellishing them with their own interpretations. Thus arose a form of historiographical “telephone game,” in which fact intermingled with fiction, real events with legend. The chroniclers also often wrote their histories as morality tales rather than strictly factual accounts. Although he claimed that each generation had a duty to keep a truthful record for the glory of God, Orderic Vitalis also firmly believed that history provided a record of events that was full of moral examples profitable to future generations: “Everyone should daily grow in knowledge of how he ought to live, and follow the noble examples of famous men now dead to the best of his ability.”3

  The story of Matilda’s rejection of William—and its aftermath—is found in the Chronicle of Tours, an extraordinarily lurid and sensational account written almost two centuries after the events that it describes. It is accounts such as this that are responsible for the many myths and legends about Matilda that sprang up during the years after her death. They provide a marked contrast to the official documents that chart her public duties as duchess of Normandy and queen of England. The emerging portrait is of a woman of profound contradictions: on the one hand a model wife and consort, on the other a headstrong, adulterous traitor.

  Given that she was the consort of England’s most famous conquering king, the number of established facts about Matilda of Flanders in which we can rest any confidence is surprisingly small. The years before she rose to prominence as duchess of Normandy and then as queen of England are given only the most cursory mention in the contemporary records. It is nigh on impossible to decipher such fundamental details as how many children she bore William, and in what order. But by piecing together the often fragmentary evidence, we can still paint a vivid picture of this most striking medieval queen.

  Matilda spent most of her life in Normandy, and it was there that she enjoyed the greatest political power. The proliferation of Norman sources has therefore been of considerable value in exploring her history. But after 1066, her attention was increasingly drawn across the Channel to her husband’s newly conquered kingdom. She would become the first woman to be crowned queen of England and formally recognized as such, and would wield authority so effectively that she proved an inspiration for female consorts for many centuries afterward.

  One of the most important sources for the period of Matilda’s reign in England is the series of charters to which she put her signature. These were usually written to record the transfer of property or estates, whereby the king and queen would grant lands to a favored subject (or in some cases a religious house) who would manage them on their behalf. Matilda signed these with an elaborate Jerusalem-style cross, which is both symmetrical and made with “une maine ferme” (a firm hand)—suggestive of her strength of character—distinguishing hers from the more mundane marks that were made by her fellow attesters.4 By following the charters, we can trace the itinerary of this most peripatetic of consorts, and the frequency with which she witnessed them helps us grasp her growing influence and enormous importance in William’s administration.

  Arguably the most famous documentary source for the eleventh century is Domesday Book. Immensely valuable as a testament to the impact of the Norman Conquest upon England, it also tells us of the considerable wealth that Matilda accumulated during her tenure as queen. Moreover, it gives us an insight into her career as chief justiciar of England during William’s frequent absences, and the many references to her settling contentious property disputes prove just how active she was in this sphere. Domesday also holds a rare clue to the identity of one of Matilda’s daughters, and as such it has shed much-needed light on a subject that still confounds historians today.

  As well as the documentary material, there is a rich background of architectural evidence—from the magnificent abbeys that Matilda and William commissioned at Caen and Rouen to their lavish ducal palaces at Falaise, Bayeux, Bonneville-sur-Touques, and Fécamp and the Conqueror’s imposing fortresses in England, notably the Tower of London and Windsor Castle. Other physical remains help to bring the narrative to life. These include the statues and frescoes representing Matilda and her husband that adorned the walls of cathedrals and abbeys across France, her remarkably preserved tomb at Caen, and—most famously—the unique record of the Bayeux Tapestry, which was for many years believed to be the work of Matilda and her ladies.

  The making of the tapestry has in some respects served as a model for the compilation of this biography. On their own, the various threads of evidence have at first appeared fragile and insubstantial, but when carefully and painstakingly bound together, they present a rich and illuminating picture of one of the most remarkable women in history.

  From the very beginning, Matilda’s life was shrouded in mystery. Even the date of her birth cannot be deduced with any certainty from the surviving sources. At the earliest, it would have been toward the end of the year 1031. Her parents were the future Count Baldwin V of Flanders and Adela, daughter of Robert II “the Pious,” King of France, by his third wife, Constance of Arles.1 Their marriage took place in 1028. The Norman chronicler William of Jumièges, who was a direct contemporary of Matilda, claims that it was not consummated until 1031, and that the long period of waiting was one of the factors that incited Baldwin to rebel against his father that year.2 In fact, young Baldwin had already rebelled soon after the wedding; it seemed that an alliance with French royal blood had given him an inflated sense of his own importance, and he therefore contested his father’s position as count. The two men came to terms in 1030 and a truce was concluded whereby they agreed to rule jointly.

  Despite the rumor of its delayed consummation, Baldwin and Adela’s marriage was said to have been blessed with “a numerous progeny of gifted sons and daughters.”3 However, the only children we can be certain of are Matilda and her two brothers, Baldwin and Robert, and it is not clear in what order they were born. Matilda is often referred to last in the lists provided by contemporary chroniclers, but this does not necessarily mean that she was the youngest child: daughters were seen as being of secondary importance to sons and were often left out of accounts altogether.

  If Matilda’s age was uncertain, her pedigree was not. One of the most prominent chroniclers of the age introduces her to his readers as “the highly born Matilda.”4 This was no mere flattery. Born into the ruling family of one of the most important principalities in Europe, she could trace her descent from impressive stock. The Flemish counts had the most distinguished lineage of any nonroyal house in Europe. Her father’s male forebears had been counts of Flanders since the ninth century and were descended from the great Charlemagne, founding father of the French and German empires. Count Baldwin II had married the daughter of King Alfred the Great—an alliance with Saxon blood that would prove useful to Matilda. Moreover, as the granddaughter of a French king, she retained strong royal connections. On Robert II’s death in 1031, her maternal uncle, Henry, had become king of France, and another uncle, Robert, had inherited the dukedom of Burgundy the following year, and so through her mother’s side of the family, Matilda was related to most of the great nobility of France.5

  Her parents chose a name to emphasize this impressive pedigree. “Matilda” was a highly unusual moniker in Flanders and France at the time of her birth. It came from the old Teutonic “Machtild” and was firmly rooted in Baldwin’s German ancestry.6 With her illustrious lineage, Matilda was a great prize in the international marriage market—even more so given the immense strategic importance of the principality in which she was born. Flanders was situated in the heart of western Europe, embracing parts of modern-day Belgium, northern France, and the
Netherlands. Its name derived from the area around Bruges known as the Pagus Flandrensis. It had been dominated by Germanic tribes for several hundred years before becoming part of an empire established by Charlemagne in the ninth century. The first known count, Baldwin I, ensured his family’s fortune in late 861 by eloping with Judith, the eldest child of the Carolingian emperor Charles the Bald. His lands were at that time limited to the prosperous town of Ghent in eastern Flanders, but when he finally married Judith in 863, he was granted the Pagus Flandrensis. The marriage greatly enhanced the prestige of the county by uniting it with both the French and English royal families.

  Under Baldwin I’s leadership and that of his son, Baldwin II, Flanders was made secure against the incursions of the Vikings, who had plagued the province for many years. The latter added other territories to the county so that it comprised a sprawling area of land bordering parts of Normandy, northern France, and the Germanic empire. Baldwin II’s marriage to Aelfthryth, the daughter of King Alfred the Great, also strengthened ties with England. In the early part of the tenth century, their grandson, Baldwin III, laid the basis for the future industrial and commercial greatness of the region by establishing the wool and silk industries at Ghent and instituting annual fairs at Bruges and other towns. Prior to this, their son, Arnulf I, who succeeded as count in 918, had embarked upon an ambitious campaign to extend the Flemish territory southward. His attempt to take the strategically important town of Montreuil-sur-Mer led to conflict with William Longsword of Normandy. There followed a prolonged period of hostilities as each tried to gain the upper hand, which culminated with William’s murder by Arnulf’s men in 942. This rivalry between Flanders and Normandy continued to dominate Flemish foreign policy until the middle of the eleventh century, when Matilda’s marriage brought it to an end.

  Although it was later to become a thriving center of commerce and culture, in the early eleventh century Flanders was a primitive place. The landscape to the west was dominated by swamps and was barely habitable. The east, which was densely wooded, was comparatively more civilized and had a higher number of inhabitants. But in contrast to neighboring Normandy, there were no bustling urban centers, and the towns that did exist were small, with rudimentary buildings. Language also presented a problem. There was no uniformity, with some areas speaking a Germanic dialect and others French. It was only gradually that Flemish was adopted as the national language. It seems the populace, too, retained a certain primitivism. In 900, for example, Archbishop Fulk of Rheims scorned the inhabitants as being “of barbarous … savagery and language.”7 Indeed, the Flemish soon became the butt of jokes among the more civilized nations, such as England and France, where they were derided for their crudity and backwardness. Their reputation had improved little by the late twelfth century, when Richard of Devizes advised a young man who was due to travel to England that he should expect nothing but ignorance and boorishness from Cornishmen, “as we in France consider our Flemings.”8