Robert of Mortain

When William of Normandy decided to conquer England, he planned carefully. This was going to be a big undertaking, and he needed help and advice. A large amount of that help came from his half-brother, Robert, Count of Mortain (c.1031 - c.1095).

William of Malmesbury (writing decades later, to be fair) described him as crassi et hebetis ingenii, "thick and dull of character." There is also his reputation for having physically abused his wife, mentioned in the biography of Vitalis of Savigny. Vitalis either threatened him with dissolution of the marriage, or left his service which so bothered Robert that he repented of his ways.

Robert and William shared a mother, Herleva of Falaise, who was also the mother of Odo of Bayeux, who became a bishop. As Duke of Normandy, William had jurisdiction over the county of Mortain. A 12th century poet, Benoît de Sainte-Maure, wrote that Duke William exiled a prior Count of Mortain named William Werlenc and replaced him with Robert. When the planning for the Norman Invasion of England began, Count Robert was part of the council and promised 120 ships, a larger number than any other source.

Robert is also included among the definitively known companions of Duke William in the Battle of Hastings. Trying to identify from records those who were present—and those who appear on the Bayeux Tapestry—has been a pastime for historians (fewer than two dozen have been "confirmed"). In the scene above one can see "Rotbert" at William's left side and Odo on his right, showing the importance of his half-brothers to the duke.

For his participation, Robert received from William an enormous amount of land. By the time the Domesday Book recorded all real estate and ownership, Robert held 797 castles, mostly in Cornwall where he held so much that he was functionally "Earl of Cornwall" even though he did not formally hold the title (the first Earl of Cornwall was officially Brian of Brittany, who also was a supporter of Duke William).

In 1069, Robert led a force northward that slaughtered many Danes in Lindsey, after which he drops out of the records except for the mention in Domesday. He was succeeded as count by his only son William, the 2nd Earl of Cornwall, who was offered Mary of Scotland, the daughter of King Malcolm III of Scotland, for his bride, but turned her down. He had three daughters.

Speaking of women and wives, let's turn to Robert's mother, Herleva, for tomorrow's post. See you then.

The Town of Sandwich

So...Sandwich. Most people just think about the food item that shares its name, but it has had more history than that, and not just as a Cinque Port. Its significance as a port in southeast England helped to weave it through many events that have been mentioned in this blog before.

The name Sondwic is mentioned first in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, covering events in England from the 800s to 1154. The Domesday Book, an account of all property in England so the new Norman rulers knew what they had, calls it Sandwice. The suffix -wic is Anglo-Sacon for a fortified place where trade takes place (a town). The name means a market town on sandy soil, appropriate for a coastal location.

When Rome invaded Britain in 43 CE, Sandwich was their landing point (technically, a town called Stonar across the river Stour from Sandwich, but Stonar disappeared in the 14th century).

King Cnut (c.990 - 1035) had history with Sandwich, initially leaving a pile of bodies strewn across the beach when he fled to Denmark after fighting with King Æthelred the Unready, but then later giving special rights to the church at Sandwich.

When Richard Lionheart was released from captivity after the Third Crusade and returned to England, Sandwich was his choice of landing port.

During the First Barons War (mentioned here) against King John, Prince Louis (later King Louis VIII) of France landed at sandwich to support the barons against John. The Battle of Sandwich was part of the First Barons War, and had the participation of Eustace, the Pirate Monk.

In the 14th century, a hospital (an almshouse for the poor) was established, named for St. Thomas Becket and still standing (see illustration).

In 1660, an earldom was created to bestow on Admiral Sir Edward Montagu. The 4th Earl of Sandwich was First Lord of the Admiralty and sponsored the voyages of Captain Jame Cook, who named the Sandwich islands for the Earl. The 4th Earl, John Montagu, is also credited with the naming of a food item when asking for meat between two pieces of bread so that he would not have to stop his activities. It bears mentioning, however, that a 1st century CE rabbi, Hillel the Elder, put the lamb and bitter herbs of the Seder between two pieces of matzoh, so this concept predates Montage by several centuries. (I doubt, however, that you'd get anything but blank stares of you ask for a "roast beef hillel" next time you want lunch.)

In a more serious vein: once again, I find a gap in my reporting: although King Cnut has had several references in this blog going back over a decade, he himself has not had his story told. Stay tuned.

The Cinque Ports, Part 2

The Cinque Ports were, initially, five port towns on the southeast coast of England. Over the centuries, the rights and privileges granted to them in exchange for having ships and men available for the king's purposes were extended to other towns, but three of the original five—Dover, New Romney, and Sandwich—were mentioned as having this royal obligation as far back as the Domesday Book.

That royal obligation was laid out in statistical terms: the five had an annual obligation to provide 57 ships for 15 days of service, if requested. The motivation for the obligation was never put on paper. A chief assumption is that they were necessary as part of the royal navy for military purposes. The evidence, however, suggests that those towns did not contribute proportionately more than any other towns to military efforts.

Because the privileges granted (chiefly of self-governance and the ability to salvage and keep the flotsam and jetsam of wrecked ships) started in the time of Edward the Confessor, one assumption is that he simply wanted to ensure the loyalty of a handful of ports that were essential to control traffic and trade to the continent.

Their importance gave them seats in Parliament. Representatives to Parliament were called Barons of the Cinque Ports. These days, the "Baron of the Cinque Ports" is purely honorary and used for those elected by the mayor to attend coronations. The barons had the right to hold the canopy over the monarch during the coronation, a practice which was last enjoyed in 1821 for George IV. For the coronation of Charles III, 14 barons represented the Cinque Ports (five original ports, two "ancient towns," seven "limbs") in the congregation.

In the centuries that followed their establishment, weather was a strong enemy causing their decline. Floods, especially in 1287 and 1362, changed coastlines radically, silting up harbors or washing towns away. Sandwich and New Romney are now each more than a mile from the coast. Hastings was washed away by the sea in the above-mentioned floods, and the remaining town was raided and burnt by the French during the Hundred Years Wars. Dover is still a major port, but the decline of the significance of the Cinque Ports was fairly total by the time of Elizabeth I. Major shipbuilding sites in Bristol and Liverpool stole some of their thunder as well.

Next time, I'm going to focus on one of the five towns: Sandwich. (And yes, I will mention that story.)

Old Sarum

The earliest settlement in Salisbury was Old Sarum, and by "earliest" we mean starting at c.3000BCE. Around 400BCE a hill fort was constructed, and at the time of the Romans in the 1st century CE it was controlled by the British tribe, the Atrebates. The settlement became part of Wessex when the hill was captured by the Saxon King Cynric in 552CE.

King Alfred didn't do much with the place until the Vikings became a problem; he fortified it, making it therefore usable by others such as King Ecgberht of Wessex (ruled 802-839), and King Edgar (ruled 959-975). It was abandoned when Svein Forkbeard invaded in 1003.

Always treated as a potential defensive position more than an important municipal center, the hill was crowned with a motte-and-bailey three years after the Norman Conquest. Topographical limits kept the town small and cramped, although not so small that William the Conqueror couldn't gather all his nobles, prelates, and sheriffs to take the Oath of Salisbury, declaring loyalty to him and no other. It is likely that this occasion saw William presented with the completed survey called the Domesday Book.

Why was it called the Oath of Salisbury if the town was called Old Sarum? The Domesday Book calls it Sarisburie (from Old English Searesbyrig, "Seares fortress"). Sarisburie was often abbreviated to Sar̅, but the -r̅ was often used to abbreviate words ending in -um. Sometime in the 1200s the place started being called Sarum. Meanwhile, the Medieval Latin Sarisburie was corrupted to have an -l- in the middle. Sarum had the "Old" tacked on to distinguish it from the new town b being built near the new Salisbury Cathedral. Modern Salisbury can also be rightly called "New Sarum."

The aerial photo above shows the excavated motte-and-bailey structure at the center of the walled town. You can see the old Salisbury Cathedral foundation. For scale, the length of the Norman cathedral was 185 feet, smaller than most of its era.

Henry II had his wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine, kept at Old Sarum. Their son Richard the Lionhearted designated a plain near there for tournaments.

William of Malmesbury called Sarum "more like a castle than city, being environed with a high wall"; he certainly drew from firsthand experience, since he became a good friend of Roger, Bishop of Salisbury, who owned the land on which Malmesbury Abbey was situated, where William spent his entire adult life. William noted that the site did not have sufficient water to make it sustainable, and supposedly this was one reason why a new cathedral needed to be relocated. Peter of Blois, canon of the cathedral, described it as "barren, dry, and solitary, exposed to the rage of the wind"; a papal legate looking into the cathedral verified that the wind was so strong that divine office could sometimes barely be heard.

Once the "new" Salisbury was established, Old Sarum lost population and significance—and materials, as resources were dismantled to take to the new town. Edward II had the castle demolished in 1322. Old Sarum was one of the first sites named in the 1882 Ancient Monuments Protection Act.

Peter of Blois had very strong feelings about Old Sarum. He felt that the cathedral in Old Sarum was "as a captive on the hill where it was built, like the ark of God shut up in the profane house of Baal." Let's take a look at this colorful canon next time.

The Elf Village

I mentioned previously that St. Æthelwold had a single church dedicated to him in England. It is in Alvingham, in the East Lindsey district of Lincolnshire. Alvingham is old enough to have been listed in the Domesday Book, a record of all towns and territories in England made in 1086, 20 years after the Norman Conquest. In the Book, it is called Aluingeham, which means "Home of the Ælfingas." Ælfingas means "the tribe of Ælf," and ælf means "elf."

Ælf or elf can be found used throughout Germanic languages, and is commonly the first element in a name. Many of those can be found throughout this blog. Some common medieval names incorporating a prefix for "elf" were:

Ælfric - "elf-powerful"
Alfred - "elf-advice"

Alphege - "elf-tall" (mentioned recently)

...and Germanic examples such as Alberich, Alphart, Alphere, Alboin. 

The word also appeared in place-names, such as Alvingham, Elveden ("Elves Hill"), and the Alden Valley, "Valley of Elves." The frequency of usage shows that elves were very much embedded in the culture of Western and Northern Europe.

The earliest references to elves, in fact, were from Old English medical texts. Elves were considered a source of illness in livestock and humans. Mental disorders and sudden sharp pains, for instance, were usually attributed to elves. Tomorrow I'll go into a little more detail, and take a look at an Old English text that dealt with the pain caused by elves.

The First Prisoner

Ralph Flambard was born in Bayeux, Normandy six years before William the Conqueror crossed the English Channel and became King of England. When he grew up, however, he became intertwined with the affairs of William and his sons.

Depiction of Flambard in stone
for Christ Church, Dorset

He must have been a clever lad, because he was one of the people put in charge of the Domesday Book in 1086, to make an account of all the lands and towns in England. He also became the keeper of the king's seal; documents had to pass through him to be stamped as official. When William died, Ralph chose to serve the new king, William Rufus.

Under Rufus, Flambard showed notable talent at raising funds for the king—and himself. He took control of empty parishes (up to 16 at one point), so that rent from their tenants flowed to him. With the money he was raising for the Crown, he built the first stone bridge in London (but not London Bridge itself). It was at this time that the king's hall was built in Westminster, the walls of which are still standing.

When William Rufus died in 1100, Ralph Flambard, now Bishop of Durham, was made a scapegoat for the financial hardships put on the citizens of England. King Henry I made Flambard the first person to be imprisoned in the Tower of London.

He also became the first man to escape the Tower of London.

The story goes that his friends sent to him a large jug of wine. (Prisoners in the Tower were not fed well, and food and drink from family and friends were allowed in order to sustain them.) Inside the jug was a rope. Flambard offered his captors wine, and when they were drunk and sleeping, he extracted the rope, tied it to the middle strut of the window, and climbed down to where his friends were waiting with horses to take him and his elderly mother to a boat that would whisk him to safety in Normandy.

Archbishop Anselm of Canterbury arranged a papal trial for the crime of simony. Henry officially confiscated his lands. Archbishop Gerard of York took away his title of bishop. Flambard didn't care: he had had dealings with every important member of William the Conqueror's family except one—the out-of-favor eldest son, Robert Curthose. He made his way to Robert, the Duke of Normandy; he had a plan.

[to be continued]

The Battle of Senlac Hill

Best guess arrangement of opposing troops

The Battle of Hastings gets remembered on 14 October; that's when the forces of William of Normandy defeated the (already exhausted) forces of Harold Godwinsson at Hastings. Except it isn't...at Hastings, that is. It was fought at Senlac Hill, or Senlac Ridge, several miles from the town of Hastings. The name is the shortened form of the Norman Sanguelac ["Blood Lake"], which was their post-Conquest pun on the original name of Sandlacu ["sandy lake"]; there is a stream that crosses the fields below the hill. In fact, the site now has a town called (almost predictably) Battle, and Battle Abbey, which was built to commemorate the Norman victory. The Domesday Book commissioned in 1085 referred to it as bellum Hasestingas ["Battle of Hastings"], and yet the battle was being referred to as Senlac in other chronicles.

Harold managed to reach Senlac and array his troops on the high ground, giving them a tactical advantage over the Normans below. William's forces, however, fought bravely—first with archers, then with spears—and then an accidental retreat drew the English off the high ground in pursuit, whereupon the Normans turned around and continued the fight.

There were not many details written down about the battle, but we can make some assumptions. Fighting would have to take place in daylight, so a charge could not start much earlier than the 6:48am sunrise would allow. Also, sunset was at 4:54pm, and it would have been fully dark on the battlefield by 5:54pm. The moon did not rise until hours later, and so principal fighting would not have extended much past sunset. It only needed a day, however, to change the course of English history.

Battle of Stamford Bridge, Part 2

The first part is here.

Death of Harald Hardrada, illustration from Matthew Paris

King Harold Godwinson of England, hearing that King Harald Hardrada of Norway had invaded the north of England and, with Harold's brother Tostig Godwinson, had captured York, marched quickly to meet him, covering over 180 miles in four days. On 25 September 1066, the two armies met at Stamford Bridge.

The presence of an actual Stamford Bridge has been disputed. Stamford does not appear in the Domesday Book, compiled 20 years later to tally all of the king's possessions in England. It is, however, mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. We just don't know where it was. The River Derwent (by which the battle took place) must have had a crossing, and there may have been a bridge then of which now we can find no trace, but there must have been something somewhere along the Derwent that allowed the English to cross it and engage the Norwegian army.

Hardrada's forces were completely unaware that the English army was so near. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle reports that a single axe-man ran to the bridge to hold off the crossing English at a narrow point, killing two score English until one passed under the bridge in a boat and stabbed upward with a spear. The delay allowed the invaders to hastily pull themselves into a defensive circle and put up a shield wall—but not enough time to put on their armor. Harold was able to surround them and attack the shield wall in several places. The battle lasted hours, but the lack of preparation among the Norwegians wore them down. Despite the arrival of reinforcements who had been left guarding their ships, Tostig was slain, and an arrow to Hardrada's windpipe brought him down, putting his army into disarray. They were wiped out by the English. It is said that, 50 years later, the field was still littered with bleached bones of the slain.

Harold took pledges from Hardrada's son Olaf, that he would never attack England again. Of the 300 ships they brought to attack England, only 24 were needed to return the survivors. It was a definitive defeat that sent a signal to all the Scandinavian countries. Harold had a right to be proud.

Three days after the battle, on 28 September, William of Normandy arrived on the southern coast with an army from Normandy. But that story has been told before.

The Fighting Bishop

Tomb of Remigius, Lincoln Cathedral [link]

A "ship list" exists of the ships used by William of Normandy when he conquered England in 1066. It records who contributed the ship and in many cases the men and supplies aboard. One of the ships was provided by Remigius de Fécamp, a Benedictine monk.

The exact participation of Remigius is in dispute. According to the historian Henry of Huntingdon (c.1088 - c.1157), Remigius fought at the Battle of Hastings, bringing 20 knights along with his ship. Gerald of Wales, however, who thought so highly of Remigius that he tried to get him canonized as a saint (it never happened), said he only came along with 10 knights that were sent from the region of Fécamp.

His contribution must have been significant, because after the Conquest he was made the Bishop of Dorchester, which at the time was the largest diocese in England. But he had to continue "fighting": his ordination by Stigand, Archbishop of Canterbury was a point of contention when papal legates came to England in 1070 and pushed Stigand out of his office, also reversing the appointment of Remigius to Dorchester. Stigand's successor, Lanfranc, wouldn't touch the subject of Remigius' legitimacy, and Remigius had to travel to Rome in 1071 to seek forgiveness from Pope Alexander II and become "properly" re-appointed as a bishop.

Was there smooth sailing now that he was recognized as Bishop of Dorchester? Not quite. There were two archbishoprics in England—York and Canterbury—and each one claimed that Dorchester belonged in its territory and Remigius' loyalty was to that archbishop. Lanfranc and the Archbishop of York, Thomas of Bayeaux, appealed to Pope Alexander II who, even though he was a former pupil of Lanfranc's and held him in high esteem, refused to take sides, pushing the debate back to the king's council in England.

The council ruled that Dorchester (and Lichfield and Worcester, to which York also lay claim), belonged to Canterbury. Still, Thomas would occasionally ask for help from Remigius, such as during the consecration of the Bishop of the Orkney Islands. Remigius, not wanting to set a precedent that he "worked for" York, appealed to Canterbury to keep him away from the ceremony.

Remigius had a long and busy career, taking part in William's courts, and sitting on the commission that produced the Domesday Book. He died on 7 May 1092 and was buried in Lincoln Cathedral, where his bones, chalice, paten, and half of his crozier were recovered in 1927.

And Then There's Maud

Matilda of Flanders (c.1031-1083), also called Maud, was the wife of William II of Normandy (later William the Conqueror). Their legendary and odd "courtship" was described here. The odd thing is that, after the supposed abuse he heaped on her when she first refused his hand, she later defied her father, Count Baldwin of Flanders, and refused to marry anyone else.

The pope objected, because they were too closely related. Determining the exact relationship has been difficult for modern scholars, however:

It has thus been suggested that both William and Matilda were cousins in the fifth degree, being both directly descended from Rolf the Viking. ... Finally, it has been suggested (perhaps with greater probability) that the prohibition was based on the fact that after the death of Baldwin V's mother, Ogiva, his father, Baldwin IV, had married a daughter of Duke Richard II of Normandy. All these theories have difficulties to overcome, and the matter may well therefore be left in some suspense. —William the Conqueror, David C. Douglas (1964)

We know that she was a direct descendant of Alfred the Great, and also was a descendant of Charlemagne, but those connections should not have sparked the pope's concern. Whatever his objections, they were overcome eventually with the help of Lanfranc (see the link above).

Matilda proved to be an admirable consort. She outfitted a ship, the Mora, with her own funds to join his fleet for the Conquest of England. She also had skills as an administrator: William left the Duchy of Normandy in her hands when he headed to England in 1066 to defeat Harold. In fact, although she did spend time with her husband in England—notably when she accompanied him during his Harrying of the North campaign—except for giving birth to their fourth child, Henry, in Yorkshire while on that campaign, all of their other children were born in Normandy.

One thing she likely did not do is work on the Bayeaux Tapestry. As picturesque as the image is of her and her ladies in waiting working away as seamstresses and embroiderers, it is now believed that the tapestry (actually a banner) was arranged by Bishop Odo of Bayeaux (William's half-brother) and created by Kentish artists.

So far as we know, once she captured William's heart she never let it go again. There are no records of William having any children outside of his marriage, or of taking a mistress. They had nine children, all of whom lived to adulthood. Two of them became kings: William II, called Rufus, who ruled England after the Conqueror, and Henry who ruled after William as Henry I.

Her illness and death, with William at her side, was devastating for her husband. William survived her by four years, but he was changed. True, in 1085 he called for the Domesday Book, but his interest in ruling England was waning, and he returned to Normandy for good in 1086. There are also reports that he became more cruel. When he died, he was buried in Caen, near but not with his wife. While he was buried at Abbaye aux Hommes (Abbey of Men), at which Lanfranc had once been abbot, Matilda was interred down the road at the Abbaye aux Dames (Abbey of Women), which had been founded by William and Matilda in 1062. She is buried under a slab of black marble.

Matilda of Flanders died 929 years ago today. The illustration is a statue of her in Paris

Thorkill of Arden

When Leofric, Earl of Mercia, died in 1057, his estate of Kingsbury passed to his widow, the Countess Godgifu, better known to later generations by the Latin version of her name, Godiva. The Domesday Book, compiled on King William's orders in 1086, lists her as a landowner as of the Conquest in 1066, but no longer. So where did her property go?

Prior to William of Normandy's attack in 1066, Edward the Confessor had been inviting Normans over the Channel as councilors; several of them had already been given lands. After 1066, Normans were put into all positions of power, and Saxon nobles were demoted to lesser landholders. Two Saxons, however, had chosen to support William in 1066. One of these was Thorkill of Arden (also called Turchill).

Early Heraldry for Arden

Thorkill's father, Æthelwine, was a nephew of Leofric and the Sheriff of Warwickshire in 1066. Perhaps Thorkill saw supporting William as a way to enhance his own standing. Perhaps he truly believed that William was the rightful ruler; reasons why he might were discussed here. Perhaps he just didn't like Harold. In any case, he was confirmed as Sheriff after his father's death.

At some point—the simplest explanation is the death of the Countess Godiva, whose date we do not know—King William gave Kingsbury and its 700 acres to Thorkill. This made Thorkill the sole member of the pre-1066 Saxon nobility to hold an estate of any significance at the time of Domesday.*

Thorkill held Kingsbury for several years; he is listed as the landowner in Domesday. King William's third son was crowned William II on 26 September, 1087 by Bishop Lanfranc. William II was in many ways a successful king, although not universally popular; perhaps confiscating people's lands had a role. William took Kingsbury away from Thorkill. That was not the end of the Arden family's prosperity, however: they remained prominent in Warwickshire politics. A descendant, Mary Arden, was the mother of Shakespeare.

*That is, of the nobility; Bishop Wulfstan of Worcester was, technically, the most powerful Englishman in 1086.

Domesday Book

In 1085, Duke William of Normandy had been ruling England as King William for twenty years (it all started here). He decided it was finally time to take inventory of his property. He sent his agents (3-4 commissioners for each of 7 areas the country was divided into) to make a survey of everything south of the border with Scotland.* They met with groups of representatives (barons and villagers) and asked a series of standard questions. By the end of summer in 1086, the reports (in Latin) were all being compiled back at Winchester, along with data on the value of the land and its assets immediately pre- and post-Conquest. The entire work is in the same very neat handwriting, so a single scribe was given the job of compiling/collating everything. The official name of the result was "The Book of Winchester."

So why is it usually called "Domesday Book" now? That nickname was given to it about 100 years later, and just like it looks, it means "Doomsday." The idea behind the nickname is that the book was such a complete listing of everything in England that it was equivalent to the "Book of Life" used by God at the end of time to judge your deeds. It was that complete.

Except, of course, it wasn't.

For one thing, work ceased by the time King William died in September 1087. The section on East Anglia hadn't been compiled into the total work. There is, therefore, a "Little Domesday Book" with the East Anglia data. Also, important cities such as London and Winchester were not included, probably because William figured he knew them well enough and didn't need an accurate accounting of their property assets, such as he would want for the countryside.

Also, attempts to judge population using Domesday fall short of expectations. Although farms and buildings were counted, only heads of households were included in the population count. In castles, the number of men were counted, but the population in monasteries and convents was not. Best guesses, extrapolating from what data are included, is a population of 1.25-2 million, a far cry from the estimated 4 million during the Roman occupation.

Still, the Book contains a lot of fascinating information in its 413 pages, which I will draw on in the future.


*N.B.: The border with Scotland was much farther south than it is now.