Death in the New Forest

When he was in his 40s, King William II "Rufus" of England had successfully dealt with rebellions, been pretty successful in dealing with the clergy and asserting his own authority in the area of investiture, and ruled Normandy (finally, though temporarily) while its duke, his brother Robert Curthose, was on the First Crusade.

One day, he decided to go hunting in the New Forest. This was not unusual. Hunting was a sport of kings, and the New Forest was a great place to do it. Even now it is one of the largest tracts of unenclosed land in England. William's father had declared it a royal forest (today, 90% is still owned by the Crown). William II's older brother Richard had died in the New Forest, colliding with an overhanging branch while riding.

On 2 August 1100, while hunting with companions, he was found with an arrow through his lung. That's all that was recorded. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle records only that he was  "shot by an arrow by one of his own men." Later records report the name of the bowman: Walter Tirel. A generation later, William of Malmesbury offered more detail:

The day before the king died he dreamt that he went to hell and the Devil said to him "I can't wait for tomorrow because we can finally meet in person!" He suddenly awoke. He commanded a light to be brought, and forbade his attendants to leave him. The next day he went into the forest... He was attended by a few persons... Walter Thurold remained with him, while the others were on the chase. The sun was now declining, when the king, drawing his bow and letting fly an arrow, slightly wounded a stag which passed before him... The stag was still running... The king, followed it a long time with his eyes, holding up his hand to keep off the power of the sun's rays. At this instant Walter decided to kill another stag. Oh, gracious God! the arrow pierced the king's breast.

On receiving the wound the king uttered not a word; but breaking off the shaft of the arrow where it projected from his body... This accelerated his death. Walter immediately ran up, but as he found him senseless, he leapt upon his horse, and escaped with the utmost speed. Indeed there were none to pursue him: some helped his flight; others felt sorry for him.

Thurold was another version of the name—Walter Tirel was a real noble connected to the royal family by marriage—and the idea of the king's dream is fantasy. It is true that Tirel fled the scene: having killed the king, his life was forfeit, so he wisely fled to France, where he was sheltered by Abbot Suger, who later confused the issue when he wrote:

It was laid to the charge of a certain noble, Walter Thurold, that he had shot the king with an arrow; but I have often heard him, when he had nothing to fear nor to hope, solemnly swear that on the day in question he was not in the part of the forest where the king was hunting, nor ever saw him in the forest at all.

And supposedly Tirel/Thurold was an excellent marksman, so would he have "accidentally" hit the king? When investigating a crime, the question often asked is cui bono, "to whose good?" Who would benefit from William's death? Also in the hunting party was his younger brother, Henry. With William's death and Robert Curthose off on the First Crusade (he would only return a month after the death), Henry quickly declared himself king.

Did Henry arrange it? He certainly benefited. Did Henry manage to put the blame on Tirel? Who can tell?

Before we leave William Rufus, I want to latch onto one other trivial point about him. Contemporaries noted he was not a particularly nice person, and that his language was "rough." He had a favorite curse, which was "By the Face of Lucca!" What was the "Face of Lucca"? Let's find out next time.

William Rufus

Technically, he was King William II of England but was called "Rufus" for his reddish beard, William was the third eldest son of William the Conqueror. The eldest was Robert Curthose (given the title Duke of Normandy after his father's death), and the second son Richard died early. This left William junior to succeed as King William II of England. (The youngest, Henry, would ultimately become king as well.)

Born about 1057, he might not have been raised from early on with the thought that he would have to rule some day, but when the second son Richard died in a hunting accident in the New Forest in 1070, Rufus' destiny altered course. He would have made an odd-looking person, never mind a king. According to William of Malmesbury, Rufus was 

...well set; his complexion florid, his hair yellow; of open countenance; different colored eyes, varying with certain glittering specks; of astonishing strength, though not very tall, and his belly rather projecting.

He was also given to mischief as a child. Orderic Vitalis, a contemporary historian, wrote that the younger sons William and Henry, in a moment of great boredom and little discretion, emptied a chamberpot from an upper story onto Robert. Their father had to break up the ensuing fight.

After becoming king, he had to deal with the Rebellion of 1088 (led partially by his uncle, Bishop Odo), which he defeated. In 1091 he decided to invade Normandy and successfully captured some lands from Robert. He made it up to Robert by promising to help him recover some of his land that had been taken by France. (Their joint venture failed.)

In 1097 he initiated the construction of Westminster, the largest Hall in England.

He took the secular side (naturally) of the Investiture Controversy. In the case of England, bishops and abbots were feudal subjects of the king, and so he was less concerned about clashing with them over the subject of investing clerics. He then made a tactical error in this regard: he nominated as Archbishop of Canterbury the greatest theologian of the age, Anselm of Bec. Their conflict would mirror one between a future king of England and his archbishop, but I'll talk about William and Anselm's conflict tomorrow.

Herleva of Falaise

There have been many references in this blog to the children of lords by their mistresses, but we've given very little attention to the women. Let's look at the reason William the Conqueror was called "the Bastard."

Herleva of Falaise was a Norman woman who was the mother of William by his father, Duke of Normandy Robert I. Orderic Vitalis writing a generation or two later said that her father was Fulbert, Robert's chamberlain. William of Malmesbury wrote that Herleva and Robert were later married, but if that had actually happened in William's lifetime then he would have been legitimized and not called Bastard.

Supposedly Robert was high atop one of his towers when he looked down and saw Herleva. She was engaged in the process of dyeing leather by trampling on it barefoot in a tub filled with dye. The story goes that she looked up and saw him watching her, so she lifted her skirts a little more than necessary to show off her legs. Robert ordered that she brought through the back door to meet him, but she refused such a humiliating method, and insisted she would have to enter the castle on horseback through the front gate.

The duke was too anxious to have her join him that he agreed, and a few days later, cleaned up and dressed well, she rode on a white horse through the front gate of the castle. His son William was born in 1027 or 1028.

More realistically, she married Herluin de Conteville in 1031, viscount of Conteville (although that title may have come later, granted him by his step-son, William, after William came to the dukedom). With Herluin she had two sons, Robert of Mortain and Odo, the bishop of Bayeux. They also had two daughters, Emma and another, both of whom made good marriages to nobles.

Robert de Torigni claimed that she was buried at the Abbey of Grestain, a Benedictine monastery founded by Herluin. The statue above of her is in Huy, Belgium, which claims to be her country of origin.

Her other son was Odo, who (like Robert of Mortain) was highly valued by their famous half-brother. Odo became a bishop, and may be the person who instigated the creation of the Bayeux tapestry, which is not a tapestry, but we'll explain that tomorrow when we talk about him.

Edgar Takes the Reigns

Donald III of Scotland grabbed the throne, then lost it to his nephew Duncan, then grabbed it again. This second time around, Donald was in his early 60s and had no heir of his own. He likely designated his nephew Edmund as his heir. (He did have one known daughter, Bethoc, who married the Lord of Tyndale.)

Edmund was the son of Malcolm III, but when Malcolm and the eldest brother Edward died, Edmund chose to side with his uncle Donald instead of having the throne go to one of Malcolm's other sons, such as himself or Edgar or Ethelred. William of Malmesbury said Edmund bargained "for half the kingdom" from Donald; if true, it suggests that Edmund would inherit the kingdom after Donald.

Malcolm and Margaret's next surviving son, Edgar, gained the support of English King William Rufus. According to Malmesbury, Edgar and his uncle, Edgar Ætheling, invaded Scotland with the military support of the Anglo-Normans and that Donald was "slain by the craftiness of David [Malcolm and Margaret's youngest]... and by the strength of William [Rufus]." Historian John of Fordun, writing years later, says Donald was blinded and imprisoned. He supposedly died in 1099 at the age of 67, having spent his last years in captivity.

Malcolm's son Edgar then became Edgar I of Scotland (his seal is shown above). Although he reigned for a decade (1097 - 1107), he never gained complete control of all parts of Scotland. Military support from William II "Rufus" of England would have helped, but William had his own issues like a revolt in Northumbria and spending time in Normandy, which he purchased from his brother Robert Curthose.

Still, Edgar maintained a relationship with the English court, and not as a vassal to the English king. Records show the king paying for Edgar's expenses at court, which would not be necessary if William were Edgar's feudal lord. He seems to have been an honored guest. Edgar was sword-bearer for the king in the inauguration of the new Westminster Hall. After William's death, however, this closeness ended: he was not present at Henry I's coronation.

A few notable events appear in the sparse records of his reign. He signed a treaty with Magnus Barefoot of Norway, creating a firm border with Norwegian claims in the western part of the north. He also gave a unique gift to the High King of Ireland, Gael Muirchertach Ua Briain. It was a camel (but might have been an elephant) brought back from the First Crusade. He also connected with Anselm of Canterbury to bring back the monks of Canterbury that Donald had expelled from his mother's favorite Dunfermline Abbey.

Edgar never married. He died on 8 January 1107, leaving his brother Alexander as his successor—but not for the whole country. His will also granted their younger brother David the former kingdom of Strathclyde. This did not make David a king: he was still a prince and his older brother's subject. As for Alexander himself, he did not gain a reputation as a nice king, but that's a story for tomorrow.

Malcolm III of Scotland

Almost exactly a decade ago I posted "The Real Macbeth" about how he killed Duncan I of Scotland. Well, let's talk about Duncan's son, who has been mentioned many times in the past several posts because of his links to English royals.

Malcolm's mother is a mystery. John of Fordun, a Scottish chronicler from a few centuries after Malcolm, says she was a blood relative of Earl Siward, Earl of Northumbria, but this was probably a late attempt to tie Scottish royalty closer to possessions in England (but see below). An even later story suggests she was the daughter of a commoner and Malcolm was born out of wedlock.

Where was Malcolm when Duncan was killed by Macbeth? Malcolm was only about nine years old, but chieftains could have supported him. Tradition says that Duncan had sent his sons (besides Malcolm there was Donald and Máel Muire*) away for their safety; Fordun says Malcolm was sent to England to the court of Edward the Confessor.

Fordun writes that in 1054, Earl Siward of Northumbria invaded Scotland with the intent to install one Máel Coluim, son of the king of the Cumbrians, on the throne of Scotland. This Máel Coluim was identified as Malcolm III Canmore. William of Malmesbury agrees with this event, and says that Macbeth was killed by Siward. The problem with this is that Siward died two years before Macbeth. More recent scholars believe that Siward's Máel Coluim was a later Malcolm.

Other chroniclers of the time state that Macbeth was killed by Malcolm on 15 August 1057, but Macbeth was succeeded by his son Lulach (actually his step-son, born to his wife Gruoch—yes, "Lady Macbeth" did have her own name—from her first marriage), who was crowned in September. Lulach (whose nickname was Tairbith "The Unfortunate") was then killed by Malcolm in April 1058, who then became king shortly after.

It was common for Gaelic rulers to start their reigns with a show of strength by mounting an invasion somewhere. Malcolm's supposed close connection with England did not stop him from plundering Lindisfarne in 1061. This was far enough from the seat of English monarchy that it probably did not draw much attention. The local alderman of Northumbria at the time was Tostig Godwinson, but not only was he away on pilgrimage to Rome for recent offenses, but also he didn't care much for his people anyway.

Malcolm actually offered Tostig asylum at a time when Tostig needed a safe place. That, and other ties to English royalty, will be the subject for tomorrow.

*not this Máel Muire, however.

Edgar Ætheling, Part 3

Edgar Ætheling had been through many ups and downs. For the trouble he had caused for William II of Normandy as an "alternate choice" for king of England, he might have been executed, but he was allowed to live, given his freedom, and also given some estates.

When William died in 1087, Edgar threw his support to William's eldest son, Robert Curthose, to whom William had left the dukedom of Normandy. The second son, William Rufus, succeeded as King of England. Robert felt he should have England, and tried to overthrow William in a conflict that was not resolved until 1091.

Part of the resolution was that Edgar be stripped of lands given to him in Normandy. Edgar fell back on an old habit: going to stay with King Malcolm III in Scotland (now Edgar's brother-in-law), who also happened to be preparing war with William Rufus. Significantly, when the two armies met, they did not fight. They decided to talk things over, and whom did the kings pick to conduct negotiations? Malcolm sent Edgar, William sent Robert. Since Edgar had been one of Robert's chief advisors, the two would be able to talk amicably.

One result of the negotiation was a reconciliation between Edward and William, that made it safe for Edgar to return to England. The peace between the two countries began to break down, however, and eventually he left England for Normandy with Robert. In 1093 Edgar was back in Scotland to speak to Malcolm at William's request: the peace treaty wasn't working, and war was unavoidable. That war killed Malcolm and his heir, Edward, Edgar's nephew. (Edward was not his eldest; that was Duncan, who was kept at William's court.) Another army against Scotland had Edgar at its head in 1097 and helped to establish another son of Malcolm, Edgar, on the Scottish throne.

Orderic Vitalis wrote that Edgar Ætheling was the leader of an English fleet in support of the First Crusade. Orderic must be wrong, since the English supporting fleet reached Syria in March 1098, and Edgar was known to be in Scotland in late 1097. There was no time between the two events for him to reach Syria. William of Malmesbury said that Edgar made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and Orderic may just be confused about the reason and timing for Edgar's trip.

After Jerusalem, William Rufus died when Robert Curthose was too far away to claim the throne, which was grabbed by their younger brother, who became King Henry I. Naturally, Robert went to war over this, and naturally, Edgar joined him. Naturally, they failed again; Robert was imprisoned for the rest of his life, and Edgar was let go, since by this time Henry had married a daughter of Malcolm and Edgar's sister, making Edgar his uncle by marriage.

William of Malmesbury wrote that, in 1125, Edgar was still alive and growing old in privacy and quiet. A tumultuous life came to a peaceful end, but we do not know where or when.

Next I want to turn to Malcolm III "Canmore" who was a significant player in these events.

Who Invented the Mechanical Clock?

In researching the previous post, I came across a reference to Pope Sylvester II (formerly Gerbert d'Aurillac, c.946 - 1003) inventing the mechanical clock. The source of this was the William Godwin's final book, Lives of the Necromancers, An Account of the Most Eminent Persons in Successive Ages Who Have Claimed for Themselves, or to Whom Has Been Imputed by Others, The Exercise of Magical Powers [1834]:

This generous adventurer, prompted by an insatiable thirst for information, is said to have secretly withdrawn himself from his monastery of Fleury in Burgundy, and to have spent several years among the Saracens of Cordova. Here be acquired a knowledge of the language and learning of the Arabians, particularly of their astronomy, geometry and arithmetic; and he is understood to have been the first that imparted to the north and west of Europe a knowledge of the Arabic numerals, a science which at first sight might be despised for its simplicity, but which in its consequences is no inconsiderable instrument in subtilising the powers of human intellect. He likewise introduced the use of clocks. He is also represented to have made an extraordinary proficiency in the art of magic; and among other things...

The italics are mine. A little further along, Godwin adds a footnote that tells us his information comes from William of Malmesbury. William (c.1095 - c.1143) was the foremost English historian of the 12th century. Not exactly a contemporary, but maybe near enough that the memories and stories were still fresh? It would be difficult to determine the accuracy of this report, especially in the context of a brief blog post. Fortunately, I don't have to.

As it turns out, Marek Otisk of the University of Ostrava (Czechoslovakia) published an article on this very topic in September 2020, Gerbert of Aurillac (Pope Sylvester II) as a Clockmaker. He examines the reports from William of Malmesbury, the Chronicle of Thietmar of Merseburg (died c.1018), and a much later record (someone who died in 1610). Among his detailed examination of these and other historical records we learn that although William claims Gerbert built a clock in Reims, a friend of Gerbert's (Richest of Reims), writes about Gerbert's stay in Reims in detail and never mentions a clock. Otisk concludes that William's ascribing of the creation of a clock to Gerbert cannot be trusted.

The later report by the Benedictine monk Arnold Wion, who died about 1610, claims Gerbert built a clepsydra, a water clock, in Ravenna. What we know of Gerber's time in Ravenna, however, is that it was very short; again, no contemporary accounts support this story.

Thietmar of Merseburg tells a different story, that Gerbert created a clock in Magdeburg. Thietmar was a bishop and close friend of Holy Roman Emperor Henry II, who succeeded Otto III, credited with making Gerbert into Pope Sylvester II. Thietmar's Chronicle includes a specific detail about Gerbert creating, in Magdeburg, "created clocks (horologium) which he correctly calibrated according to the Polar star (stella, dux nautarum) which he observed through an observation tube (fistula)." [Otisk, p.32] Otisk likes this account because both Thietmar and Gerbert were in Magdeburg in the late 990s, and very likely crossed paths several times.

The use of the word horologium is misleading, however. We use it for the word "clock," but it is more likely that Gerbert was creating a calibrated armillary, or possible even an astrolabe, which he knew about from his exposure to science being done by Islamic philosophers.

So I can't tell you who created the first mechanical clock. But the question of horologium remains: when long-ago writers refer to "clocks," what exactly did they mean? What constituted a clock? There were several ways to measure time without staring at the sun and judging, and I'll talk about those devices tomorrow.

The Death of William Rufus

Recent posts have talked about the sons of William the Conqueror: how he left the kingdom to his second son, William Rufus; how the eldest, Robert Curthose, had a temper and was shunted off to Normandy; how the youngest, Henry, took the throne upon his older brother's death during a hunting accident. We haven't yet talked about the hunting accident.

from Ridpath's Universal History (1895) 

If it was an accident.

On 2 August, 1100, King William II, called "Rufus" (probably on account of a red face), went hunting with a party of men that included his younger brother, Henry. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle states that he was "shot by an arrow by one of his own men." A later reference says an arrow glanced off a tree and went through his lung.

Details are scant. This was somewhere in the New Forest; the exact location is unknown, although later legend has picked a spot. In fact, a few centuries later, a stone was erected purporting to be on the site of the oak tree from which the arrow glanced.

William of Malmesbury claims that an archer named Walter Tyrell was responsible for the errant arrow, despite the fact that he was considered an excellent shot. Rather than carry the king's body back for burial, the hunting party left it there. Henry rushed to Winchester to seize control of the treasury and declare himself king; he was confirmed the next day. A peasant later came across the body and caused it to be brought to Winchester for burial.

Some historians claim that, if Henry wanted his brother killed, he would have waited; that William and Robert were headed for inevitable conflict, and that he merely had to wait until one of them eliminated the other, and assassinate the remaining brother. We know, however, that Robert was still away on the First Crusade, the money for which he had been given by William. At that time, it looked like Henry's elder brothers were getting along. Henry might also have been aware of the agreement between his brothers to be each other's heir. If Henry wanted his chance to be king, he had to seize it and consolidate power while Robert was far away and in no position to assert his claim. Henry also used his coronation charter, the Charter of Liberties, to cement the loyalty of the nobles.

We will never know for certain if William's death was an accident, but the situation so clearly benefitted his younger brother that it is difficult to shake the suspicion that it was engineered.

The Name Glastonbury

Glastonbury is a small town in Somerset, England, that has been inhabited since Neolithic times. A recent post discussed the discovery of early medieval glass-making furnaces at the site of the now ruined Glastonbury Abbey. This prompted some to point out to me that Glastonbury "must have been known" for glass production—it is "right there in the name." Let us address that.

Remains of the nave of Glastonbury Abbey

In his book The Flowering Hawthorn, Hugh Ross Williamson tells the story of St. Collen. Collen was a 7th century hermit who took up residence at what is now Glastonbury. Williamson relates how the saint encountered Gwyn, King of the Fairies, in a magical glass castle on Glastonbury Tor. Rejecting the fairies' offer of food and drink, he cast holy water on them, causing all to vanish. Numerous versions of this story exist, but Williamson's 1962 book is the only version that introduces glass as the material involved. As a source for the site's name, this is not reliable.

William of Malmesbury refers to its earliest name as Ynys Witrin, which some translate as "Isle of Glass" based on the fact that English "vitreous" comes from Latin "vitrum" meaning "glass." "Isle of Glass" would more properly be Ynys Gwydr, however. "Witrin" is a puzzle, but no serious scholar thinks it is from Latin for "glass." (The "Isle" makes sense because, in earlier times, higher sea levels turned some hilly areas into islands.) Malmesbury does suggest that the place was named for someone named Glast. Since the first recording of the name is Glestingaburg, the place of Glestinga. No one knows exactly to what Glestinga refers.

But it's not about glass.

1066: The Other New King

Edgar and his sister, St. Margaret, landing at
Wearmouth after their ship was blown off course

Yesterday was the anniversary of the Battle of Hastings, when the forces of William the Conqueror (mentioned many times; see one of them here) defeated the English and killed King Harold Godwinson. The link in the previous sentence for the Battle of Hastings tells more of the story than is generally known, namely that Harold's army had been on the march and fighting for weeks prior to Hastings. Also not generally known is that someone was proclaimed King of England the day after the Battle of Hastings, and it was not William of Normandy.

Edward the Confessor supposedly saw the impending trouble with succession to the throne of England and saw a way out: he had a nephew who was the legitimate heir: Edward (1016-1057), called "the Exile, who had fled to Hungary after being ousted from England after the defeat of his father (Edmund II "Ironside," c.989-1016) by King Cnut. Edward the Confessor had called Edward the Exile back to England to make him his heir. Sadly, the Exile died very soon after his arrival back in England in 1057. History does not record a reason, but it is possible that he was eliminated by the Godwinsons, who were very powerful and wanted to see Harold succeed to the throne.

Edward the Exile had left children behind on the continent, however. Edgar the Ætheling (c.1051-c.1126) was only a teen in 1066, but his youth was no bar to the succession. The witenagemot, the council of wise men that approved the succession in Anglo-Saxon England, met in London and chose Edgar as king the day after Harold fell at Hastings, and sent for him to return to England and lead the opposition to William of Normandy.

The men who chose him, however, chose not to defend their choice and resist William as his forces approached; instead, they negotiated with William for a peaceful turnover of the kingdom. In December, the aristocracy of England met with William at Berkhamstead to submit themselves to his rule and hand over Edgar. William took Edgar and some other English leaders into custody in order to ensure future cooperation.

In 1068, Edgar fled captivity with his mother and two sisters (Margaret and Cristina) to return to Hungary, but their ship was blown off course and landed in the north of England, where they were taken in by Malcolm* III Canmore, king of Scotland. Malcolm married Edward's sister Margaret (who later became Saint Margaret). Edgar had an "on again, off again" relationship with William and an adventure-filled life. He was still alive in 1125 according to William of Malmesbury, so his date of death assumed to be c.1126.

*Malcolm was the model for the character in Shakespeare's MacBeth.

The Flying Monk

Did a monk of the 11th century accomplish the first manned flight? There is reason to believe so.

In the Gesta Regum Anglorum [Deeds of the English Kings] of William of Malmesbury, we read of a monk named Eilmer in Malmesbury Abbey who launched himself from the Abbey's tower with a set of home-made wings. According to the story, he glided more than a furlong (a furlong is 220 yards, or just over 200 meters). Then, suddenly realizing how precarious his position was, he panicked, lost control, and crashed, breaking both legs. He had extreme difficulty walking for the rest of his life.

How likely is this story to be true? Let's first consider what we might call "incidental" evidence. William is not just reporting a legend: although he lived after Eilmer, he was in the same Abbey, and very likely got the story from elders who knew Eilmer and had witnessed the experiment first-hand.

William also records a curious detail: that Eilmer ever after claimed his failure was due to not constructing a tail for his device. This suggests that Eilmer really did study birds in flight, and realized that a tail is also important to steer and brake for landing. Unfortunately for the history of manned flight, the abbot forbade him or anyone from repeating the crippling experience.

But was such a flight possible? Several historians have weighed in, and even the United States Air Force is willing to accept it. The conditions that make it believable are as follows:

The Abbey was situated at a cliff edge over the Avon River that would have created strong updrafts. Eilmer would have seen how jackdaws use the strong updraft to glide and soar without the need to flap. The tower would have been about 80 feet high, giving him additional altitude for catching an updraft. If Eilmer were a small man, calculations suggest that a light and strong frame of willow or ash, covered with parchment or light cloth, would only need an area of 100 square feet to support his weight. William says the wings were attached to Eilmer's hands as well as feet—this supports the notion that they covered a larger area than just wings attached to arms.

Local legend says his landing spot is an area now called "Oliver's Lane." (Ralph Higden's Polychronicon—mentioned here—erroneously referred to Eilmer as Oliver, and the name stuck.) Given the constant wind conditions and the distance he is supposed to have flown, Oliver's Lane is precisely where modern calculations based on wind currents place his likely landing spot. The gliding flight would have lasted about 15 seconds.

He lived a long time afterward, becoming known for scholarship. His writing on astronomy existed and was well-known into the 16th century, but has been lost since. Also lost to history is the tavern "The Flying Monk" in Malmesbury, which has since been replaced by a shopping center.

The White Ship

William of Malmesbury tells us of a disastrous event on 25 November 1120: the sinking of the White Ship off the coast of Normandy:

Here also perished with William, Richard, another of the King's sons, whom a woman without rank had borne him, before his accession, a brave youth, and dear to his father from his obedience; Richard d'Avranches, second Earl of Chester, and his brother Otheur; Geoffrey Ridel; Walter of Everci; Geoffrey, archdeacon of Hereford; the Countess of Chester; the king's niece Lucia-Mahaut of Blois; and many others ... No ship ever brought so much misery to England. [Gesta Regum Anglorum]

The William mentioned was the only surviving heir of King Henry I of England.

The White Ship was a magnificent vessel that had recently been refurbished with new materials. Its captain was the son of one of William of Normandy's pilots; in fact, the father had piloted William's flagship in the flotilla that conquered England. Had the captain had his way, all might have been well. Here's what happened:

King Henry and his sons were in Normandy, and returning to England. The ship was offered to him for the voyage, but as he had already made arrangements and was ready to depart, he gave the honor of the White Ship to his sons. Henry left for England. The sons, on their own and in command of a fancy ship, were generous in allowing the crew and passengers to start drinking while dockside. Later, with night approaching and alcohol flowing, they decided (foolishly) to set off and beat the king to England; they were sure the ship could do it, despite being weighed down by about 300 bodies. So they set off into the darkness, with a tipsy crew.

The ship hit a rock, tearing a hole in the side. William of Malmesbury's version has one survivor, clinging to the rock all night; Orderic Vitalis says there were two. In either case, we have some details that might be true, such as Prince William escaping in a boat, but going back to rescue his half-sister and having his boat capsized when too many people tried to climb aboard.

Prince William's death forced Henry to name his daughter Matilda his heir. When Henry himself died in 1135, his nephew, Stephen of Blois, decided a firm male ruler for England was more important than honoring the oaths he made to support Matilda. Stephen crossed the Channel to claim the throne, and set off almost two decades of civil war.

William of Malmesbury

In the 12th century in England, the practice of writing histories was becoming relatively common. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles and the Chronicle of Melrose were ongoing, and Orderic Vitalis and the prolific Eadmer were writing their histories. Since I cast doubt on William of Malmesbury (1095-c.1143) in yesterday's post, however, I thought he deserved some attention.

William of Malmesbury's aim was not simply to write a history, but to produce a great literary work that was worthy of the greatest historian England had yet known. His Preface begins:

The history of the English, from their arrival in Britain to his own times, has been written by Bede, a man of singular learning and modesty, in a clear and captivating style. After him you will not, in my opinion, easily find any person who has attempted to compose in Latin the history of this people. Let others declare whether their researches in this respect have been, or are likely to be, more fortunate; my own labor, though diligent in the extreme, has, down to this period, been without its reward.

Bede (673-735) was universally respected, so much so that it was rare to see his name without the modifier "Venerable" before it. After praising Bede's singular position in English literature, William attempts to produce a work that equals or surpasses it. The result was the Gesta Regum Anglorum (Deeds of the Kings of the English).

And according to many scholars, he succeeded. In the opinion of Milton, William was "both for style and judgment by far the best writer of all." He included anecdotes and detailed descriptions of important figures—far more historically valuable information than the often terse Anglo-Saxon Chronicles. Like Bede, and unlike other historians, he showed the cause and the effect of historical events and the actions of kings. His account of the First Crusade is detailed and colorful.

He followed this work with Gesta Pontificum (Deeds of Pontiffs), a history of abbeys and monasteries in England. About the year 1140, he revised both works, updating them, and began an addendum to the first, his Historia novella (History of new[er] things). His patron in all this was Robert, Earl of Gloucester. As a son of King Henry, Robert was fairly powerful; it is thought that Robert would have made William the abbot of Malmesbury Abbey, but William preferred to concentrate on his learning instead of administrative duties.

That learning certainly contributed to his writing. It is believed that some of his information, such as what he has to say about Wulfstan, the Bishop of Worcester, comes from the account by Wulfstan's contemporary, Coleman. But that is how medieval scholars managed: they took from available works, and providing attribution was not as important as making your own work as complete as possible. William's works remain the best accounts we have of life in England in the first few generations after the Norman Conquest.

Æthelstan—The Forgotten King

In the history of the Middle Ages, there must be many "forgotten kings"—those whose rules were too short or too obscure or too trivial to add any momentous events to the modern consciousness (many people know the phrase "The Norman Conquest" even if they couldn't tell you details). In the case of Æthelstan (c.894-939), however, his reign was significant enough for the history of England that it is a shame that he is not known better.

Perhaps there is irony that part of his undeserved obscurity is actually paired with elements that should have helped to make him more noteworthy. To a modern world who wants only a few highlights from studying the past, his accomplishments are overshadowed in classrooms by those of his grandfather, Alfred, the only king in English history to have earned the epithet "the Great."

Also, we have an account about him from William of Malmesbury (c.1095-1143) who said of Æthelstan "no one more just or more learned ever governed the kingdom." Most modern scholars, however, mistrust the Malmesbury account (although some have argued that internal evidence suggests that Malmesbury is actually drawing on an earlier and probably reliable biography). A 10th century Latin poem says of him: "Holy King Æthelstan, whose esteem flourishes and whose honor endures everywhere."

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle often only mentions military engagements, and therefore neglects his administrative and economic achievements. But in his lifetime, he was praised as "the English Charlemagne." He financed Catholic churches. He regulated currency and controlled the weight of silver coins and passed laws to penalize currency fraud. (In the image below of the Æthelstan penny, note the "braiding" around the edge that prevents "coin clippers" from shaving off silver in order to spend a coin of less weight.) He regulated commerce, confining it to the burh (Anglo-Saxon "town"; think Modern English "burg"), encouraging the growth of towns. He consolidated the wilderness areas and settlements in the Midlands, creating new shires, asserting royal control and law more consistently over the entire country.

Æthelstan silver penny

He also made valuable alliances. He married off his half-sisters to European noble families, so that he had connections with brothers-in-law such as the future Holy Roman Emperor Otto. King Harald Fair-Hair of Norway sent his son Haakon to foster at Æthelstan's court. When Harald died and Haakon's brother Eirik Bloodaxe proclaimed himself king, Æthelstan equipped Haakon with ships and men to take his rightful place as King of Norway (which he did).

He won a decisive battle, the Battle of Brunanburh in 937; summed up by Winston Churchill:

The whole of North Britain—Celtic, Danish and Norwegian, pagan and Christian—together presented a hostile front under Constantine, king of the Scots, and Olaf of Dublin, with Viking reinforcements from Norway. [History of the English-Speaking People]

After Æthelstan's victory, he could rightfully call himself "the King of all the English"—the first ruler on that island to be able to do so.

Upon his death in 939, he was laid to rest in Malmesbury Abbey—a place for which he had great affection—rather than the traditional Winchester, which was the seat of power for the royal family of Wessex.

Perhaps, as one fan of Æthelstan put it, his fame is tenuous because there are too many things about his life that cannot be grasped succinctly and with certainty: did he possess the greatest collection of sacred relics at the time, including the Spear of Longinus? Why did he not marry and have children? Did he have a half-brother killed? Was his mother a concubine? These questions, however, should not prevent knowing something about a remarkable and forward-looking figure from England's past.