The Frankpledge

The oath of frankpledge (mentioned here) was a promise of mutual aid between members of a community, used throughout several centuries of the English Middle Ages. When I say "members of a community" I really mean male members over a certain age, exempting clergy and knights, who owed allegiance to different authorities.

Pursuing a sheep stealer

Early Anglo-Saxon society had a practice known as frith-borh ["peace pledge"]. The borh was a way for certain individuals to take responsibility for those under their care, assuring that they would be turned in for crimes or appear before the court if accused. A master was responsible for his slaves, or a person for his family members, or a lord for those living on his land. This was a very informal system of appointing responsibility.

A little later came the Anglo-Saxon custom of tithing, which meant a "thing of 10." Ten men would agree to be a tithing, which existed primarily to agree that they would promise to surrender to the authorities one of their group who broke the law. It was a voluntary grouping, and only local men were eligible. To be eligible, you had to possess property that could be forfeit if you were deemed guilty of something. Women, children, slaves, people passing through—none of these needed to join a tithing since they had no property that could be confiscated if they neglected their duty.

It was not until the reign of King Henry I (c.1068 – 1 December 1135) that the frankpledge gets mentioned in his codified laws. It was originally an informal method of creating civic obligation. Unlike the London Wardmote of a later date, the frankpledge was administered by a sheriff on his bi-annual tourney around the country. At this time he was to be paid a token penny, but also he took the opportunity to fine infractions of the law. The potential for corruption was great enough that the Magna Carta included limitations on the sheriff's exploitation of frankpledge.

The Black Death (1348-50) disrupted the use of frankpledge by reducing the numbers of the oath-taking groups through death and re-location in the pursuit of jobs. Although it survived in the 1400s, a growing national structure of constables and justices of the peace took on more and more responsibility for maintaining order. There is still a holdover of the tithing and frankpledge in the Riot Act of 1886 in England, which indirectly levies damage costs on the local population after damages from rioting.

The Oath of Frankpledge shown here comes from the Liber Albus, the White Book of the laws of London, which was discussed here.

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 Charter of Liberties

A copy of the Coronation Charter of Henry I/Charter of Liberties

When William Rufus died, his younger brother Henry assumed the throne. It should have gone to the oldest brother, Robert Curthose, who was away on the First Crusade, because of an agreement between William and Robert. After all, when their father died, Henry was given a chunk of money; he wasn't even given a plot of land to rule the way Robert was given the dukedom of Normandy and William got England. The nobles didn't want to accept Henry at first. It was probably the Charter of Liberties that changed their minds.

The Charter of Liberties is also known as the Coronation Charter. It is the earliest extant coronation charter from England. In it, the new king makes promises to uphold laws. The statements made in this particular Charter were popular because they undid many of the acts of William that were unpopular.

For instance, statement 1 promises that Henry "shall not take or sell any property from a Church upon the death of a bishop or abbot, until a successor has been named to that Church property." (William had left the position of Archbishop of Canterbury lie vacant after the death of Lanfranc, so that he could appropriate the revenue from the archbishop's lands.)

Statement 6 forgives "all debts and pleas which were owing to my brother, except those which were lawfully made through an inheritance."

Statement 8 reverses the practice of being forced to bribe the king: "If any of my barons commit a crime, he shall not bind himself to the crown with a payment as was done in the time of my father and brother, but shall stand for the crime as was custom and law before the time of my father, and make amends as are appropriate."

Other statements put more control in the hands of the barons, and promise that the Crown shall not act rashly. When Robert Curthose went on the First Crusade, William gave him 10,000 marks—the equivalent of 25% of the annual royal budget. William got this money from a very heavy tax levied on the whole of England.

Even though in the normal course of events Henry would not have been part of the succession, the Charter of Liberties presented at his coronation helped to "sell" him to the noble class.

Ralph Flambard, Robert, and Henry

The Battle of Tinchebray

When Ralph Flambard escaped from the Tower of London, he fled to Normandy to the court of its duke, Robert Curthose. Robert was the eldest son of William the Conqueror who failed to inherit the throne—twice. The first time was when he rebelled against his father, later seeing the throne going to the second eldest, William Rufus. The second time was when, despite an agreement with William Rufus to be his heir, Robert was on Crusade when William died, giving younger brother Henry the opportunity to take the throne.

Flambard convinced Duke Robert that he should assert his claim to the throne (despite Robert's agreement to not pursue it in exchange for 3000 marks/year). With Flambard organizing the fleet, Robert's army landed in England in July 1101. It didn't go well. Henry's army was larger, and England didn't really want another change on the throne, so the local support was all for Henry.

Within a couple weeks of landing, on 2 August, Robert and Henry agreed to the Treaty of Alton—Alton was where Henry's army met and stopped the advance of Robert's—in which Robert (again) agreed to renounce any claim to the throne of England in exchange for an annual payment. Flambard, no doubt part of the negotiating force, actually got reinstated as Bishop of Durham! But he chose to stay in Normandy for five years: Robert had thanked him for his help by granting him the see of Lisieux

In 1105, however, Henry broke the agreement. Despite the Treaty of Alton, Henry invaded Normandy and fought against his brother in the Battle of Tinchebray. Robert was captured and imprisoned (he died in 1134, in Cardiff Castle). After the battle, Flambard made his peace with Henry, returned to England, and took up responsibility for Durham again.

Back in England, Flambard continued major building projects: a cathedral, a defensive wall around Durham Castle, Norham Castle, and more. He died on 5 September 1128.

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]

Sibling Rivalry

When William the Conqueror died in 1087, he decided to leave the throne of England to his second eldest, William Rufus. To his eldest, Robert Curthose, who had once rebelled against him, he left the Duchy of Normandy. (Robert hadn't even come to his father's deathbed, staying on the continent because of the bad blood between him and his family.) The youngest son, Henry, got £5000 silver (and two smaller provinces in France: Maine and the Cotentin Peninsula). William and Robert, as the two major landholders, agreed to make each other their heir.

Robert Curthose tomb in Gloucester Cathedral

That didn't last.

Months later, several barons decided to revolt against William Rufus in the Rebellion of 1088. Robert joined them. Verbally. He never actually traveled to England to take part in the rebellion with any troops; had he done so, the rebellion might have succeeded. As it happened, William invaded Normandy a few years later, capturing large parts of the Duchy from Robert.

They managed to reconcile, however, when they decided to team up and expand both their property holdings by taking Maine and Cotentin away from their younger brother, Henry. Henry lost the Cotentin (an important coastline on the English Channel) after a two-week siege, retaining only the smaller and now land-locked Maine.

William died in a hunting accident on 2 August 1100. At the time, Robert was returning from the 1st Crusade. He hurried back to England to claim the throne because of the agreement he had with William since 1087. Unfortunately for him, Henry was in a position to claim the throne before Robert returned.

Robert's troops landed at Portsmouth in 1101 to fight for the throne. Henry was awaiting him at Pevensey (coincidentally[?], near where their father had made his landing for the Norman Invasion of 1066), but caught up with Robert before he reached London, and defeated him. Henry convinced Robert to give up his claim to the throne for 3000 marks per year. That might have resolved their conflict—and it did, for a little while.

But then Ralph Flambard escaped from the Tower of London.

[to be continued]

Robert Curthose

Yesterday's post mentioned Henry becoming king of England upon the death of his brother, William Rufus. Their father was William the Conqueror. William had more than two sons, however. In fact, neither Henry nor William Rufus was his eldest son.

His eldest was Robert Curthose (c.1051 - 3 February 1134). He might have eventually succeeded his father to the throne of England, but his own actions got in the way.

Robert had some admirable qualities, as noted by William of Malmesbury in his Gesta Regum Anglorum [Deeds of the Kings of England]:

...considered as a youth of excellent courage... of tried prowess, though of small stature and projecting belly... he was neither ill-made, nor deficient in eloquence, nor was he wanting in courage or resources of the mind. [Note the "small stature" line; the nickname, "curthose" likely derived from his legs being a little shorter than usual]

But he had a temper. In 1077—still a young man—his younger brothers were bored, and dumped the contents of a chamber pot on Robert from an upper gallery. The boys got into a fight, which their father had to break up. Enraged that his father did not punish the instigators, the very next day Robert tried to capture one of his father's castles, at Rouen. He failed, and fled ultimately to Flanders, where his mother secretly sent him money to support him. His mother, Matilda, arranged a reconciliation between father and son from that lasted from 1080 until her death in 1083, after which Robert left court and traveled Europe.

On William the Conqueror's death in 1087, he left England's throne to William Rufus, and £5000 silver to Henry. To his estranged and difficult eldest son, Robert, he left Normandy—a generous gift considering the troubles between them.

Robert continued to cause trouble for his siblings, however; a story for tomorrow.

Father of His Country

The phrase "Father of His Country" is usually reserved for George Washington, first President of the United States, for his role in the beginning of the system that the USA has today. But Henry I of England (1068 - 1135) was the father of his country in more than a symbolic sense.

As a son of William the Conqueror, his role was to continue the evolution of England to become a mixture of Saxon and Norman culture. When his brother, William Rufus, was killed in a hunting accident, Henry took the throne. He took as his queen Matilda of Scotland, with whom he had at least two children. A daughter, Matilda, was born in 1102 and lived until 1167. William Adelin, born in 1103, died in 1120 in the White Ship tragedy.

Matilda really wanted to be a nun, which may explain why she did not help to fulfill her "duties" to provide many heirs. After her death in 1118, Henry married a young wife named Adeliza of Louvain, with whom he had no children.

Henry had alternatives, however. By several different mistresses (some of whose names we know), he sired several "heirs":

• Robert Fitzroy ["son of the king"] (c.1100 - 1147), became the first Earl of Gloucester.
• Richard of Lincoln was raised in the household of the Bishop of Lincoln, Robert Bloet.
• Reginald de Dunstanville (c.1110 - 1175) was Earl of Cornwall and High Sheriff of Devon.
• Robert
• Gilbert
• William de Tracy
• Henry Fitzroy
• Fulk Fitzroy
• William de Dunstanville

...and that was just the boys. He had, by best estimate from references in historical documents, at least 15 daughters, including:

• Matilda Fitzroy, Countess of Perche (by becoming 2nd wife of Rotrou III, Count of Perche)
• Matilda Fitzroy, Duchess of Brittany (by marrying Conan III, Duke of Brittany)
• Matilda Fitzroy, Abbess of Montvilliers

How is that for a tribute to a first wife?

Medieval Eclipses

[source]

Eclipses were a mystery for awhile, but eventually enough took place that astronomers could spot the patterns. European astronomers in the 1600s were able to publish books explaining how lunar and solar eclipses took place. Prior to that, however, they were mysterious occurrences whose importance was tied to whatever was happening on the ground.

In 632, an eclipse that was visible in Medina on 27 January coincided with the death of Ibrahim, the son of the Prophet Muhammad. Muhammad interpreted this as a sign for his followers to pray for Ibrahim.

On 2 August 1133, a total eclipse took place. When King Henry I of England died months later, it "confirmed" for the popular culture that eclipses were bad omens for rulers. They knew that the eclipse portended bad news; they just had to wait a long time to find out what the bad news was.

There's a stone in Ireland whose carvings are interpreted as the first recorded eclipse. You can see it above. The two sets of concentric circles colliding in the middle represent the eclipse. The circular carvings above it represent the other stars that appeared in the sky at the moment of totality. The overall pattern enabled astronomers to determine when the eclipse took place. So it is pretty well established that the earliest recording of an eclipse was made on the Loughcrew Cairn Megalithic Monument in Ireland; the eclipse took place on 30 November, 3340 BCE.

The Problems of Pope Paschal

Pope Paschal II speaking to Anselm of Canterbury

On 13 August 1099, a Cluniac monk from northwest of Rome named Ranierius was named Pope Paschal II, following Pope Urban II. He sat the chair of Peter until 21 January 1118—a long stretch compared to many popes.

Like other popes, he had to deal with the controversy over investiture; in his case, specifically, he weighed in on England's trouble between King Henry I and Archbishop Anselm of Canterbury, finding the same solution later settled in the Concordat of Worms: agree that the pope names clergy and confers religious titles, but the king of England can confer secular titles and grant land.

As for the relations between Paschal and the Holy Roman Emperor: Henry V proved to be more difficult in some ways than his father had been, even marching an army into Italy against Paschal over the Investiture Controversy. Paschal had to agree to give up all properties and possessions it had received since the days of Charlemagne. Only for this would Henry give up his "rights" of investiture.  The agreement was to take place in February 1111, but the Romans objected very strongly to a German army trying to change the status quo: they revolted, and Henry retreated, but not before capturing Paschal and 16 cardinals! The pope was imprisoned for two months; a rescue mission by Robert I of Capua with 300 men failed. Paschal was released after agreeing to allow Henry to invest priests and bishops. (Months later, with Henry safely back across the alps, a council and Paschal would excommunicate him for his actions.)

Paschal also had the opportunity during his reign to unite the Catholic (Western) and Orthodox (Eastern) churches; Emperor Alexios I was willing. Paschal, however, laid down the condition that the pope be seen as the ultimate ruler of all churches throughout the world, and this the Patriarch of Constantinople would not agree to.

One of Paschal's appointments in 1112 was of a priest named Erik Gnúpsson to be Episcopus Groenlandia regionnumque finitimarum ["Bishop of Greenland and nearby regions"]. Norseman had settled Greenland in the 10th century, and there was another land to the west called "Vinland," which was almost certainly Newfoundland. This gives Paschal the privilege of having appointed the first bishop of the Americas. (Gnúpsson left for Vinland in 1121 and never returned, alas.)*

*Vatican and Icelandic records both mention this; see These Stones Bear Witness, by Richard White for more on the Norse presence in North America.

Fighting Over the Body

St. Michael and All Angels, Haselbury Plucknett

On 20 February 1154, a fight broke out over a corpse. The corpse "belonged" to Wulfric of Haselbury, and two groups wanted it.

Wulfric was born about 1080 in southwest England. He became a priest—a very worldly one, who liked hunting, until an encounter with a beggar motivated him to focus on being a decent parish priest. In 1125, however, he took the additional step of going to be an anchorite at St. Michael and All Angels Church in Haselbury Plucknett, Somerset (without asking permission from his bishop, but the Cluniac monks nearby welcomed his choice). His devotion made him many friends and admirers. He would mortify his flesh through wearing chain mail, fasting, and immersing himself in cold water.

The local lord, Sir William FitzWalter, sent food and visited. The parish priest also visited, as did several others.

Even King Henry I and King Stephen visited and received his advice—not always advice they wanted to hear. Wulfric prophesied (correctly) Henry's death, and lectured the visiting Stephen on his government's many evils.

When Wulfric died, the monks of nearby Montacute that had consistently supported him felt that the remains of this saintly man should come to them for proper internment (and a potential shrine that would draw pilgrims and donations). They were opposed by the parish locals under the leadership of the parish priest, Osbern. Wulfric's body remained in his cell, buried there by the authority of the Bishop of Bath. Osbern moved the body twice in the church to keep the remains secret; no one knows the exact location now.

The King That Almost Was

I mentioned here that, after the Battle of Hastings, another claimant to the throne of England had to flee to Scotland in the face of William of Normandy's success. There, Edward's sister Margaret married King Malcolm Canmore of Scotland, and Edward gave up the dream of his line ruling England.

There was, however, a chance for the throne to pass back to his family, after all.

William of Normandy divided his rule by giving Normandy to his eldest son, Robert Curthose, and England to a younger son, William Rufus. When William Rufus was killed in a hunting accident in 1100, the youngest son, Henry, became Henry I of England. In 1105, prompted by his older brother Robert's poor performance, Henry invaded Normandy, succeeding in claiming Normandy for his own within a year.

Henry was not just a good soldier; he was a decent politician. He chose to placate his Anglo-Saxon subjects by marrying a "local" girl, Matilda of Scotland. (There was a small snag, in that she was believed to be a nun, but that was settled eventually.) Matilda was the daughter of Malcolm Canmore and St. Margaret of Scotland, and therefore the granddaughter of Edmund Ironside, a previous Anglo-Saxon king. Marrying her and having heirs would put a combined Norman-Saxon king on the throne. That king was William Adelin ("Adelin" was a form of Ætheling, the Anglo-Saxon word for "prince" or "noble"). He was born in 1103, and while in his teens was called rex designatus [King designate].

Then came the night of 25 November, when William Adelin and his brothers made some bad decisions while in command of the White Ship on their way back to England from Normandy. Henry lost all his sons in the disaster. Henry's attempt to place his daughter on the throne led to a period called The Anarchy, after which the throne was taken by the very un-Saxon (and reportedly unpleasant) Stephen of Blois.

To Marry a Nun

Seal of Queen Matilda

When King William II died mysteriously in 1100, his brother immediately ascended the throne. Needing a queen, he turned to Matilda of Scotland, then about 20 years old. There was one potential problem with this plan, however: Matilda was a nun.

Or was she?

Matilda was the daughter of Queen (later Saint) Margaret and Malcolm Canmore, King of Scotland (and the model for the Malcolm in Shakespeare's MacBeth). Her mother raised her with daily religious instruction and a ruthless attention to discipline: the steward had permission to beat any of her children if they exhibited bad manners.

At the age of six, Matilda (along with her three-year-old sister, Mary) was sent to Romsey Abbey in Hampshire, where their mother's sister was abbess. "Aunt Cristina" dressed the girls in the heavy black clothing of nuns and beat them regularly to remind them that they were sinful. Several years later, they were sent by their mother's instructions to Wilton Abbey in Wiltshire for further education, saving them from their aunt. Instruction included more than catechism: Matilda knew English, French and Latin, and was able to read St. Augustine and the Bible.

Romsey Abbey today

In 1100, Henry I's wish to marry her created a controversy. Was she a nun and ineligible for marriage? Henry wasn't sure, so he turned to the Archbishop of Canterbury, Anselm of Bec (c.1033-1109). Anselm, recently returned to England after a long time away, shied away from making that decision—although he was a brilliant theologian, he was possibly torn between betraying the Church and annoying a King—and called a council of bishops to debate the matter.

Matilda herself testified that she was never meant to be a nun, that her parents only sent her to abbeys because they wished her to be educated, and that she hated the nun's life and tore off the veil whenever she was out of sight of Abbess Cristina. The council concluded that Matilda was never supposed to be a nun after all, and gave permission for the marriage.

Queenshithe

Plaque in Queenhithe.

One of modern London's 25 Wards, Queenhithe, has an ancient history. It is currently quite silted up, but originally was an inlet (probably made during Roman times) for ships to dock at. The name means "Queen's Dock" after Matilda, the wife of King Henry I, when it was presented to her as a source of income from the import duties gathered from ships landing there. The Agas Map of London (c.1560) also names it "Queenshithe"; the "s" has since been dropped.

The site is much older, however. As mentioned, it was no doubt established in Roman times—excavations have found remains of Roman baths in the area. When King Alfred the Great (849-899) "revived" the City of London around 886. Alfred made a gift of it to his brother-in-law Ethelred, and for a time it was called Ædereshyd, or "Ethelred's Dock."

It was an important landing place for ships bringing grain into the city. The nearby Bread Street has existed under that name at least as far back as the Agas Map. Also, Skinners Lane a block away attests to the import of furs, particularly rabbit skins.

It was designated a Scheduled Ancient Monument in 1973, particularly as it is the only surviving site of a once-Saxon harbor. It is therefore protected from random alterations by construction. Its use as a port, however, has fallen off because of its position upriver from London Bridge, preventing large modern ships from reaching it.

The Anarchy, Part 1 (of 3)

When the White Ship sank in 1120, drowning King Henry I's son and heir, William Adelin, England was in crisis. Henry decided that his daughter, Empress Matilda (1102-1167), should inherit the throne. She was called "Empress" because she had been betrothed as a child to the Holy Roman Emperor, Henry V; they were married in 1114. She had actually spent some years as Henry's regent in Italy, gaining some political and administrative experience.

That came later, however. Her father, King Henry I, had about 20 illegitimate children, but none of them would have been acceptable as king, so he tried to gain himself a legitimate heir to replace William by marrying again in 1121 (to Adeliza of Louvain), but no male heir was forthcoming. Henry V died in 1125, and Henry I summoned his daughter from Germany—awkward for her, since she had essentially become a German, having grown up there since childhood, learned the language, and ruled its people. Still, she had not produced an heir for Henry V, and so that dynasty ended and the throne went to someone who had no use for the widow of his predecessor. Matilda spent a year in Normandy, becoming re-acquainted with her father, and in 1126 went to England.

Even though Henry had his Court swear oaths to accept her status, however, not everyone was pleased with the choice. King Louis VI of France suggested William Clito, Henry's eldest illegitimate son, in order to create conflict in the English court. Through a sudden and advantageous marriage, Louis managed to make Clito's status more important and potentially more disruptive to Henry's plans.

Then, in 1135, Henry I died. Matilda was in Anjou with her new husband, Geoffrey of Anjou—too far from England to take control of the situation. Her cousin, Stephen of Blois, rushed to seize the Crown, breaking—along with a majority of barons—the oath he had sworn years earlier. His action started a period of civil war that lasted for almost 20 years.

[to be continued]

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

Criminal Intent

When Henry I (1068-1135) was king of England, the rule of the law was simple: someone had to pay for a crime. The philosophy was "who sins unwittingly shall knowingly make amends." This was a few decades into Norman rule in England, but it mirrored the previous Anglo-Saxon law as well: someone had to be responsible if a wrong had been committed. In fact, the law under King Cnut (985-1035) demanded that even an infant who broke a cup was guilty as if he were an adult acting deliberately. (Remember the importance of the wergild to pre-Norman England.) At least Henry's law allowed the very young and the insane to be considered innocent, being not in their right minds. Accidental injury was still injury, however, until a legal expert came forward who tried to change that.

Henry Bracton (1210-1268) was a jurist who worked hard to codify and update English law, using the well-developed Roman legal system as his guide. His four-volume De Legibus et Consuetudinibus Angliæ (On the Laws and Customs of England) informed much of English law afterward, even though he didn't finish it (I'll explain why shortly). He had a lot to say about the practice of seeking Sanctuary in a church, about "writs of appeal," and murder fines and dying intestate. But what we are looking at today is the concept of mens rea.

Mens rea, Latin for "guilty mind," was considered by Bracton to be a necessary element of a crime, as opposed to just an actus reus (guilty act). Just as Bracton insisted that stealing required an intent to steal, so the attitude of the law to killing must reflect the agent's intent to kill:

the crime of homicide, be it either accidental or voluntary, does not permit of suffering the same penalty, because on one case the full penalty must be exacted and in the other there should have been mercy. [De Legibus]

This was a significant change, and made a harsh law more reasonable. The fact that a felony in modern jurisprudence requires intent starts with Bracton's move away from a strictly "mathematical," eye-for-an-eye approach to punishment.

A page from De Legibus

So why didn't he finish it? Bracton rose far in his career: from being a justice at the age of 35 to being a member of what became the King's Court. But by 1257, something prompted him to quit his position not long before the summoning of the Mad Parliament by Henry III and the unrest that led to the Provisions of Oxford. By quitting, he had to turn in all of his papers, court cases, notes and copies of the law that he had been drawing on to write De Legibus. The timing is suspicious, especially considering the personal cost to him and his life's work. One wonders if he wanted to avoid taking sides, or, if he already had taken a side, who he was afraid of angering most: the king or the Barons.

Whatever the case, he walked away from law and courts for years, becoming a rector in a couple places, then an archdeacon, and finally the chancellor of Exeter Cathedral, in the nave of which he is buried. But in the last year of his life he was drawn into one more court case which, depending upon his reasons for leaving the law just before the second great conflict between a king of England and the Barons, might have been awkward for him. At the end of yesterday's post, the Dictum of Kenilworth  was mentioned, allowing the rebels to make a case to reclaim their estates from their king. Henry Bracton was appointed to the committee that heard their cases and decided the outcome, giving him one last chance to practice law—on behalf of people who had been his colleagues on the King's Court.

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.