Queen of the Conqueror: The Life of Matilda, Wife of William I (18 page)

Nevertheless, to relinquish her daughter in this way was still a sacrifice for Matilda. The meticulous attention that she had given to her daughters’ education and upbringing suggests a caring and tender mother, so it cannot have been without pain that she bade farewell to the young girl. The sources do not reveal whether they had any contact after
that time, but the rules of the abbey did allow Cecilia to receive visitors in her private apartments. Given how active Matilda was as a patron of La Trinité, it is likely that she saw her daughter regularly.

Cecilia’s entry into La Trinité was significant enough to warrant a mention by Orderic Vitalis, who noted: “her [Matilda’s] daughter, the virgin Cecilia, was consecrated to God and remained in his service for a long time.”
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He added that Cecilia was “brought up and carefully educated” by her mother’s namesake, the “vigorous” abbess Matilda, who was renowned for strict discipline.
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Jumièges also refers to Cecilia as “a virgin dedicated to God in the monastery of Sainte-Trinité in the town of Caen.”
¹³

As well as being intended as a sacrifice to God, Cecilia’s fate may also have had a more practical benefit from Matilda’s perspective. It is possible that she intended the girl to rule the abbey in future and thus secure the continuation of her family’s influence there. If this was her purpose, then later events would prove that she had remarkable foresight.

Matilda did not allow herself long to mourn the loss of her daughter to the religious life. The prospect of becoming queen of England was evidently an appealing one, for she threw herself into William’s invasion effort with even more directness. Her contribution was both spectacular and unique: she commissioned a magnificent new ship in which her husband might cross the Channel and lay siege to his prospective kingdom. Considering its scale, the vessel was constructed with remarkable speed, and the result was formidable. Clearly, it was built for show as much as for service. The Bayeux Tapestry depicts it as a vast ship (
magno navigo
), larger than the rest of the fleet and carrying more men.
¹⁴
It is highly decorated and modeled on the Viking style, with billowing four-cornered sails painted in stripes of red (or brown) and yellow.
¹⁵

Matilda had planned every detail with meticulous care, and each of the embellishments was loaded with symbolism. A contemporary document known as the Ship List of William the Conqueror tells how the duchess ordered her craftsmen to make a figurehead of a golden child with his right forefinger pointing toward England and his left hand pressing an ivory horn against his lips. Although Wace believed that this represented one of William and Matilda’s sons, it may have symbolized a
future son rather than a present one. There is evidence to suggest that the duchess had become pregnant shortly before her husband embarked upon his invasion of England. If this was the case, then the figurehead would have been intended as a secret gesture, the true significance of which was understood only by the ducal couple themselves—or even, perhaps, by Matilda alone.
¹⁶

It was exceptionally rare for a figurehead to be in the form of a child; they usually depicted animals or fantastical creatures such as dragons or monsters. The fact that the one commissioned by Matilda was crafted out of gold may also have been significant, for William of Poitiers described England as a land of silver and gold. Matilda’s message could therefore have been that the child she was carrying symbolized the birth of a new Norman dynasty in England.
¹⁷

This patriotic symbolism continued throughout the rest of the ship. The prow was ornamented with a lion’s head, a sign of bravery and strength. In order to demonstrate that God was on her husband’s side, Matilda also employed the consecrated banner that had been sent to William from Rome, hoisting it at the masthead.

The end result inspired awe in all who saw it. The ship was named the
Mora
, the literal translation of which was “mansion” or “habitation.” Certain romantic historians claim that it was a knowing anagram of
amor
. Perhaps more likely is that it was a subtle allusion to Matilda’s distinguished past—the Flemish counts from whom she was descended were known as the Morini. Such a gesture would have been typical of the duchess’s pride in her pedigree.
¹⁸

In commissioning such a highly decorated and sumptuous vessel for her husband to sail in, Matilda appeared to be showing him great veneration and respect. Wace observed that she had built the ship “in honour of the said Duke.”
¹⁹
To achieve maximum impact, she had kept the whole project a secret from William, and it was only as he was assembling his fleet at the mouth of the River Dives in Normandy during the summer of 1066 that she unveiled the
Mora
to him. He was so delighted with the magnificent vessel that he immediately made it his flagship. His admiration for his wife was greater than ever before. To show his gratitude, he confidently promised her the county of Kent when he became king of England. This would make Matilda a rich woman, for the county was
one of the most prosperous in England, and its revenues would keep her in an extremely comfortable style even if she received no other income.

According to Wace, Matilda’s family contributed rather less toward William’s enterprise than she did herself. He claims that the duke wrote to his father-in-law asking for his assistance. But the shrewd count refused to commit either men or money until William had told him “how much of England he would have and what part of it he would get.” William promised to discuss this with his nobles, and a short while later he sent Baldwin a letter, sealed with wax. Upon opening it, the count was bemused to find that the parchment was blank, and asked the messenger what it meant. The latter replied: “You will have nothing and should expect nothing … He will conquer it [England] and not have any help from you.”
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Entertaining though it is, this tale is not repeated in any other source, and given that it was written more than a century after the event, its authenticity is dubious.

Nevertheless, Baldwin did indeed prove reluctant to help his son-in-law, and it was only after William had promised him an annual sum of 300 marks of silver if he became king of England that the count agreed to provide troops for the invasion. Admittedly, Baldwin was in an awkward position, for although William was his son-in-law, he was also related by marriage to another contender for the throne—Harold Godwinson’s brother Tostig, who was married to his half-sister Judith. Baldwin also had to take account of the interests of his overlord, the French king. In the end, he chose to hedge his bets. As well as providing limited support to Duke William, he also supplied Tostig with ships and men to attack England.

Meanwhile, in the kingdom upon which the duke had set his sights, there was a growing sense of unease at the gathering storm. The chroniclers tell of a portentous event that occurred in April 1066, just three months after Harold’s accession: “Throughout all England, a sign such as men never saw before was seen in the heavens. Some men declared that it was the star comet, which some men called the ‘haired’ star.”
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The phenomenon was also seen in Normandy, and Jumièges marveled: “its three-forked tail stretched far into the southern sky remaining visible for fifteen days.”
²²
To a God-fearing people who were ever watchful for heavenly portents, this was a sign of unprecedented significance. Great
change—good or bad—must be afoot. With the wisdom of hindsight, Orderic Vitalis was more specific about what this change might be: “this portended the transfer of a kingdom.”
²³

By July of that year, Duke William’s preparations for the invasion were complete. He had amassed a formidable force of men. Historians disagree about its size, but William of Poitiers’ claims of fifty thousand men are almost certainly an exaggeration, especially in the light of what we know of other cross-Channel invasion forces.
²⁴
In fact William’s army may have numbered as few as seven thousand. Even so, Orderic Vitalis describes how the duke “gathered an immense army of Normans, Flemish, French and Bretons” and claims that his fleet comprised as many as three thousand ships, although the actual figure was probably between seven hundred and a thousand.
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When these were all ready to sail, “he loaded the vessels with vigorous horses and very strong men armed with hauberks and helmets.”
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Although contemporary chroniclers exaggerated the size of William’s force, it would undoubtedly have presented a formidable sight. The sense of expectation, among both the troops and their leader, must have been high.

Although William had achieved remarkable success in stabilizing the duchy during the previous three decades, he knew better than to trust the protestations of loyalty by his powerful noble subjects, who were no doubt already scheming to seize control as soon as he had set sail for England. He therefore had to ensure that his domain was left in the hands of someone whom he could trust absolutely to govern in his name and prove immune to corruption or rebellion. It is a testament to how much he esteemed and valued his wife that he decided that she was the only person capable of fulfilling this role.

William and Matilda’s eldest son, Robert, might have expected to rule in his father’s absence. At fourteen years of age, he would have already been considered a man, and he had been nominated William’s heir some three years earlier. He had on one occasion been allowed to confirm a charter on his father’s behalf, which he no doubt took as a sign of trust. Moreover, the fact that he had been trained in military and political affairs from his infancy meant that he had the capability—and no doubt
the desire—to rise to the challenge. After all, his father had been six years younger than he when he had assumed control of the duchy. The
Anglo-Saxon Chronicle
notes: “the best who were in the land had sworn with oaths and taken him [William] as lord.”
²⁷
But Robert was given only nominal responsibility; Matilda was to act as regent on his behalf, and it was clear that she, not the boy, would hold all the authority.

That William should bypass his eldest son in this way was no great surprise, given the disdain that he had always felt toward him. In his opinion, Robert was a feckless, pampered young man, overly indulged by his mother and with no real credibility among the aristocracy of Normandy. It would be the first of many occasions on which the duke disregarded his son’s wishes, and relations between them rapidly began to sour. However, Robert’s being passed over did not mark the beginning of an estrangement between Matilda and her eldest son: far from it. As the acknowledged heir to the duchy, Robert’s safety was paramount, and he was therefore kept at his mother’s side throughout her regency. Later events suggest that this period strengthened the bond between them, allowing Matilda to indulge the affection that she had always felt toward her firstborn.

The significance of Matilda’s new role cannot be overstated. Although women were beginning to play a powerful role in the emerging dominance of the Christian church, they were still largely sidelined in political affairs. The teachings of St. Paul were held fast by most European rulers: wives should be meek, passive, and silent. Thus, no female consort before Matilda had exercised such power. Even the formidable Queen Emma, who had confidently expected that her husband, King Cnut, would name her regent in the event of his death, had seen her ambitions dashed in 1035 when his illegitimate son, Harold Harefoot, had been appointed instead.

Still, Matilda was not the first woman in western Europe to have the honor of the regency bestowed on her. In France, King Henry’s widow, Anne of Kiev, was appointed coregent for their young son Philip in 1060, along with Matilda’s father, Baldwin.
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The first consort to be explicitly charged with the powers of regency was Matilda’s contemporary, Agnes of Poitou, who took charge of the Holy Roman Empire on behalf of her young son, Henry IV, after her husband’s death in 1056. More common
was for a royal wife to be spoken of as “nourishing the young king” or “keeping the kingdom.”
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However, Agnes was not a role model to which others might wish to aspire. Her chief adviser, Henry II, Bishop of Augsburg, was despised for his arrogance and for the level of influence he enjoyed over Agnes, which led to rumors of an illicit affair. She was eventually ousted when a group of hostile noblemen abducted her son, thus depriving her of authority.