The Norman Conquest (17 page)

According to the
Life of King Edward
, the Confessor was an exceptionally pious individual. ‘He lived in the squalor of the world like an angel,’ it says at one point, ‘and zealously showed how assiduous he was in practising the Christian religion.’ Throughout his whole reign, we are told, Edward was wont to converse humbly with monks and abbots; he would meekly and attentively listen to Mass and was generous in his almsgiving, every day feeding the poor and infirm at his court. Elsewhere we are assured that the king had religious visions and performed miraculous cures, touching people to rid them of scrofula, or tuberculosis of the neck (‘the King’s Evil’). As we have already seen, the
Life
also claims that the Confessor showed his dedication to God by living a life of chastity.
²

The
Life
further illustrates its subject’s deep devotion by describing how he re-founded Westminster Abbey. Prior to this point, as the author explains, Westminster had been an insignificant and impoverished community, capable of supporting only a small number of monks. Thanks to Edward’s patronage, however, all that changed. The church he built was pulled down and replaced in the mid-thirteenth century, but excavation has shown that following its first rebuilding Westminster was the largest church in the British Isles, and the third largest in Europe. It was built, naturally, in the new Romanesque style that had recently come into fashion in Normandy, with strong similarities in layout and design to the new church at Jumièges. The common link between the two buildings is, of course, Robert of Jumièges, which suggests that construction at Westminster commenced during the first decade of Edward’s rule (i.e. before Robert’s flight), and probably sooner rather than later: despite its exceptional size, the new abbey was all but complete by the time of the king’s death in 1066.
³

Edward’s reasons for building Westminster were probably as mixed as those of any Norman duke or magnate. Piety doubtless played a major part: the
Life
explains that the king was drawn to the abbey because of his particular devotion to St Peter. But at the same time even the
Life
admits that there were other attractions. Westminster is described as a delightful spot, surrounded by green and fertile fields, conveniently close to London and easily accessible by boat, where merchants from all over the world would come to unload their goods. Such considerations were important not just to the monks but to Edward personally, for he also seems to have established a palace at
Westminster, on the site of the present Houses of Parliament. What the king created, in other words, was a royal complex of abbey and palace, much like similar ducal complexes in Normandy, and – crucially – far removed from the existing English equivalent at Winchester. Once the heart of the West Saxon monarchy, Winchester had latterly been claimed by the Danes. It was there that Cnut and Harthacnut were buried, and there that Edward’s mother Emma had continued to dwell up to her death in 1052, after which she too was interred in the Old Minster. The Confessor, we may reasonably suppose, did not want to be associated with any of these people, either in this life or the next. As the
Life
explains, the king intended from the first that he would be buried at Westminster.
⁴

As for the rest of the
Life’
s evidence for Edward’s piety, historians have been understandably sceptical. The
Life
is, after all, the basis for the later legends about the king that ultimately led to his canonization. The same historians will also point out, quite reasonably, that in other places – particularly in the context of Edward’s clash with Earl Godwine – it suits the
Life
to describe him in less than saintly terms, depicting him as angry and vengeful. The chief reason for modern scepticism, however, is that the
Life
was commissioned by his queen, Edith, who had her own reasons for wishing to stress her husband’s religiosity and in particular his alleged chastity. Although the date that the
Life
was composed continues to be a matter of debate, it was clearly completed after the Norman Conquest. This is significant because had Edith borne Edward an heir, the Conquest itself would not have taken place. If, on the other hand, he had elected never to sleep with her on account of his religious scruples, then Edith herself could scarcely be blamed for the cataclysm that followed.
⁵

Against this, however, one may make two related observations. First, if Edward’s piety is a construct, it is a massively sustained and elaborate one. Second, although the precise date of the
Life’
s composition is debated, all historians agree that it was written in the period 1065 to 1070 – i.e. when Edward was either still alive or the memory of him still very fresh. As with the claim about his chastity, therefore, so too with his piety in general. Had the
Life’
s picture of a religious king – a saint in all but name – been significantly at odds with reality, it would have been laughed out of court, or perhaps taken to be a mischievous piece of satire.
⁶

There is, in fact, other contemporary evidence to support the
Life’
s picture of a genuinely pious Confessor. William of Jumièges, as we’ve seen, believed the king’s peaceful accession in 1042 was divinely ordained, while the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle later imagined his soul being guided to heaven by angels. Less than a decade after Edward’s death, William of Normandy (by then the Conqueror) described him in a letter to the abbot of Fécamp as ‘the man of blessed memory, my lord and relative King Edward’, and had a reliquary of gold and silver made for his remains. Similarly, while we may reasonably doubt whether Edward actually cured anyone simply by touching them, the
Life’
s comment that he began the practice during his youth in Normandy is lent credibility by the fact that the kings of France, supported by monks and abbots, had begun to do so at exactly this time. Lastly, the
Life’
s claim that Edward loved to associate with monks and abbots, particularly foreign ones, is well supported by the evidence. Of the four individuals who are known to have crossed to England with him in 1041, three are churchmen.
⁷

From the identities and careers of these individuals we can see that Edward was an active supporter of church reform. Robert of Jumièges had been abbot of a monastery reformed by William of Volpiano.
⁸
The remaining two, Hermann and Leofric, had both received their training in Lotharingia (Lorraine), a region which, like Burgundy, was a byword for reform.
⁹
Edward made both of them bishops in the mid-1040s, and they both distinguished themselves by reforming and reorganizing their dioceses (Leofric, for example, moved the seat of his bishopric from Crediton to Exeter). Edward’s support for reform is also apparent from his enthusiastic response to the papacy of Leo IX. English representatives were sent to the Council of Rheims in 1049, according to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, ‘so that they might inform the king of whatever was there decided in the interests of Christendom’. The following year Edward sent two further delegations of bishops to attend Leo’s Easter and September councils, and in 1051 Robert of Jumièges set out for Rome to collect his pallium.
¹⁰

But these links with reform and the reform papacy were severed with the return of the Godwines in 1052. It would be going too far to suppose that the earl and his sons were opposed to reform per se. The quarrel between Godwine and Robert of Jumièges, for
example, seems to have been primarily political and personal, concerned with Church property rather than Church practice. At the same time, we have clear testimony from the
Life of King Edward
that the Godwines believed that too many bishoprics were going to foreigners, and we also know that when Bishop Hermann sought to transfer his episcopal seat to Malmesbury Abbey, the earl and his sons backed the monks of Malmesbury in resisting the move.
¹¹
Most of all, when Edward’s revolution was reversed and Robert of Jumièges had fled, the Godwines ensured that the archbishopric of Canterbury went to Stigand.

Stigand, like Godwine, was a creature of Cnut. Although he was apparently a native of East Anglia, his name is Norse, which suggests that he may have been of mixed Anglo-Danish parentage. He first appears as early as 1020, when Cnut appointed him as minister of his new church at Assandun,
*
built to atone for and commemorate the most decisive battle of the Danish conquest. In 1043 Stigand became bishop of East Anglia, a position awarded to him by the newly crowned Confessor, but clearly arranged at the behest of Cnut’s widow, Emma, to whom he had evidently remained attached. When Emma fell later that same year, Stigand fell too, but unlike her he quickly recovered his position, and in 1047 he was promoted again, this time to Winchester, the very heart of the Anglo-Danish connection, where Emma continued to dwell. Although there is no direct evidence to connect his rise in this period to the patronage of the Godwines, Stigand acted as go-between during their confrontation with the king in 1051, and reportedly wept when Godwine went into exile.
¹²

As his background as a secular priest suggests, Stigand was not a reformer. In September 1052 he became the first non-monk to be made archbishop of Canterbury for almost a century. He was, in addition, guilty of committing what supporters of reform regarded as the most serious of abuses. According to twelfth-century sources, Stigand was notorious for his simony, openly buying and selling bishoprics and abbacies. Certainly he had no problem with pluralism – holding more than one Church appointment at the same time, a practice which was another of the reformers’ principal concerns.
Having been promoted to Canterbury, Stigand saw no reason to relinquish his grip on Winchester, and continued to hold the two bishoprics in tandem. Naturally, given the circumstances of his promotion in 1052, the new archbishop chose not to follow in the footsteps of his immediate predecessors and travel to Rome to collect his pallium. Instead, he used the one that Robert of Jumièges had left behind.
¹³

There can be no doubt, given the past histories and attitudes of all involved, that Stigand was Godwine’s appointment in 1052, and no clearer demonstration of the extent to which the counterrevolution had restored the earl to all his former power. If Edward was gloomy that Christmas it was with good reason, for he had been returned to a state of political tutelage of the sort he had experienced at the start of his reign. By the same token, if the king’s mood seemed to brighten the following spring, the cause was almost certainly Godwine’s sudden death.

As the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle explains, Edward was at Winchester to celebrate Easter, as was Godwine. But as they sat down to dinner on Easter Monday, the earl suddenly collapsed, ‘bereft of speech and deprived of all his strength’. Hopes that it was a passing fit proved false; Godwine lingered for three more days in the same enfeebled state before dying on 15 April. This makes it sound as if he suffered a fatal stroke, but according to William of Malmesbury (who loved a good story), the earl choked to death, having first said to Edward: ‘May God not permit me to swallow if I have done anything to endanger Alfred or to hurt you.’ He was buried in the Old Minster, taking his accustomed place beside Cnut, Harthacnut and Emma.
¹⁴

His father-in-law’s death did not make Edward any stronger; the funeral was not followed by the return of any of the king’s exiled friends, nor the removal of Stigand, for Godwine was immediately succeeded as earl of Wessex by his eldest surviving son, Harold. Probably around thirty years old in 1053, Harold was apparently everything his father had been and more. ‘A true friend of his race and country,’ says the
Life of King Edward
, ‘he wielded his father’s powers even more actively, and walked in his ways of patience and mercy.’ Strong in mind and body, kind to men of goodwill but ferocious when dealing with felons, Harold ensured that the Godwine grip on what had once been the royal heartland was sustained. At
his appointment to Wessex, says the
Life
, ‘the whole English host breathed again and was consoled for its loss’.
¹⁵

But if the king was no stronger, the Godwines as a family were weaker. Prior to his father’s death, Harold had been earl of East Anglia, and before taking up the reins in Wessex he was required to surrender his former command. Pluralism might be tolerated in the case of England’s most senior churchman but evidently not in the case of its greatest earl. Whether Edward was in any position to insist upon this point is doubtful; one suspects that the law was laid down in council by the kingdom’s other leading families. For into the earldom of East Anglia vacated by Harold stepped Ælfgar, son of Earl Leofric of Mercia. Ælfgar, sadly, is one of the many ghosts in this story, whose character passes entirely without comment in contemporary annals. Even his age is unknown: the best we can say is that he was of approximately the same generation as Harold. What we
can
say with some certainty, however, is that he and Harold were rivals. Ælfgar, you may recall, had been earl of East Anglia once before, during the Godwines’ short-lived exile, only to be demoted without compensation after their triumphant return. His reappointment in 1053 must therefore have seemed to Ælfgar and his supporters nothing less than his due. Whether Harold and his family saw it in this light is another matter.
¹⁶