The Norman Conquest

by Marc Morris

  In Normandy this was not the case. The Normans may have been famously violent and rejoiced in their reputation as masters of war, but by 1066 both their warfare and politics adhered to a different set of rules. During the eleventh century it had become usual practice in northern France for noblemen to spare the lives of their enemies once they had them at their mercy. Society had become, in a word, chivalrous. The Normans seem to have embraced this new attitude in the course of the Conqueror’s own lifetime. The last time we witness political killings in Normandy is during his minority, when the duchy’s leading families had engaged in a murderous struggle for control of the young duke. Since he had come of age, however, such behaviour had ceased. His own warfare was still appallingly violent, and many innocent people perished when it was prosecuted; also, when all else failed, the duke resorted to blinding and maiming his opponents. But, significantly – and in stark contrast to Æthelred, Cnut et al. – he refrained from killing them, and even the blinding and maiming does not seem to have been inflicted in the case of high-status individuals. Aristocrats who rebelled against William were either imprisoned or exiled; occasionally they were even forgiven.29

  William had applied these same principles in England after the Conquest. Of course the Conquest itself had been extremely bloody. Constant campaigning down to 1070 had led to indiscriminate slaughter, especially in the north, and revolts had occasionally been resolved by the maiming of low-status rebels. But no Englishman is known to have been executed after his surrender. Earl Morcar was committed to prison after his capture; so too was his fellow rebel from Ely, Siward Barn. Gospatric of Northumbria was at first forgiven and then later banished, while his replacement, Earl Waltheof, was not merely forgiven but promoted. From an English point of view this was quite remarkable – good grounds, it has been observed, for regarding William as the first chivalrous king of England. His biographer, William of Poitiers, certainly seems to have thought so: on one occasion he breaks off his story to address the English directly, drawing an implicit contrast between his master’s behaviour and that of earlier English kings:

  And you too, you English land, would love him and hold him in the highest respect … if putting aside your folly and wickedness you could judge more soundly the kind of man into whose power you had come… Cnut the Dane slaughtered the noblest of your sons, young and old, with the utmost cruelty, so that he could subject you to his rule and that of his children.30

  Yet the inclusion of this impassioned plea clearly indicates that, at the time Poitiers was writing in the mid-1070s, the English did not appreciate William’s finer qualities. As far as they were concerned he was responsible for the death of Harold and countless thousands of their fellow countrymen; the fact that he had spared those who surrendered seems to have made no difference to his popularity. Nor, it seems, did it have much impact on attitudes towards killing among the English themselves, who in some cases continued to behave exactly as before. The family of Earl Waltheof, for example, had for most of the eleventh century been engaged in a long and murderous bloodfeud. In brief, the earl’s great-grandfather, Uhtred, had been ambushed and killed by his rival, Thurbrand, who was in due course killed by Uhtred’s son, Ealdred, who had accordingly been slain by Thurbrand’s son, Carl. And there the matter had rested for over three decades – until the winter of 1073–4, when Waltheof himself saw an opportunity for vengeance, and sent his retainers to slaughter Carl’s sons and grandsons as they were sitting down to dinner in their hall at Settrington. Despite his marriage to William’s niece and his implicit acceptance into the new chivalrous world order, the earl in this instance had chosen to act in a traditional English manner. Such conduct must have seemed appalling to the Normans; it may be behaviour of this sort that led several Continental commentators in the 1070s, including both William of Poitiers and Archbishop Lanfranc, to describe the English as ‘barbarous’.31

  It will be obvious by now that evidence about conditions in England during the 1070s, and relations between the English and Normans, is largely anecdotal, and as such open to different interpretations. Lanfranc, for example, insisted that the situation in 1073 was dreadful, but he clearly wanted to paint as bleak a picture as possible, for he immediately went on to ask the pope to allow him to resign his post and return to a peaceful monastic life in Normandy. Similarly, his letter which mentions the flight of English women to nunneries in order to avoid Norman rape was written in response to a question from the bishop of Rochester, who wanted to know what to do in the case of those women who now wished to abandon their veils. In other words, by the time this letter was written (some point after 1077), conditions were far better than they had been in 1066.

  One can marshal other evidence to suggest that Anglo-Norman relations were improving as time wore on. Within just a few years of the Conquest, says Orderic Vitalis, ‘English and Normans were living peacefully together in boroughs, towns and cities, and were intermarrying with each other. You could see many villages or town markets filled with displays of French wares and merchandise, and observe the English, who had previously seemed contemptible to the French in their native dress, completely transformed by foreign fashions.’ Of course, this too is anecdotal evidence, and many modern historians have argued that Orderic, writing several decades after the events he describes, gives an impression which is altogether too roseate. Nevertheless, it is as well to remember that Orderic, born in 1075, was himself the product of an Anglo-Norman match. It may also be the case, as his quote suggests, that intermarriage was more common in urban areas.32

  There are other anecdotes that speak of co-operation between the English and their conquerors. Earl Waltheof, as well as marrying into the Norman world, was also seen to be working well with the new Lotharingian bishop of Durham. ‘Bishop Walcher and Earl Waltheof were very friendly and accommodating to each other’, recalls Simeon of Durham, ‘so that he, sitting together with the bishop in the synod of priests, humbly and obediently carried out whatever the bishop decreed for the reformation of Christianity in his earldom.’33

  There were also political developments that led to improved relations. Waltheof’s predecessor, Gospatric, who soon returned from Flanders to Scotland and therefore might have continued to pose a threat, appears to have died between 1073 and 1075. Far more significantly, the other Flemish exile, Edgar Ætheling, decided during this same period that it was time to submit. For a while he had cherished the idea of continuing his fight against the Conqueror on the Continent; the young king of France, Philip I, offered him the castle of Montreuil-sur-Mer as a base from which to harass Normandy’s northern border, and in 1074 Edgar returned to Scotland in order to marshal the resources necessary for such a move. But thereafter the plan went disastrously wrong: en route to France the pretender was shipwrecked, losing all his treasure and very nearly his life. When he eventually limped back to Scotland, his brother-in-law King Malcolm suggested it was perhaps time for Edgar to make peace with William. ‘And so indeed he did,’ says the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle,

  and the king granted his request and sent for him. King Malcolm and his sister again gave countless treasures to him and to all his men, and sent him once more from their domain in great state. The sheriff of York came to meet him at Durham, and accompanied him the whole way, and arranged for food and fodder to be obtained for him in every castle they came to, until they came across the sea to the king.

  Here indeed was proof that the English were conscious of the Conqueror’s chivalry, for in earlier times no sane ætheling would have surrendered in this way for fear of execution. William, by contrast, was the very model of chivalrous courtesy. Edgar was received ‘with great ceremony, and he then remained at the king’s court there, and accepted such privileges as he granted him’.34

  The clearest indication of improved Anglo-Norman relations, however, is a new revolt that erupted in 1075. Although often ranked with earlier rebellions against the Conqueror, this revolt differed in the important respect that its leaders were French
rather than English. The prime mover, it seems, was a young man called Ralph de Gael, who was by birth and upbringing a Breton (Gaël was his lordship in Brittany). The Bretons in general were not popular with the Normans, but Ralph’s father (also named Ralph) had been one of the Continental courtiers of Edward the Confessor, and had been rewarded after the Conquest with the earldom of East Anglia, vacated by the death of Gyrth Godwineson. By 1069, if not before, Ralph senior was dead and Ralph junior had arrived in England to take up his father’s title. Very soon he was plotting rebellion.35

  And he was not alone. The new earl of East Anglia found a willing co-conspirator in Roger, earl of Hereford, son and successor (in England) of no less a person than William fitz Osbern. The two young men cemented their alliance, probably in the spring of 1075, when Ralph married Roger’s sister, Emma – the wedding took place at Exning, near Newmarket in Suffolk, and it was there that the plot was hatched. ‘That bride-ale’, said the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, ‘led many to bale.’36

  Precisely what their grievances were is impossible to say. John of Worcester says that William had forbidden the marriage to take place, which might be construed as a reason, albeit a weak one, were it not for the fact that the Chronicle says that, on the contrary, the king had approved the match. Orderic Vitalis puts a long list of complaints into the mouths of the two earls, most of which are either familiar (e.g. William’s bastardy) or clearly the chronicler’s own (e.g. the invasion of England had been unjust). There may, however, be something in Orderic’s ventriloquism when he makes the earls say that lands given out soon after the Conquest had been either wholly or partially confiscated. Immediately after his coronation the Conqueror had appointed new earls on the existing English model. Odo of Bayeux, William fitz Osbern and the older Earl Ralph had taken over the vast commands vacated by the Godwinesons, with authority in each case stretching across several counties. Yet when the king came to create his own earldoms a short while later – for example, at Shrewsbury and at Chester – they were smaller affairs, based on a single shire, and thus closer in extent to a Continental county. What appears to have happened in the case of both Roger and Ralph is that, when they succeeded to their father’s estates, their scope of their authority was much reduced, bringing their old ‘super-earldoms’ into line with William’s more modest model. We can see from a letter of Lanfranc that Roger in particular was angered by the fact that royal sheriffs were holding pleas within his earldom, the obvious inference being that this had not happened during the time of his father.37

  Whatever their grievances, the two earls were clearly trading on the assumption that any rebellion against the Conqueror would be supported by the English. That much is suggested by their decision to approach the last Englishman of any power and standing. Earl Waltheof was a guest at the wedding in Exning and it was there that he was invited to join the conspiracy. According to Orderic, Roger and Ralph held out the prospect of a kingdom split three ways, with one man taking the crown and the other two ruling as dukes – an altogether unlikely story, given that we know from other sources that the plotters had appealed for help from the Danes. Yet Orderic is surely correct to assume that the point of the rebellion was to get rid of William. As the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle puts it, ‘they plotted to drive their royal lord out of his kingdom’.38

  But in assuming that the English would automatically rise up and join them, the earls badly miscalculated. What the events of 1075 prove, above all else, is that there was no further appetite for rebellion among the natives. Earl Waltheof, according to John of Worcester, quickly came to his senses and confessed all to Lanfranc. Whether this was true or not, the archbishop soon discovered that castles were being strengthened and troops raised against the king. His response can be charted from a series of letters he sent soon afterwards to Roger of Hereford. At first Lanfranc tried to appease the earl, reminding him of his father’s outstanding loyalty, informing him that his dispute with the king’s sheriffs would be investigated, and offering to meet him in person so that they could discuss matters further. Evidently this olive branch was rejected, for the archbishop’s next letter begins, ‘I grieve more than I can say at the news I hear of you.’ Roger was again reminded of his father’s great integrity and urged to come and talk his problems over. But the rebel could not be persuaded, and so Lanfranc changed his attitude entirely. ‘I have cursed and excommunicated you and all your adherents’, he says in his final letter, adding ‘I can free you from this bond of anathema only if you seek my lord the king’s mercy.’39

  In the meantime the king’s more warlike lieutenants in England were marshalling forces with which to crush the rebellion – forces which, in every account, bear witness to extensive Anglo-Norman co-operation. According to John of Worcester the rebels raised by Earl Roger in Herefordshire were prevented from crossing the River Severn by armies under the command of Bishop Wulfstan of Worcester and Abbot Æthelwig of Evesham, along with ‘a great multitude of people’. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle tells us that Earl Ralph and his men were similarly frustrated in East Anglia, because ‘the castle garrisons in England [i.e. the Normans] and all the local people [i.e. the English] came against them and prevented them from doing anything’. John of Worcester adds that Ralph was camped at Cambridge when he encountered ‘a large force of English and Normans’, ready for battle, while Orderic maintains that a battle actually took place at the nearby manor of Fawdon, in the course of which the rebels were routed by ‘an English army’.40

  And so the ill-conceived revolt of the earls was thwarted. Ralph fled back to his base in Norfolk and from there took ship to Brittany, leaving his new wife and his Breton followers to defend the mighty royal castle at Norwich. This suggests he was hoping to return, either with fresh forces raised on the Continent or in the company of his Danish allies. But after a long siege – three months, if Orderic is to be believed – Emma and the rest of the Norwich garrison sought terms of surrender. In exchange for a promise of life and limb, they agreed to leave England and never to return. ‘Glory be to God on high,’ wrote Lanfranc to his royal master, ‘your kingdom has been purged of its Breton filth.’41

  As the archbishop’s letter implies, William was still in Normandy at the time of the surrender. Earlier in the crisis he had evidently been ready to cross the Channel, but Lanfranc had dissuaded him (‘You would be offering us a grave insult were you to come to our assistance’, the king was firmly told). William did return soon afterwards, however, having discovered that in one respect the rebels’ plan had met with success. ‘The Danes are indeed coming, as the king has told us,’ wrote Lanfranc to the bishop of Durham that autumn, ‘so fortify your castle with men, weapons and stores: be ready.’ But this too turned out to be a passing storm. A fleet of 200 Danish ships in due course arrived but, says the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, ‘they dared not fight with King William’, and contented themselves with plundering York before returning home.42

  William was therefore able to spend Christmas at Westminster, dealing with the rebellion’s aftermath. ‘There all the Bretons who were at the wedding feast were sentenced’, says the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. ‘Some of them were blinded, and some of them were banished.’ Tough sentences, as one would expect for men who had plotted treason, but note that, in keeping with proper chivalric practice, none of them were executed. Roger of Hereford, who was captured soon after the king’s return, was sentenced to lose his lands and liberty, but not his life. Like Earl Morcar, he would spend the rest of his days in prison, contemplating the folly of rebelling against William the Bastard.43

  That left Earl Waltheof, who had been implicated in the rebellion but to a degree that was uncertain, even to contemporaries. According to both the Chronicle and John of Worcester, the earl was essentially innocent. Forced to swear an oath while at the wedding, he had immediately gone to Lanfranc for absolution, and then, on the archbishop’s advice, crossed to Normandy to seek similar forgiveness from the king. By contrast, in Orderic’s account (which seems in many respect
s less reliable), Waltheof was made party to the plot, disapproved of it, but told no one. Thus, although he did not participate in the rebellion, he could be charged with the crime of concealment.

  The judges, says Orderic, could not agree on a verdict, and the earl was held at Winchester for several months until they reached a decision. Clearly the worst that could happen would be that, like Earl Roger, he would remain in captivity forever, but Orderic says it was generally supposed that Waltheof would be released. He was, after all, married to the king’s niece. The earl may even have hoped that, as in the case of Edgar Ætheling, his timely surrender might count in his favour and enable his rehabilitation.44

  If so he was gravely disappointed. Six months later, judgement was finally passed on Waltheof, who was found to be as guilty as any of the other conspirators. His sentence, however, was different. As Orderic explains, Roger of Hereford was a Norman and had hence been judged ‘by the laws of the Normans’. Waltheof on the other hand was an Englishman and was sentenced according to ‘the law of England’. On the morning of 31 May 1076, while the city’s other inhabitants were still asleep, the earl was led out of Winchester to the top of St Giles Hill and beheaded. Despite Orderic’s description of his prayers and tears, it is difficult to feel a great deal of sympathy for Waltheof – here, after all, was a man who had recently arranged the murders of his political rivals as they were sitting down to enjoy their evening meal. By his own actions, the last English earl had proved the chronicler’s point that the conquerors and the conquered did indeed play by different rules. Yet while such differences existed, there can have been little hope of reconciliation.45