Adeliza had inherited some of her mother’s strong will, and upon hearing that she was to marry Alfonso of León, she reacted with as much distaste as Matilda had shown for William of Normandy. According to Orderic Vitalis, “she who had not enjoyed union with her first betrothed [Harold Godwinson] shrank with loathing from a second marriage.”20 The chroniclers add that Adeliza had also grown into an extremely pious young woman and fervently desired to eschew such worldly concerns by entering a convent. One account claims that she was already a nun when her father decided that she would be more useful to him as a bride to barter with.
Despite her aversion to the idea of marriage, there was little that Adeliza could do to resist her father’s wishes. It is hard to imagine that William had much patience or sympathy with the girl, for he was a staunch traditionalist where his children were concerned, believing that the only useful function daughters could fulfill was to further his political ambitions. There is no record of Matilda’s part in the matter. If she felt any empathy with her daughter, then she either failed to persuade William to abandon the scheme or realized that it was futile even to attempt to change his mind.
Negotiations duly proceeded. Anxious not to let this desirable bride slip away, Alfonso sent proxies to take part in the wedding ceremony on his behalf, as was the custom in diplomatic marriages when the bride and groom lived many miles apart. He must have been impatient to seal the agreement, for it would have taken his prospective bride only a matter of weeks to travel to Spain. Adeliza remained miserable at the prospect of marrying the Spanish king, whom she knew only by his reputation as a grasping and ruthless leader. Orderic even goes so far as to claim that she still felt too strong an attachment to the late King Harold to marry another: “She had seen and loved the Englishman, but she was terrified of the Spanish husband she had never seen.”21
The poor girl prayed fervently that she might be released from her fate and never set foot on Spanish soil. According to Orderic, her prayers would be answered, but not without great cost, for she died on her way to her prospective new land. Her body was brought back to Normandy by the same entourage that had accompanied her on the journey to Spain. Orderic concludes his tale by claiming that Adeliza was then given a fitting resting place at the church of St. Mary the Virgin in Bayeux.
However, there is good reason to doubt the tragic end to Orderic’s tale. Although other sources suggest that Adeliza died young, they do not relate the deadly divine intervention that saved her from marrying the Spanish king. Such a tragedy would have been much talked of at the Norman court, and yet William of Poitiers, whose account was written at the time that Orderic claims her death occurred, does not mention it at all. In fact, there is evidence to suggest that Adeliza was released from her betrothal to Alfonso by some other means—perhaps the collapse of diplomatic negotiations. Furthermore, Orderic himself claims that a daughter of William and Matilda was betrothed to Earl Edwin of Mercia, a powerful English magnate, when the duke returned in triumph to Normandy in the spring of 1067, and the most likely contender is Adeliza.
Edwin was one of several high-ranking Englishmen whom William brought with him to Normandy that spring. The others included Edwin’s brother, Earl Morcar, and Edgar the Aetheling, the young man whom William’s recalcitrant subjects had proclaimed king. William clearly wished to abide by the old adage of keeping one’s enemies close. These men served as hostages for peace in England during the new king’s absence, depriving the kingdom of any possible figureheads for a rebellion. In order to neutralize the threat of at least one of them still further, the evidence suggests that William betrothed his eldest daughter, Adeliza, to Edwin during this visit.22
Determined to celebrate his triumph in England to the full, William kept a magnificent court that Easter at the old ducal monastery of Fécamp.23 He was joined by Matilda, together with “a brilliant galaxy of bishops and magnates” from across the duchy who flocked to the palace.24 Members of the French aristocracy were also there, in recognition of the fact that William was no longer the vassal of the king of France, but an equal. Men and women of more humble status also thronged the route of their duke’s triumphant return. “Old men, boys, matrons and all the citizens came out to see him; they shouted out to welcome his return, so that you could have thought the whole city was cheering.”25 Even the weather appeared to hail the duke’s victory. William of Poitiers claims that “the sun seemed to shine with the clear brightness of summer, far more strongly than usual at this season.”26
The feasting and entertainments that William and Matilda ordered were so lavish that Normandy had never seen the like. All marveled at “the splendid garments, interwoven and encrusted with gold, worn by the king and his court,” which made their own clothes appear poor by comparison. Indeed, now that they were king and queen of England, William and Matilda’s clothes were more lavish than before. Brightly colored and highly decorated, they would have been made out of priceless materials such as shot silk taffeta and gold thread.
The foreign visitors sent home enthusiastic reports of the couple’s attire, as well as of the rich tapestries and “vessels of silver and gold, of whose number and beauty incredible things could truthfully be told.”27 Poitiers describes “a great banquet” at which William and Matilda “drank only from such goblets or from horns of wild oxen decorated with the same metal at both ends,” proudly adding that the visitors would have “noted many such things, fitting the magnificence of a king, which they praised on their return home because of their novelty.”28 It is likely that Matilda was responsible for this spectacle, for it was the role of the consort to manage and exhibit the family treasure and adornments, and displays of ostentation such as those at the Easter court would have fallen within her remit. It was also the consort’s job to ensure that royals stood out from the crowd, and with the adornments she now employed, the message was clear: William and Matilda were no longer merely duke and duchess of Normandy, but king and queen of England, with all of the associated majesty and splendor.
The celebrations to mark William’s triumph continued long after the assembly at Fécamp. At the beginning of May 1067, he ordered the consecration of the abbey of St. Mary in St.-Pierre-sur-Dives, which attracted a considerable audience.29 Two months later, on July 1, he and his wife attended the dedication of the magnificent new abbey church of St. Mary in Jumièges. The church, which was situated on the river Seine in Rouen, was one of the most important in Normandy—it had strong ties with the ducal family, and its abbots had played a leading role in both government and church reform. The works had been started by Robert of Jumièges, Edward the Confessor’s archbishop of Canterbury, who had undertaken an ambitious program of building more than twenty years before. The result was an imposing new Romanesque church, which rivaled even William and Matilda’s great abbeys in Caen.
While the new king and queen of England were parading their magnificence throughout the duchy, an event occurred that cast a shadow over their celebrations—for Matilda at least. On September 1, 1067, her father, Count Baldwin V, died. There is no evidence that Matilda had seen her father since her marriage to William. This was by no means unusual: distance and domestic duties meant that when daughters of ruling families were married to foreign potentates, they often bade farewell to their family forever. Nevertheless, she seems to have maintained good relations with both of her parents, perhaps through regular correspondence, and she remained proud of her family connections, as well as of Baldwin’s burgeoning prestige. Little wonder, therefore, that she was said to be “overwhelmed with grief” at her father’s death, as well as by pity for her widowed mother.30 Ever the dutiful daughter, she was no doubt glad that she and William had already provided for Adela some years before, when they had arranged for Abbess Elisabeth of Montvilliers to pay her an annual pension in return for her gift of land in the Pays-de-Caux.
As Baldwin had acted as regent of France, his death signaled the resumption of the traditional hostility between Normandy and France.
For now, though, the duke had other concerns. Toward the end of 1067, he began making preparations to return to England. In his absence, Odo and fitzOsbern had been unable to quell the rising antagonism to the new regime among the Saxon people, and rebellions had broken out in Kent and Herefordshire. Trouble was also brewing in the west, signaled by the dangerous uprising in Exeter. As well as being a principal city, this was also the home of Harold’s mother, Gytha, who provided a figurehead for dissenters to the Norman regime. Anxious to hold on to his crown, William decided that he must return to his new kingdom with all haste. He had no hesitation in continuing to leave the government of Normandy in the hands of his wife, confident that she would again prove how fit she was to rule.
This time, Matilda was invested with even more independent authority to act in her husband’s name. Roger de Montgomery, who had been appointed to advise her on previous occasions, accompanied William to England. Matilda now possessed a level of power enjoyed by few of her female contemporaries. Even Orderic Vitalis, who tends to underplay her influence, admits, “Queen Matilda was now a powerful ruler with vast resources at her command.”31
Having taken his leave of her, William set sail from Dieppe on December 6. He resolved that their separation would not be of long duration, however, for he was impatient to see her crowned in England. In early 1068, by which time he had quashed the rebellions that had flared up during his absence, he sent ambassadors to his wife in Normandy with instructions that she was to join him across the Channel.32 Their son Robert was to take charge of the government of the duchy in her absence. Jumièges and Orderic imply that this would henceforth be a permanent arrangement, but there is no evidence for this. Indeed, the charters attest that Matilda continued to be as active a regent during her husband’s subsequent absences as she had been since his conquest of England.
Much as she might have enjoyed the power of acting alone in Normandy, Matilda was no doubt eager to see her new kingdom, and Orderic Vitalis records that “she gladly obeyed her husband’s commands.”33 By now in her mid-thirties, she had never before left the shores of continental Europe, so the prospect of a sea voyage must have appealed to her sense of adventure. There is no record of her journey, but we know that she was accompanied by an impressive retinue that included scores of servants and noblewomen. The chronicler Langtoft describes a “rich company of ladies and maidens” in her train.34 As befitted her rank, a number of prominent clergymen were among her attendants, including her chaplain, Guy of Amiens, her physician, Baldwin, abbot of St. Edmundsbury, and the bishop of Lisieux. She may also have been accompanied by some of her children on this or subsequent visits to her new kingdom. Her son Richard was certainly present at her coronation, for he was among the witnesses to a charter that was drawn up at the time, and we know from the evidence of Domesday Book that her daughter Matilda resided in England for some time, because she had her own household there.35
England’s new queen arrived shortly after Easter 1068, which fell on March 23 and had been celebrated by her husband in Winchester. Her appearance in England was noted by the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: “At this Easter the king came to Winchester … And soon after that the Lady Matilda came here to the land.”36 She was viewed with some suspicion upon her arrival in England, and her new subjects referred to her as “the strange woman.” Their suspicion was rooted in the fact that she was spoken of as “la Royne” by the Normans, which implied that she was a female sovereign in her own right, rather than being merely the wife of the king.37 It soon became clear how shocking a concept this was to her new subjects.
The lukewarm reception that his wife received in England did nothing to disrupt William’s plans for her. Until now, he had attempted to subdue the English by force alone. However, with Matilda at his side, he now intended to emphasize the magnificence—and legitimacy—of his dynasty. This was greatly helped by the fact that Matilda was almost certainly pregnant at the time of her arrival.38 She had probably conceived toward the end of William’s visit to Normandy and would therefore have been in the early months of her pregnancy. It would be her ninth known child—and her last. The fact that she endured an arduous journey by land and sea at such a time is again a testament to how much she desired to claim her new crown. Furthermore, it was crucial to the establishment of the Norman dynasty that the child she had carried in her womb across the Channel should be born on English soil. Attuned as she was to popular feeling, Matilda fully appreciated this, and she therefore resolved to stay in her new country for the remainder of her term.
The attention that was paid to the aesthetics of the new English royal court soon after her arrival suggests that Matilda was quick to bring her influence to bear. Even the pro-English chroniclers could not help but be impressed by the opulent spectacle that the couple presented, clad from head to toe in gold-encrusted robes and eating their sumptuous meals from gold and silver platters. They proceeded to hold another great court at Westminster for Whitsuntide, which was attended by a host of English notables.
As soon as these celebrations were out of the way, plans began in earnest for the main purpose of Matilda’s visit: her coronation. The event was loaded with significance. Besides being vital to William’s efforts to reinforce his legitimacy in the eyes of his new subjects, Matilda would be the first queen of England to be formally styled “Regina.” Before that, a female consort was simply referred to as the wife or companion of the king, a practice that was viewed with some disdain by the ninth-century commentator Asser, who observed: “The West Saxon people do not allow the queen to sit next to the king and do not even permit the king’s wife to be entitled queen.”39
There were, however, exceptions. Matilda’s ancestor Judith, daughter of Charles the Bold, married Aethelwulf, king of the West Saxons, in 856 and became the first consort to be formally consecrated as queen. This concession was probably made on account of Judith’s distinguished pedigree, as well as the influence of her husband, who “commanded that she should sit beside him on the royal throne, against the perverse custom of that people.”40
But even though Judith had set the precedent of consecration for a queen in the mid-ninth century, the initial wariness that Matilda’s new subjects had shown toward her proved that the notion of a queen as distinct from a king’s wife was still not fully accepted by the end of the following century. Indeed, the coronation ordo (a collection of prayers, ceremonies, and hymns) used for Aelfthryth, wife of King Edgar, in 973 emphatically limited the role of the female consort to the production of heirs. Although her successors had achieved some recognition of the broader potential of their role, the fertility of a queen was still viewed as her primary function. Only with the consecration of Cnut’s second wife, Emma, did the situation begin to change. The rites used for her consecration as Cnut’s queen in 1017 stressed that she was to share in his power and rule, not just be a passive, silent partner according to the traditional model for consorts.
In order to emphasize the significance of Matilda’s coronation as the first one ever staged just for a queen, the ceremony had to eclipse even that of the king in splendor and magnificence.41 Every detail was planned with meticulous care. The date that was chosen was heavily symbolic. The coronation was to take place on Whit Sunday (May 11), one of the most important dates in the Christian calendar, which is celebrated fifty days after Easter (hence its Latinate name, Pentecost) and commemorates the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the disciples of Christ.42 The message was clear: conjoined with her husband, Matilda had been chosen by God as the savior of the people of England.
The ceremony was to take place at Westminster Abbey and be presided over by Archbishop Ealdred of York.43 He had been one of Edward the Confessor’s foremost prelates, and some sources claim that he had crowned Harold Godwinson as king of England. Even though his loyalties clearly lay with the native English people, it was a shrewd move on the part of the royal couple to choose him for the task, helping to retain an element of continuity in their accession to the throne.<
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Matilda’s coronation was probably the last to follow the ordo used for her predecessors. At the beginning of the ceremony, she was led into the church and prostrated herself in prayer before the altar. This symbolized the end of her previous personality and the birth of her new one as queen. Next she was anointed with holy oil, just as her husband had been at his coronation. This part of the ceremony was intended to emphasize the monarch’s divine status. The new queen was then given a ring to symbolize her “marriage” to the kingdom, as well as to the king in his public duties. Finally she was crowned. The overall effect—a combination of splendor, ritual, and pious stagecraft—inspired awe in everyone who attended, and as such achieved its purpose.
Special laudes—ritual chants—were written for Matilda, probably by Archbishop Ealdred himself. It is likely that this was the first time laudes were used at the crowning of an English monarch, and they were no doubt designed to impress the audience with a Continental practice.44 The words emphasized both the legitimacy and the power of Matilda’s position as queen. Three crucial phrases were introduced: constituit reginam in popolo—the queen is placed by God among the people; regalis imperii … esse participem—the queen shares royal power; and laetatur gens Anglica domini imperio regenda et reginae virtutis providential gubernanda—the English people are blessed to be ruled by the power and virtue of the queen.45 This conveyed a strong message: Matilda’s authority was constitutional, not customary. Never before had a queen’s power been so formalized—or so equal to that of the king. The “manly” nature of her authority was stressed by the omission of the female saints traditionally referred to in a queen’s laudes; instead, her intercessors were all male apostles. Matilda had apparently transcended even her sex in becoming England’s new queen, and the coronation marked the dawning of a new era for royal consorts. No longer confined to the narrow domestic sphere, she and her successors were expected to play an unprecedentedly active part in the political, judicial, financial, and spiritual life of their kingdom. Matilda would fulfill this role so effectively that she would become a model of ideal queenship for centuries to come.
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