At that period it was the custom that the castle of Gerberoy should be

occupied by two viscounts, equal in authority, and that fugitives from

all nations should find protection within its walls. The reception of

Curthose at this stronghold was all that he could have wished. He was

courteously received at the gate by Elie, one of the viscounts, and

afterwards cordially welcomed by Elie's colleague.

Ere this, Matilda of Flanders became aware of the pecuniary

embarrassments of her son, and, eager to administer relief without

informing William, she contrived, by means of a Breton named Samson,

to send Curthose sums of money. Hearing of this, the Conqueror forbade

her to hold any communication with a son who had forfeited all title

to consideration. Matilda, however, had a will of her own. Her

maternal anxiety proving, in this case, infinitely stronger than

respect for her husband's mandate, she continued secretly to assist

Curthose in the midst of his multitudinous difficulties. William,

learning that he had been disobeyed, was highly indignant, and

addressed his spouse in language somewhat reproachful.

"Behold my wife," said the Conqueror; "she whom I have loved as mine

own soul--to whom I have confided the government of my realms, my

treasures, and all that in this world I possess of power and

greatness--she hath supported mine adversary against me; she hath

strengthened and enriched him with the wealth I confided to her

keeping; she hath secretly employed her zeal and subtlety in his

cause, and done everything she could to encourage him against me."

"My lord," answered Matilda, "be not surprised if I feel a mother's

tenderness for my first-born son. By the virtue of the Most High! I

protest that if my son Robert were dead, and hidden far from the sight

of the living, seven feet deep in the earth, and that the price of my

blood would restore him to life, I would cheerfully bid it flow."

"But," said William, "you support my enemy with the very money I have

committed to your keeping."

"And how," asked Matilda, "can you suppose that I could enjoy the

pomps and luxuries with which I was surrounded when I knew that he was

pining in want and misery? Far from my heart be such hardness!"

On hearing this, William grew pale with vexation. In his rage he

bethought him of Matilda's messenger, and gave peremptory orders that

Samson should be arrested and deprived of his sight. But the Breton,

hearing that his eyes were to be put out, made his escape, and sought

safety in the cloister. The old chronicler deemed the circumstance one

in regard to which he had a right to be jocular, and remarked that

Samson turned monk to save at once his body and soul.

Meanwhile, Curthose hoisted his flag and invited mercenaries to

repair, without delay, to the castle of Gerberoy. Thither they flocked

as eagles to the carnage. From France, from Flanders, and from

Normandy they hastened, on foot and on horseback, with sword and with

spear. Even men-at-arms who had served in William's court, who had

lived under his protection, and who had partaken of the fruits of his

successes, willing to worship the rising sun, left Rouen and galloped

to Gerberoy. Curthose ere long found himself at the head of a

formidable force, and Philip of France rejoiced in the triumph which

he anticipated from having set the son against the father.

William was startled at the menacing attitude which Curthose had

assumed, but he acted with all the energy of his earlier days. Landing

in Normandy, the Conqueror prepared to encounter his refractory heir

as he had encountered other foes, and, attended by his son, William

Rufus, appeared in hostile array, and at the head of a numerous army,

before Archembrage, where Curthose then was.

It was now Curthose's turn to feel some degree of anxiety. Inclosed

within the walls of Archembrage, he saw himself hemmed in by a force

with which his own was too weak to cope. But the chivalrous spirit of

the heir of Normandy was not to be daunted by the odds arrayed against

him; and making a sally, with his lance in rest, and his best warriors

at his back, he bore down opposition and carried confusion into the

enemy's camp.

It was on this occasion that Curthose and the Conqueror encountered

hand to hand. Unaware who was his adversary, Curthose so strenuously

exerted his marvellous prowess that William, who had never before been

worsted in close conflict, was wounded and unhorsed. Alarmed at

disasters which to him were quite novel, William bellowed out much

more loudly than was consistent with the dignity of a conqueror, and

the Norman knights, spurring in to the rescue, shouted out that it was

the king. On discovering who was the wounded knight, Curthose

dismounted, lifted William from the ground, aided him to regain his

saddle, and left him at liberty to depart.

After the affray at Archembrage, the Norman counts and bishops used

their utmost endeavours to reconcile William and his son. At first

their efforts were unavailing. The Conqueror would scarcely listen to

their entreaties, and, even after listening, he resisted sternly and

stubbornly.

"Why," he asked, "do you solicit me in favour of a traitor who has

seduced from me those soldiers whom I have fed with my bread and whom

I have supplied with the arms they bear?"

As time passed on, however, William's heart softened. Perhaps, when

cured of his wound, he recovered from the mortification of spirit

caused by the remembrance of his overthrow and affright at

Archembrage. At all events, he yielded to the solicitations of the

Norman counts and bishops, expressed his willingness to forgive the

past, and granted Curthose full pardon for his rebellious exploits.

While the good understanding consequent on this reconciliation between

father and son lasted, William departed for England, and not, perhaps,

deeming it safe to leave Curthose in Normandy, requested the honour of

his company. In England, however, there was work for a warrior to do.

Malcolm, King of Scots, crossing the Tweed, began once more to ravage

Northumberland, and Curthose, placed at the head of an army, was sent

to repel the invader. But in this expedition the heir of Normandy had

no opportunity of winning new laurels. Malcolm, alarmed at the

approach of so redoubted a champion, retreated rapidly to his own

dominions; and Curthose, to leave some memorial of his northern

expedition, erected a strong fort on the Tyne, to which was given the

name of Newcastle.

Matters so far went smoothly; but in the year 1083 Matilda of Flanders

died; and soon after the queen's death, the quarrel between the

Conqueror and his heir broke out afresh.

[Illustration]

XLII.

[Illustration: From the Bayeux Tapestry.]

ODO, BISHOP OF BAYEUX.

During the time that King William was on the Continent fighting with

Robert Curthose, the government of England was committed to Odo,

Bishop of Bayeux. Before this period Odo's arrogance had been

sufficiently conspicuous, and during the time he exercised viceregal

functions events occurred to minister to his pride to such a degree

that he became altogether intolerable.

It was one of the great objects of William the Norman to elevate those

to whom he was related on the mother's side. After the death of Robert

the Devil, Arlette, probably ambitious of figuring in a less equivocal

position than that which she had previously occupied, united herself

in marriage with Herluin de Couteville, and found herself the mother

of two legitimate sons. William did not neglect their interests. One

of them, Robert, became Earl of Mortain; the other, named Odo, and

dedicated to the Church at an early age, became Bishop of Bayeux.

But, though Bishop of Bayeux, Odo was no meek shaveling nor

pale-faced student. He was a daring warrior and a cautious libertine,

and is pictured with defiance in his eye and rings on his finger; at

one time leading a fiery charge of Norman cavalry, at another inditing

love epistles to the dames of Rouen while pretending to be occupied

with a treatise on some such relic as the finger of St. Thomas. His

addiction to sinful pleasures was, in fact, notorious; and one of the

results of his amours was a son, named John, who distinguished himself

in the reign of his kinsman, Henry Beauclerc.

In the scenes with which the Norman invasion of England commenced, Odo

of Bayeux enacted a prominent part. When Edward the Confessor expired,

and Harold usurped the throne of young Atheling, and William

calculated the chances of success in the event of undertaking an

enterprise, Odo was one of the Normans who met at Rouen, who tendered

the hesitating duke their support, and who promised to serve with

money and goods, even to pledging or alienating their inheritances. On

that day, also, which witnessed the battle of Hastings Odo was a

prominent personage. In the morning he celebrated mass and blessed the

troops; and, having performed this duty, he mounted his tall white

charger and displayed his military skill by setting the cavalry in

order for battle.

Hastings having been won, and the work of the Conquest proceeding,

Odo's services did not go unrewarded. While his brother Robert became

Earl of Cornwall, Odo became Grand Justiciary of England, and obtained

the earldom of Kent; and at a later period, having meanwhile shared

the whole of Archbishop Stigand's property with Adeliza, wife of Hugh

Grantmesnil, he, on the forfeiture of Roger Fitzosborne, received a

grant of the earldom of Hereford.

Never had fortune been more favourable to a human being than for years

she seemed to Odo. Unluckily for the warlike Bishop of Bayeux, his

pride swelled as his power and possessions increased; and at length,

when invested, during William's absence from England, with viceregal

authority, he lost all sense of discretion, and acted like a man whose

head prosperity had turned.

It happened that, after the execution of Waltheof at Winchester, the

earldom of Northumberland was purchased from the Conqueror by

Vaulcher, Bishop of Durham, and that his government was somewhat

unsatisfactory. Vaulcher, indeed, appears to have been a learned,

pious, and well-meaning man, and to have shown his respect for popular

sentiment by the high consideration he paid to Liulf, a Saxon thane

connected by marriage with the wife of Siward and with the mother of

Cospatrick. But Leofwin, the bishop's chaplain and chief confidant,

and Gislebert, a kinsman who acted as the bishop's deputy in

administering the affairs of this province, regarded Liulf with envy

and malice. After frequent exhibitions of ill-will, they conspired to

murder Liulf; and Gislebert, entering the Saxon thane's house by

night, put him and his family to the sword.

Vaulcher was naturally much enraged at this atrocity. Such, however,

was his position that he was fain to pass over the crime, and even to

continue his countenance to Leofwin and Gislebert. The Northumbrians,

deeming that this was adding insult to injury, held nocturnal

conferences, as in the time of Robert Comine, and were so evidently

bent on mischief, that Vaulcher recognised the necessity of doing

something to allay the ferment. With this object he announced his

intention of holding a court, and mediating between the relatives of

Liulf on the one part and Leofwin and Gislebert on the other.

It was on the 14th of May, 1080, and at Gateshead, that Vaulcher met

the Northumbrians. The bishop was attended by Leofwin and Gislebert,

and about a hundred men of foreign birth; and the Northumbrians, all

secretly armed, were headed by Eadulf, surnamed Rus, a great-grandson

of Earl Uchtred, and a connexion by marriage of Liulf. Knowing the

French language, Eadulf acted as spokesman, and conferred with the

bishop on the business of the day, and then stated that he must

consult his followers as to the terms proposed. But instead of doing

so, he cried out--"Short reed, good reed, slay ye the bishop;" and the

Northumbrians, who had come with weapons concealed under their

clothes, instantly brandished them in the air. In order to encourage

his followers, Eadulf struck down Vaulcher with his own hand; and the

Northumbrians, rushing on the bishop's attendants, slaughtered them

without mercy. Only two servants, men who were natives of England,

escaped the massacre.

News of this outrage at Gateshead was carried to Odo. The Bishop of

Bayeux smiled grimly, and, girding on his armour, promptly marched

northward to punish the perpetrators of the murder. But, meanwhile,

the Northumbrians had marched to Durham, attacked that city, and,

after finding their efforts vain, dispersed in all directions. Eadulf

and the ringleaders fled the country; and, when Odo's approach was

announced, few remained at home except those who had taken no part in

the insurrection.

But Odo had ridden northward indulging in visions of carnage and

plunder; and he was not to be baffled in his expectations by

considerations of justice. Aware that the murderers of the bishop had

fled, he avenged their crime on the whole province, ravaged the

country, executed many of the inhabitants, mutilated others in the

most revolting manner, plundered the church at Durham of the sacred

ornaments which Bishop Eghelwin had formerly saved by removal to Holy

Island, and gained a high reputation among the most disreputable class

of the Norman conquerors, who proudly described him as "one of the

greatest quellers of the English."

On learning what had occurred in Northumberland, William was doubtless

surprised to hear of his brother acting so like a madman. But his

astonishment was still greater when he learned that Odo was on the

point of leaving England and proceeding to Italy. In fact, the queller

of the Northumbrians, relying on some prediction of an Italian

soothsayer that the next Pope should be named Odo, had bought a palace

in Rome, and, in order to secure his election to the papal chair, was

not only preparing to go thither, but had engaged his nephew, Hugh Le

Loup, Earl of Chester, and many other Norman knights and barons, to

form his court.

The idea of Odo aspiring to the chair of St. Peter proved in the

highest degree displeasing to William. Sailing from Normandy without

delay, he contrived to intercept Odo off the Isle of Wight. Assembling

a council of Norman barons, he presented Odo to them, and accused him

of having abused his power as judge and earl.

"This man," explained William, "has despoiled churches; he has

maltreated the Saxons to the danger of the common cause; and he has

attempted to seduce and take with him beyond the Alps the warriors on

whose fidelity the safety of the country depended. Consider these

grievances," said William, in conclusion, "and tell me how I ought to

act towards such a brother."

The barons looked at each other; but no one ventured to reply.

"Ha!" exclaimed William, "offensive foolhardiness must be restrained

in time. Therefore," continued he, after a pause, "let this man be

arrested and put into safe custody."

But the idea of Odo being a bishop daunted the boldest. None present

had the courage to put out a hand. At length William advanced and

seized Odo's robe.

"I am a priest--I am a minister of God!" cried Odo. "The Pope alone

can judge between us."

"It is not as priest or prelate that I judge," exclaimed William,

grasping the bishop's robe more tightly than before; "it is as my

vassal, my earl, and my false viceroy."

Odo, finding all protests unavailing, was fain to yield to his fate.

Carried to Normandy, he was lodged in a strong fortress, and made to

suffer for the sins committed in the days of his prosperity. In fact,

the licentiousness for which he had been notorious was urged as a

reason against his release, and he remained in durance almost without

hope of seeing his prison-doors opened.

[Illustration: Cooks--from Bayeux Tapestry.]

XLIII.

[Illustration: The Doom's-day Books]

DOOMSDAY BOOK.

The House of Godwin having been overthrown; the son of Siward

executed; one grandson of Leofric in the grave, the other in a

dungeon; and one son of Cospatrick relegated to obscurity in Durham,

the other condemned to exile in Lothian; William the Conqueror shook

off all feelings of apprehension in so far as concerned the

vanquished, and bethought him of casting up accounts with the

companions of his victories. With this view he commissioned Walter

Gifford, Henry de Ferrars, Remi, Bishop of Lincoln, and other persons

of distinction, to traverse the country in all directions, and

ascertain what amount of property each man possessed, and what

proportion each should contribute towards the revenue.

This process, however necessary, does not appear to have been highly

gratifying to those whom it chiefly concerned. Indeed, the Norman

king and the Norman barons had, ere this, begun to regard each other

with distrust and hostility. William accused them of caring more for

their private interests than the general welfare; and they retaliated

by reproaching him with greediness of gain and a desire to appropriate

to himself, under the pretext of public utility, the wealth that had

been acquired by their united exertions. No forcible opposition,

however, was offered to the inquest which William ordered; and the

Royal commissioners proceeded to the execution of their laborious

duties.

Making progresses through the various counties of England, the

commissioners established a court of inquiry in each place of

importance, and caused the results of their investigations to be

regularly registered in a book. The king's name was placed first, with

the lands and revenues he enjoyed; then the names of the chiefs or

smaller proprietors, according to their military rank and the value of

their territory. The whole business was conducted with the utmost

regularity, and with such care as rendered the lapse of years

inevitable before the completion of their inquiry.

When this territorial register, described by the Normans as the "Grand

Roll," but talked of by the Saxons as "Doom's-Day Book," was

completed, all the Norman chiefs, clerks as well as laymen, were

convoked, in 1086, to discuss and decide the various claims that had

been made and disputes that had arisen during the inquest. It was a

magnificent assembly, presided over by William, and consisting of

prelates, barons, and knights, glutted with the blood and gorged with

the spoil of the slaughtered and banished Anglo-Saxon lords. But many

of them came thither in no amicable mood; and the Goddess of Discord

availed herself of their frame of mind to celebrate a festival.

It appears that William asserted himself proprietor, by inheritance,

of all the land that had belonged to Edward the Confessor, to Harold

the Usurper, and to the various members of the House of Godwin, and

thus interfered with the claims of many Normans who had served him

most zealously at the time of the invasion. Much discontent was felt

in consequence, and expressed without hesitation. Men deprived of

their estates held strong language; and, finally, unable to obtain

redress, they renounced their allegiance, left the country they had

helped to conquer, passed the Tweed, and offered their homage to

Malcolm Canmore.

This circumstance was destined to exercise considerable influence in

after ages. The Normans crossed the frontier with feelings the reverse

of tender towards the country they were leaving, and taught their

children to turn the points of their spears southward. Two centuries

later it was the perfidy of their descendants that baffled the genius

of the first Great Edward; and it was the courage and prowess of their

children's children which enabled Robert Bruce to wrest from Edward's

son the crown of Scotland on the field of Bannockburn.

[Illustration: Norman Rustic, 11th century (from Strutt)]

XLIV.

[Illustration: The quarrel of Henry Beauclerc and Louis le Gros]

THE CONQUEROR'S DEATH.

It was the spring of 1086, and Philip, King of France--weak as ever,

and with a reputation decidedly the worse for wear--was at Conflans,

on the Seine; and with him was his son, afterwards, as Louis le Gros,

distinguished as the foremost man of his time, but then scarcely out

of his teens, and showing no signs of the talent and energy which

history has associated with his name. In fact, this prince was "gay,

conciliating all hearts to him, and of such extreme good-nature," says

his biographer, "that to some men he seemed almost weak."

While Philip was at Conflans with his court, Conflans was doubtless an

attractive place. Indeed, the court of Philip included so many young

men sent to be instructed in knightly accomplishments, under the royal

auspices, that they almost formed an army. At the same time, weary,

perhaps, of Rouen, and eager for change of scene Robert Curthose and

Henry Beauclerc--whom the Conqueror had recently invested with joint

authority as governors of Normandy--repaired to Conflans on a visit,

"entertaining the time with a variety of sports."

One day, when the three princes were in the palace, Henry and Louis

commenced playing chess, while Curthose sat looking out on the banks

of the Seine, or paced the room, pondering some vague project

connected with love or war. Henry appears to have had marvellous luck;

and Louis, perhaps not quite satisfied of having fair play, lost not

only his money but his temper also. High words, and a quarrel not

remarkable for princely dignity were the consequences. Louis, getting

into a rage, perhaps for the first time in his life, called Henry the

son of a bastard, and threw the chessmen in his face. Henry, provoked

in the highest degree, reproached Louis with being the heir of

usurping, effeminate, and priest-ridden kings, and felled him to the

floor with the chessboard. In the vehemence of his passion, Henry

would have slain Louis on the spot; but Curthose, recovering from the

amazement produced by the scene, hastily interfered, dragged his

brother away, and hurried to the stables. Mounting, the Norman princes

spurred off with the speed of the wind, and scarcely halted till they

were beyond the French frontier.

On learning what had occurred, Philip swore to be avenged. Rousing

himself from apathy, and availing himself of William's absence from

the Continent, the French king made a hostile incursion into Normandy;

and, ere long, the Conqueror, while in England, learned that his

liege lord was ravaging his territory and besieging his towns.

William was, by this time, in his sixty-third year, and by no means so

energetic as in days gone by. Nevertheless, his spirit was high as

ever. Resolved to go in person to face the danger and punish the

aggression, he prepared to cross the Channel. Before doing so,

however, he determined to remove from the vanquished islanders the

temptation of making a last desperate effort to restore their national

royalty.

At this time, Edgar Atheling, and his sister, Christina, were both in

England. The Atheling, with some touch of sentiment for the land over

which his sires had reigned, had, in the previous year, returned from

Normandy; and Christina, having perhaps exhausted the patience of King

Malcolm, had returned from Scotland. The presence of the royal Saxons

could hardly, under all the circumstances, have been of vital

consequence. But suspicion had now become a disease with the

Conqueror, and he could not embark without having first disposed of

them to his satisfaction. Accordingly, he so strongly impressed upon

Christina the propriety of becoming a religious, that the princess,

albeit not yet forty, still comely to behold, and perhaps by no means

averse to the veil of a bride, was fain to take the veil of a nun in

the convent of Rumsey; and he demonstrated so clearly to Atheling the

propriety of undertaking an expedition to the Holy Land, that the

prince, after being promised money to support his dignity, consented

to set out on a pilgrimage.

Matters having thus been settled, William, with Edgar Atheling under

his wing, and Rufus in attendance, embarked for the Continent. Having

set his iron heel once more on Norman soil, the Conqueror first

shipped off the grandson of Ironside to Apulia, with a retinue of two

hundred knights, and then applied himself to his dispute with the heir

of Hugh Capet.

It appears that the real cause of debate between William and Philip

was the country of Vexin, situated between the Epte and the Oise. This

territory had been wrested from Normandy and united to France during

the troubles consequent upon the rumoured death of Robert the Devil.

William, less inclined than of yore to submit the question of

possession to the arbitrament of the sword, flattered himself that he

should be able to regain the Vexin by peaceful means, and with this

hope opened negotiations.

While negotiations were pending, William, whose corpulence had caused

him serious inconvenience, felt the necessity of placing himself in

the hands of his physicians and, by their advice, he kept his bed, and

attempted to reduce himself by a rigorous diet. Philip, deeming that

he had little to fear from such an adversary, returned evasive replies

to William's demands, and found that the Conqueror bore the delay so

patiently, that he ventured one day, at Paris, to indulge, at

William's expense, in a coarse jest, which was faithfully repeated at

Rouen.

"By my faith!" said Philip, "our cousin, the King of England, is very

long about his lying-in! What rejoicings there will be when he gets

up! What a number of candles I must provide for his churching!"

"Ha!" angrily exclaimed William, when told what Philip had said, "no

cost shall the King of France incur on that day for candles or lights.

For," added he, his anger rising and swelling into fury, "by the

splendour and birth of God! I will be churched at Notre Dame de Paris

with ten thousand lances for my candles."

While the blood of William was boiling with indignation at his liege

lord's insulting jest, an incident occurred which must have added much

to his annoyance. Curthose, falling under Philip's influence, and

allured by Philip's promises, broke once more with his father, and

prepared for the third time to leave the Norman court. William stormed

as was his wont on such occasions, cursed his son's folly, and heaped

maledictions on his head. Curthose, however, paid no regard to the

reproaches of a sire with whom he could not agree; though it could

hardly have been without reluctance that he left the duchy of which he

was the recognised heir, to sit at the hearth, and feed at the board,

and climb the stairs of strangers. But, whatever his feelings,

Curthose did go; and the grim Conqueror cursed him as he departed.

William now shook off sickness, discarded his physicians, rose from

his bed, mustered his men-at-arms, buckled on his mail, and entered

the territory of Philip. More than threescore years had passed since

the son of Arlette drew his first breath; but he proved, in a manner

not to be mistaken, that time had not bent his spirit nor softened his

heart. It was late in July, the harvest was at hand, and the summer's

sun shone on fields of yellow corn, on vineyards rich with grapes, and

orchards laden with fruit. William spared nothing. He ordered his

cavalry to burn the corn, to tear up the vines, and to cut down the

fruit-trees. Slaughtering, destroying, and ravaging with all the fury

he had seventeen years earlier displayed in Northumberland, William

reached Mantes, on the Seine.

It was Sunday, the 15th of August, when the Conqueror appeared at

Mantes; and, on effecting an entrance, he immediately ordered the town

to be set on fire. His orders were promptly obeyed; and as the flames

leaped from roof to roof, seizing on cottages, and castles, and

churches, and shot crackling upwards like a serpent's tongue, William,

as if in a frenzy, shouted at the top of his voice, galloped through

the conflagration, and seemed to enjoy the terrible scene. But

suddenly his haughty spirit was brought low. While riding through the

ruins, he spurred his horse towards a ditch which crossed his path.

While in the act of springing, the animal set its foot on some burning

embers, started, plunged furiously, and came to the ground, throwing

the corpulent rider with such violence against the saddle as to cause

a severe wound in the stomach.

It soon became apparent that William was not destined to reach Paris

or to appear at Notre Dame; in fact, the Conqueror was in no slight

danger. Weak from recent confinement, heated by excitement, by the

fire, and by the weather, he became feverish, and ordered himself to

be conveyed back to Rouen. But when laid in his own chamber he could

not rest; and so great was the annoyance he experienced from the noise

of the streets, that it was deemed expedient to remove him to the

priory of St. Gervase. In that religious house, which belonged to the

monks of Fescamp, and stood on a hill outside the city, William, under

the care of Gilbert, Bishop of Lysieux, and Goutard, Abbot of

Jumieges, who tended him as physicians, languished for weeks. But his

condition daily became worse, and, not deluding himself with hopes of

recovery, he prepared for death.

When stretched on a bed from which he felt there was no probability of

his rising, William reflected seriously on his past life, and regarded

many actions in a very different light from that in which he had been

in the habit of viewing them during the years of health and vigour.

Eager to make atonement, he caused money to be given to the poor, and

to be sent to the religious houses of England and Mantes to rebuild

the churches which, by his orders, had been burned. At the same time

he ordered the prison doors to be opened, and freedom to be given to

captives, among whom were Wulnoth, brother of Harold; Morkar, brother

of Edwin; and William's own brother, Odo of Bayeux.

It was now Wednesday, the 8th of September, 1087, and the Conqueror

became aware that he was on the point of passing that bourne from

which no traveller returns. But still he seems to have remained

somewhat unconvinced of the vanity of sublunary greatness. Ordering

the officers of his household to repair to his chamber, he, weak as he

was, delivered an harangue of some length on his military

achievements, dilated on the renown he had acquired as a ruler of men,

and dictated his last will to his sons. Robert Curthose was at

Abbeville; but William Rufus and Henry Beauclerc were by the bed of

their dying father.

"I leave Normandy," said the Conqueror, "to my eldest son Robert, in

accordance with the wishes of the Normans; but wretched will be the

land subject to his rule. As for England, I leave it to no one,

because I acquired it by force and bloodshed. I replace it in God's

hands, wishing that my son William, who has ever been obedient to me,

may, if it please God, obtain that kingdom and prosper in it."

"And," said Henry, stepping forward and speaking with energy, "what,

then, will you give me, my father?"

"Give thee?" replied William; "I give thee five thousand pounds in

silver from my treasury."

"But," said Henry, "what can I do with this money if I have neither

house nor land?"

"Be content, my son," answered the Conqueror, "and have confidence in

God. Allow thine elder brothers to precede thee. Thy time will come

after theirs."

This scene having been enacted, William awaited that pale spectre

which comes with impartiality to the cottages of the poor and the

castles of kings. Nor was his patience severely tried. At sunrise, on

Thursday morning, he awoke from the feverish slumber in which he

passed the last night his spirit was to spend on earth. It was bright

and clear; the rising sun shone on the storied windows of the priory,

the bells were ringing, and the monks were singing a Latin hymn to the

hour of prime.

"What means that noise?" inquired William, in faint accents.

"They are ringing prime at the church of St. Mary," was the answer.

"Ha!" faltered William; and then adding, "I commend my soul to Mary,

the Holy Mother of God," he raised his hands to heaven, and instantly

expired.

[Illustration]

XLV.

THE BURIAL AT CAEN.

One Thursday the 10th of September, 1087, consternation and dismay

pervaded the city of Rouen. Neither Granada after Boabdil's flight,

nor Edinburgh after the death of King James at Flodden, presented such

a scene of confusion as did the capital of Normandy on that morning

when it became known that William the Conqueror had breathed his last.

Fear fell upon all men who had anything to lose, and they ran wildly

about, beating their breasts, tearing their hair, and imploring

advice, as if a hostile army had been before the gates.

Meanwhile, within the convent of St. Gervase and the castle of Rouen

were enacted such scenes as, when reflected on, make human beings

blush for human nature. No sooner did William breathe his last than

his physicians, and the attendants who had watched his couch during

the night, hastily left the chamber of death, and mounting their

horses, rode away to look after their property; and, when the news

reached the castle, the servants carried off plate, armour, clothes,

linen, and everything that was not too hot or too heavy, and fled

from the place. It is even said that the body of the great

warrior-statesman was left on the floor with scarcely a shred of

covering, and that it remained in that position for several hours.

It is most discreditable, indeed, to the memory of William's two sons,

Rufus and Beauclerc, that such should have been the case. But these

young men were wholly intent on their own interests. Rufus was already

on his way to England, and Beauclerc was busy receiving the five

thousand pounds, seeing the silver carefully weighed, and depositing

the treasure in a chest, fastened with bands of iron, and secured with

strong locks. Never was there a more thorough display of intense

selfishness. Even Curthose, with all his faults, would not have been

guilty of such filial impiety.

It almost seemed as if the Conqueror was to be denied Christian

burial. But William, Archbishop of Rouen, had the decency to think of

the dead king, and ordered a procession to be arranged. Dressed in

their habits, monks and priests, with cross, candles, and censers,

repaired to the chamber to pray for the soul that had departed, and

the archbishop gave orders that the corpse should be conveyed to Caen,

and buried in the cathedral which William had built and dedicated to

St. Stephen. But nobody showed the least inclination to take an active

part in the obsequies.

At length a Norman knight, named Herluin, probably a kinsman of

Arlette's husband, William's stepfather, volunteered to take the

trouble and bear the expense. Having hired a hearse and men, Herluin

removed the body to the banks of the Seine, and, having caused it to

be placed in a boat, attended it, by the river and the sea, to Caen.

On reaching that place the corpse was met by the Abbot of Caen, with

all his monks, and by many other priests and laymen, among whom

appeared Henry Beauclerc. But a fire suddenly breaking out in the town

dissolved the procession, and the corpse, deserted by all but the

monks of St. Stephen, was borne by them to the cathedral.

Between the altar and the choir of the Cathedral of Caen a tomb was

prepared; and when the time appointed for the inhumation arrived all

the bishops and abbots of Normandy assembled for the ceremony. Mass

was then said; and the body, without a coffin, but clothed in royal

robes, was about to be lowered, when suddenly a man, advancing from

the crowd, stepped forward and interrupted the process.

"Priests and bishops," said he, in a loud voice, "this ground is mine.

It was the site of my father's house. The man for whom you have now

prayed took it from me by force to build his church upon it."

"It is true," said several voices.

"I have not sold my land," continued the man; "I have not pawned it--I

have not forfeited it--I have not given it. Mine the ground is by

right, and I demand it."

"Who art thou?" they asked.

"My name," he answered, "is Asselin Fitzarthur, and in God's name I

forbid the body of the spoiler to be laid in this place. Here was the

floor of my father's house--it was violently wrested from us; and I

charge you, as ye shall answer for it before the face of God, not to

cover this body with the earth of my inheritance."

"He hath the law of Normandy on his side," muttered those present.

Perceiving how the matter stood, the bishops caused Fitzarthur to

approach, and a bargain was hastily struck. The bishops agreed to pay

sixty pence for the immediate place of sepulture, and to give

equitable recompence for the rest of the ground; and Fitzarthur,

contented with their assurance, withdrew his protest. The body was

then placed in its narrow receptacle, and, the ceremony having been

hastily completed, the grave closed over the remains of William the

Conqueror.

The right of Robert Curthose to the coronal of Normandy was not

disputed, and when that prince arrived at Rouen he quietly took

possession of the dominions of Rollo. But the succession to the crown

of England was a question which the Anglo-Norman barons deemed

themselves entitled to decide. A council was accordingly held for that

purpose; and at this assembly the majority of those present gave it as

their opinion that crown and coronal should go together--that the two

countries should have one and the same government--and that the crown

of England should be placed where the coronal of Normandy already

was, on the head of Duke Robert. But, in the midst of their

deliberations, the dignity of the assembled barons was rudely shocked.

News, in fact, came across the Channel which seemed to indicate that

their wishes on the subject of the succession were not thought worthy

even of being consulted, and which, by creating bitter animosities,

was destined to produce an alarming and not altogether unimportant

civil war.

[Illustration]

XLVI.

[Illustration: Shakespeare's Cliff, Dover.]

THE RED KING.

About the time when news that the Conqueror had commended his soul to

the Virgin Mary and expired at the convent of St. Gervase was causing

consternation and affright in the city of Rouen, there might have been

seen, at the port of Wissant, near Calais, a thickset and

rude-mannered man, of twenty-seven or thereabouts, who stammered in

Norman French, swore "by the face of St. Luke," and went blustering

about in the excess of his eagerness to embark for the shores of

England.

The appearance of this person was the reverse of prepossessing. His

stature was mean, his figure was ungraceful, his face florid, his

forehead shaped like a window, his hair fiery red, and his

countenance, which had not a redeeming feature, was deformed by a

disagreeable defect in the eyes. It was William Rufus, the Conqueror's

second son, on his way to seize the English throne.

On setting foot in England, Rufus hastened to Winchester, presented

himself to the treasurer, and gained that officer over to his views.

Having obtained the keys of the treasury, he found much silver and

gold, and a quantity of jewels. Upon weighing these carefully, and

taking an inventory, he succeeded in gaining the support of Lanfranc;

and, having prevailed on the Norman barons then in England to

recognise him as king, he was crowned by the archbishop in the

cathedral of Winchester.

It would seem that at this stage Rufus apprehended some danger from

the enmity of the Saxons. At all events, his first act of royal

authority was directed against men of the vanquished race. In

accordance with the Conqueror's dying command, four captives of high

rank had been restored to liberty. These were Roger Fitzosborne, Odo

of Bayeux, Wulnoth, brother of Harold, and Morkar, brother of Edwin.

Of these, Rufus ordered Wulnoth and Morkar to be seized, and again

committed to prison at Winchester.

Events soon occurred to convince the Red King that he had mistaken the

quarter whence danger was to come. In fact, the Norman barons, who had

assembled at Rouen, were furious at the intelligence of a coronation

having taken place without their consent, and, ere long, they reached

England, breathing defiance and threatening vengeance. Soon a party

was formed with the avowed resolution of pulling Rufus from the

throne, and placing the crown of England on Curthose's head.

At the head of this party figured Odo, the fierce and haughty Bishop

of Bayeux, now released from prison. Owing Lanfranc an old grudge, and

willing to pay the debt with interest, Odo exerted all his influence

to destroy the settlement of which the archbishop was author, and

proved so successful in his efforts that a formidable conspiracy was

formed with that object. Day by day it was strengthened by the names

of powerful nobles and influential churchmen. Hugh de Grantmesnil,

Robert Mortain, Earl of Cornwall; Robert Montgomery, Earl of

Shrewsbury; Robert Moubray, Earl of Northumberland; and William

Carilif, Bishop of Durham, were among the many eminent personages who

vowed to place Curthose on the Conqueror's throne. With the object of

perplexing the movements of Rufus while awaiting the coming of

Curthose, they fortified themselves in different parts of the country.

Hugh de Grantmesnil fortified himself in Leicester; the Earl of

Cornwall posted himself at Pevensey; the Earl of Shrewsbury held

Norwich; the Earl of Northumberland seized Bristol; William Carilif

occupied the castle of Durham; and Odo himself took possession of the

castle of Rochester. The banners of the insurgents waved from hundreds

of other strongholds; and they only awaited the arrival of Curthose to

strike a decisive blow.

[Illustration: Rochester]

The position of Rufus appeared somewhat perilous. Left to his own

resources he must have fallen from the throne he so unworthily

occupied. But the circumstance of having a minister of such wisdom and

experience as Lanfranc at his side considerably altered the case; and,

acting under the auspices of the archbishop, Rufus took the only step

likely to save him from impending ruin.

In passing through England, as it then was, foreigners were

surprised, after passing the Norman fortresses, which on every height

frowned with heavy, massive, and gloomy turrets, to come, ever and

anon, on two-storied houses, quite unfortified, and standing in the

midst of parks, through which, watched by the herdsmen, herds and

flocks grazed in security. These were the seats of such Saxons of

consideration as had escaped the Norman sword; not mighty chiefs, like

Edwin or Cospatrick, but thanes who, perhaps, had been too proud to

march under the banner of the son of Godwin; men who had not, for

years, wandered out from the shadow of their paternal oaks; whom

isolation had rendered eccentric, and whom oppression had rendered

irascible.

In the hour of need, Rufus was reminded of these Saxon thanes, who had

long been exclaiming over their cups against Norman tyranny, summoned

them to his court, asked their counsels, and promised, in the event of

their rendering aid, to restore to them the right of carrying arms,

and the privileges of the chase. The simple Saxons fell into the

snare, gave credit to his frank assurances, and issued to the natives

a proclamation couched in the words to which the Saxons had been long

accustomed.

"Let every man," such were the words--"let every man that is not a

nothing, whether in the town or country, leave his house and come."

The appeal was not made in vain. At the time and place appointed

thirty thousand Saxons rallied round the Red King's banner.

It was at the head of this body of men, who were mostly on foot, that

William, with some Norman cavalry, marched towards Rochester, where

Odo of Bayeux was strongly posted. The Saxons, to whom Odo was

peculiarly odious, displayed great eagerness for the strife, vowed

vengeance against the oppressors, and beleaguered Rochester on all

sides. Closely pressed, the Bishop of Bayeux and his friends soon

offered to yield, and to acknowledge Rufus as King, on condition of

being allowed to retain their honours and their lands. Rufus, who was

brave, though his courage somewhat resembled that of a wild beast, at

first refused to listen to such terms. But the Normans in his army,

having no mind to slaughter their friends and kinsmen, pressed him to

accede.

"We, who have aided thee in this danger," said they, "pray thee to

spare our countrymen and relatives, who are also thine, and who aided

thy father to conquer England."

"Well," said Rufus, yielding to their representations, "I will grant

them liberty to depart with arms and horses."

"But," said Odo, "we must stipulate that the king's military music

shall not play in token of victory at our departure."

"By St. Luke's face!" exclaimed Rufus, fiercely, on hearing of this

demand, "I will not make any such concession for a thousand gold

marks."

Accordingly, when Odo and his friends left Rochester, with colours

lowered, the royal trumpets sounded in token of victory; but far

louder were the clamours that arose from the assembled Saxons.

"Bring us cords!" some cried; "we will hang this traitor bishop, with

all his accomplices!"

"O king!" cried others, "why dost thou let him go free? He is not

worthy to live--the traitor, the perjurer, the murderer of so many

thousand men."

The war, after raging for some time longer, was terminated by a

treaty. Curthose was bribed with a grant of land and with a promise of

succeeding to the crown in the event of his surviving Rufus; while his

adherents were pardoned and returned to their estates. But how did

Rufus treat the Anglo-Saxons who had secured him victory? How did he

fulfil the promises made to the Saxon chiefs who had brought their

countrymen around him in the hour of need?

No sooner was the war at an end than Rufus became infinitely more

tyrannical than ever his father had been. In vain Lanfranc, who had,

as it were, stood sponsor, reminded the Red King of the pledges he had

given.

"Remember your promises," said the venerable prelate.

"Tush!" stammered out Rufus; "how can a king keep all the promises he

makes?"

Lanfranc was horrified. Dumb with amazement at the idea of solemn

engagements, for which he had stood security, being thus repudiated,

the archbishop retired into privacy, and soon after went the way of

all flesh. The death of Lanfranc was regarded as a national calamity;

and the Red King, freed from all restraint, and pursuing his career

without scruple and without fear, lived like a scoundrel, and reigned

like a tyrant.

Rufus seems to have had as little sympathy with the sentiments of that

gallant French monarch who said that "society without ladies would be

like the year without the spring; or, rather, like spring without the

flowers," as with the sentiment of another French monarch, who said

that, "if good faith were banished from all the rest of the world, it

should still be found in the breasts of kings." No gentle wife had the

Red King to exercise a softening influence on his harsh heart. From

the first he was a confirmed bachelor, and his morals were dissolute

in the extreme. It is true that at the court of Winchester no mediæval

Diana of Poictiers or Madame Pompadour scandalized the grave and

decorous by the spectacle of an abandoned woman, arrayed in purple and

fine linen, enjoying a degree of royal favour not vouchsafed to a

wedded wife. But Rufus indulged without restraint in amours with

females too obscure to be mentioned by chroniclers; and such was the

reputation of the king's court that, when he made progresses through

England, women who had not discarded decency left their homes to save

their honour, and took refuge in the depths of the forests.

At the same time the country through which the Red King passed was

ruthlessly ravaged by his train. Goods and provisions were lawlessly

seized; and such was the spirit of the courtiers that, when they found

in the houses of the Saxons more than they could consume, they amused

themselves by giving articles of food to the flames, and using wine to

wash the feet of their horses.

Another kind of oppression was heavily felt by the vanquished race.

The king deemed it necessary to construct a new wall round the Tower,

to build a bridge over the Thames, and to add a great hall to the

palace of Westminster. All around London men were taxed, and bands of

labourers were forcibly compelled to take part in the works. Murmurs

and complaints were frequent; but murmurs were useless and complaints

unavailing.

In fact, under the government of the Red King, the affairs of England

were conducted without the least reference to the feelings of those to

whom he owed his throne. Deep, of course, was the discontent.

"Every year that passed," says the chronicler, "was heavy and full of

sorrow, on account of the vexations without number, and the multiplied

taxes."

[Illustration: Knights jousting (from Strutt)]

XLVII.

RUFUS AND THE JEWS.

Among the evils which the Saxons associated with the Norman Conquest,

not the least was the introduction, by William the Conqueror, of a

considerable number of Jews into England. Doubtless, ere that event,

the fame of their wealth, and of the atrocious means by which it had

been acquired, had preceded them. But their arrival from Rouen caused

much dismay. Accounts of their usury, their traffic in human beings,

and the insults offered by them to the Christian religion, were

carried through the land, and so influenced the popular mind, that, of

all the nations of modern Europe, the Anglo-Saxons learned most

thoroughly to despise the degraded remnants of the chosen people.

There was something about the appearance of men of Hebrew race which

raised involuntary antipathy in the breasts of the inhabitants of

England; and wherever the face of a Jew appeared, with the sensual

lip, the sharp, hooked nose, and features the reverse of beautiful,

hands instinctively clenched and lips curled with scorn.

The Red King did not share the prejudices of his Saxon subjects. Being

an infidel, he could not think the worse of them because they were

not Christians; and being a spendthrift, he was glad to avail himself

of their wealth, without particularly inquiring into the nefarious

means by which it had been acquired. In any case, Rufus gave the Jews

considerable encouragement in matters of religion; and, whenever an

opportunity occurred, he showed that he was not above pocketing their

gold.

It appears that on one occasion the Red King even consented to a

disputation being held in his presence between Jews and Christians.

Before the arrival of the day appointed, the Jews came to Rufus, laid

rich presents at his feet, and implored him to insure them a fair and

impartial hearing.

"Doubtless," he answered; "and you must quit yourselves like men."

"Assuredly," said the Jews.

"And if you prevail in argument," exclaimed Rufus, "I swear by St.

Luke's face that I myself will turn Jew, and be of your religion."

This disputation, like most disputations of the kind, came to nought,

and Rufus was not called upon to redeem his pledge of becoming a

convert. He did, however, contrive to turn the conversion of others to

account. When a Jew happened to be brought to a knowledge of the

truth, Rufus was quite ready, on certain terms, to lay his commands on

the convert to return to Judaism. In this way, which ill became the

king of a Christian people, he obtained considerable sums of money.

On one occasion a wealthy old Jew, whose son had seen the error of his

ways, and embraced Christianity, appeared at the king's court, told

his tale of woe, and entreated assistance.

"I am sore troubled," said the Hebrew; "I am bowed down with grief. O

king," he continued, presenting Rufus with sixty marks, "command my

son to return to the faith of his fathers."

"Ay," said Rufus, clutching the money; "bring your son to me, and I

will bring him to reason."

The old Jew retired, and soon after returned with his son. The young

Israelite, however, was unabashed as he entered the Red King's

presence, conscious of the goodness of his cause.

"Young man," said Rufus, by way of settling the business in as few

words as possible, "I command you, without delay, to return to the

religion of your nation."

"King," said the young Israelite, in a tone of mournful reproach, "I

marvel that you can give such advice. Being a Christian, you ought to

feel it your duty rather to persuade me to remain steadfast to

Christianity."

"Dog!" stammered out Rufus, in a loud tone; "get out of my sight

without delay, or it will be the worse for thee."

The convert went his way, and the old Jew remained, deeply mortified

at the result of the royal mediation, for which he had paid so high a

price. But even at that instant his intense love of gold, prevailing

over all considerations of propriety, prompted an attempt to recover

his sixty marks.

"Since, O king," he said, "you have not persuaded my son to return to

his religion, it would be but fair to restore to me the gold I gave to

that end."

"Nay," answered the king, with his usual oath; "I have taken trouble

enough, and have done work enough, for the gold, and more. And yet I

would like to show you how kindly I can deal. Therefore you shall have

one-half of the sixty marks, and in conscience you cannot deny me the

other."

[Illustration: Andiron.]

XLVIII.

[Illustration: Death of Malcolm Canmore, the Scottish King]

RUFUS AND THE SCOTS.

While William Rufus, having set honour and decency at defiance, was

playing the part of a tyrant and oppressor in England, he ever and

anon gave indications, not to be mistaken, of a desire to play the

part of a usurper in Normandy.

Repairing to the Continent, with some idea of taking possession of his

brother's duchy, Rufus expelled from Normandy the unfortunate heir of

the Saxon kings, who had returned from Apulia. Homeless and well-nigh

desperate, Edgar Atheling once more sought refuge in Scotland; and

Malcolm Canmore, irritated, perhaps, at the treatment with which his

brother-in-law had met, resolved on making Rufus feel his enmity.

"Years since," said the King of Scots, "I was fain to recognise

William the Norman as my liege lord; and I acknowledge Robert Curthose

as the heir of William the Norman; but as for this Red King, I can

only recognise him as a usurper, and he shall only know me as a foe."

Rufus was still in Normandy, when intelligence reached him that

Malcolm, accompanied by the Atheling, had, in the month of May, 1091,

crossed the frontier; and he was seriously alarmed at tidings of an

invasion that might lead to important consequences. Under such

circumstances he perceived the policy of going craftily to work; and,

after patching up a peace with his brother Robert, prevailed on the

Norman duke to attend him to England, and aid in bringing Malcolm to

reason. It was in the autumn of 1091 when, with Curthose by his side,

an army at his back, and a fleet at sea, Rufus moved northward to try

conclusions with the royal Scot.

On hearing of the approach of the King of England, Malcolm fell back

in some dismay. Nevertheless, Rufus was not quite in a position to

congratulate himself on the success of his expedition. In fact,

everything went wrong. The weather proved altogether unfavourable.

Before the close of September, the English fleet was destroyed by a

storm; and, soon after Michaelmas, the army began to suffer so

fearfully from cold and want, that there appeared little prospect of

the enterprise having other than a disastrous termination.

While such was the state of affairs, Malcolm Canmore, turning to bay,

sent a messenger to the English camp with expressions of friendship to

Curthose, and of scornful defiance to Rufus. Curthose, however, with

characteristic generosity, stood firmly by Rufus at this crisis.

Mounting his steed, he rode to the Scottish camp, had an interview

with Edgar Atheling, persuaded the Saxon prince that, for all

parties, peace was the wisest policy, and finally succeeded in

negotiating a treaty between the two kings.

Rufus now deemed himself secured against Malcolm's hostility; and

scarcely had Curthose rendered this service when the Norman duke began

to experience the gross ingratitude of the Red King. In utter disgust,

Curthose resolved forthwith to leave England, and, crossing the sea,

he established himself at Rouen with the intention of securing himself

against further hostility.

Meanwhile Rufus, while keeping his court at Gloucester, fell so sick,

that physicians despaired of his life. Stretched on a bed of

suffering, the Red King became extremely penitent and anxious to atone

for his sins. While in this frame of mind, William invited Malcolm

Canmore to come and settle all disputes. But ere the King of Scots

reached Gloucester, Rufus was in a fair way of recovering, and in no

mood to sacrifice either to justice or righteousness. Without even

condescending to see Malcolm, he disdainfully ordered him to submit

his disputes to his peers, the Anglo-Norman nobles; and Malcolm--his

blood boiling at the treatment with which he had met--returned home,

vowing to make the Red King repent his insolence.

No sooner, accordingly, did Malcolm reach Scotland, than he assembled

a great army, and marched towards England. Attended by his eldest son,

Edward, he entered Northumberland, ravaged the country with fire and

sword, advanced as far as Alnwick, invested the castle of Ivo de

Vesci, and besieged that stronghold so closely that the garrison lost

all hope.

It was the month of November, 1093--a Sunday, and the day of St.

Brice. The rain had fallen in torrents; the river Alne was in flood;

and the garrison had given way to perplexity and despair. No chance of

the siege being raised, or of escape by any other means, could be

entertained; and the remembrance of the savage cruelty of the Scots

under Malcolm, twenty years earlier, filled every heart with

consternation. In this emergency, Hammond Morael, of Bamburgh, a

soldier of courage and determination, undertook to deliver the

garrison, or die in the attempt. Mounting a fleet steed, he issued

from the castle, and, carrying the keys on the point of his spear, he

rode towards the Scottish camp. On being challenged, he professed his

willingness to surrender the keys of the fortress, but demanded

permission to present them to the King of Scots in person. Malcolm,

informed of Hammond's approach, immediately came forth; and Morael,

spurring forward, pierced the Scottish king through the heart.

A loud cry arose as Malcolm fell, and the Scotch camp was in

commotion. Hammond, however, had well calculated his danger and his

chances of escape. Turning rein without the delay of an instant, he

gave his horse the spur, galloped towards a wood, made for the Alne,

then swollen with rain, and, dashing in at all hazards, escaped by

swimming the river at a place long afterwards known as "Hammond's

Ford."

While the Scots, amazed at the unexpected fall of their king, were in

confusion, the soldiers forming the garrison of Alnwick availed

themselves of the circumstance. Sallying, they made a fierce attack;

and the Scots, put to the rout, either fell by the sword, or were

drowned in attempting to pass the river. Among the warriors slain on

this occasion was Malcolm's son Edward, a young prince of great

promise.

The rout of the Scots was so sudden, and their dispersion so complete,

that the victors, without opposition, took possession of Malcolm's

body. But though left in the hands of the foe, the corpse was not

denied a Christian's grave. Placed in a cart by the Northumbrians, it

was conveyed to Tynemouth, and there laid, with funereal honours, in

the priory of St. Oswin, a famous religious house, which Robert de

Moubray had wrested from the monks of St. Cuthbert, and bestowed on

the monks of St. Alban's.

In the meantime, news that Malcolm and his son had fallen at Alnwick

reached the Scottish court, and overwhelmed Queen Margaret with grief.

Nothing seemed sufficient to console the royal lady for the loss she

had sustained. Indeed, she is said to have prayed that she might not

survive them, and to have expired within three days of the catastrophe

which made her a widow.

The children of Malcolm Canmore and Margaret Atheling, when thus

deprived of both parents, were in no enviable plight. The courtiers,

being for the most part Normans and Saxons, were regarded and hated by

the Scots as strangers or foreigners; and the only man capable of

protecting the royal children was their uncle, Donald Bane. But that

prince proved the reverse of generous. Instead of maintaining the

interests of the eldest of his nephews, he resolved on availing

himself of his nephew's nonage to seize the crown.

It was not difficult for Donald Bane to realize his aspirations. The

prejudices of the Scots as to the laws of succession, and the claims

of Magnus, King of Norway, were in his favour. Without scruple he

gratified the patriotism of the Scots by declaring for the banishment

of all Normans and Saxons; and at the same time he purchased the

support of the Norwegian king by ceding to him the Western Isles.

Having thus strengthened his claims, Donald Bane mounted the Scottish

throne.

When affairs reached this stage, the Normans and Saxons escaped from

Scotland with all convenient speed. With Normans and Saxons to England

went Edgar Atheling; and with Atheling, to the country over which his

sires had reigned, went the children of Malcolm and Margaret, to seek

refuge in the land of their maternal ancestors till the occurrence of

events calculated to lead to their restoration to home and country.

[Illustration: Tynemouth.]

XLIX.

[Illustration]

ROBERT DE MOUBRAY

About the spring of 1095, William Rufus was menaced with ruin. It was

Robert de Moubray, Earl of Northumberland--a man who possessed two

hundred and eighty manors--whose influence the Red King now had to

dread.

Not without bitter grumbling had the Norman barons hitherto submitted

to the law by which the Norman king retained the exclusive right of

hunting in the forests of England. Nevertheless, this privilege was

maintained by Rufus as vigorously as ever it had been by the mighty

Conqueror. The Saxons contemptuously called him "The Wild Beast Herd,"

while the Normans conspired to take off his crown, and place it on the

head of Stephen, Earl of Albemarle, son of the Conqueror's sister. At

the head of this conspiracy, which included several of the highest

Norman nobles, Robert de Moubray nobly placed himself.

Rufus was not altogether unaware of the conspiracy formed by the

Anglo-Norman barons to overturn the throne. Indeed, Moubray drew

suspicion on himself by failing to appear at court on the occasion of

a great assembly of knights and barons at Easter. In order to bring

matters to a crisis, Rufus issued a proclamation that, at the feast of

Whitsuntide, every great landholder should attend, or be excluded from

the public peace. Moubray, instead of presenting himself, sent Rufus a

message, which sounded like a defiance.

"I will not attend," said the Norman earl, "unless the king sends me

hostages, and a safe-conduct to protect me going and returning."

"By St. Luke's face!" cried Rufus, stammering with rage, "if he will

not come to me, I will go to him!"

According to this threat, the Red King mustered an army and marched

northward. Besieging the castle of Tynemouth, which was held by a

garrison commanded by Moubray's brother, he, after two months, took

that fortress, and then marched on to Bamburgh, where Moubray was

spending his time in the company of a young woman of great beauty,

whom he had recently married. But Rufus, discovering that Bamburgh was

quite impregnable, erected near it a stronghold called Malvoisin, or

"Ill Neighbour," and, placing therein a strong garrison to keep that

of Bamburgh in check, returned southward with the bulk of his army.

Meanwhile Moubray had established communications with the garrison of

Newcastle, and conceived the hope of making himself master of that

stronghold. With this object, he one night set out from Bamburgh,

attended by thirty horse; but, unfortunately for his scheme, he was

observed by the garrison of Malvoisin, closely pursued, and forced to

take refuge in the priory of Tynemouth. At that place, after being

besieged and wounded in the leg, he was taken prisoner with his

comrades.

Rufus, on hearing of Moubray's capture, sent orders to secure Bamburgh

without delay. But this was no easy business. The garrison, under the

auspices of Moubray's young countess, and Hammond Morael--that warrior

who had slain Malcolm Canmore--proved as stubborn as ever, and the

besiegers were well-nigh in despair. Rufus, however, was not to be

baffled by a woman.

"Carry her husband before the castle," he cried, "and let his eyes be

put out if it is not immediately surrendered."

The king's orders were promptly obeyed. The soldiers left by Rufus at

Malvoisin led Moubray in chains before the castle of Bamburgh, and

summoned the countess to a parley. No sooner did she appear than they

intimated their intention of putting out Moubray's eyes unless she

instantly yielded the castle. The fair countess could not hesitate;

without delay she threw the keys over the walls; and the soldiers of

Rufus entering, took all prisoners. Morael, however, earned his pardon

by revealing the names of all the conspirators; and Moubray, sentenced

to perpetual imprisonment, was conveyed to the castle of Windsor.

After long captivity, however, Moubray was permitted to retire to the

Abbey of St. Alban's. In that great religious house, the once haughty

Earl of Northumberland assumed the monastic habit, and became a meek

shaveling. He appears to have survived his unfortunate rebellion fully

thirty years.

"You must know," says the chronicler, "that Robert de Moubray, the

brave knight and Earl of Northumberland, was deprived of sight some

days before he died. He was a very old man, and devoted to God, and

became a monk at St. Alban's, where, after living a holy life for some

time, he departed to the Lord, and was honourably buried in a place

not far from the chapter-house."

L.

[Illustration: Hawking.]

HENRY BEAUCLERC.

At the time when Rufus became King of England, and Curthose took

possession of Normandy, Henry, third son of the Conqueror, was in his

twentieth year. Both in personal appearance and intellectual capacity

he was decidedly superior to his brothers. He was a princely

personage, of tall stature, and firmly built, with brown hair, a

brilliant complexion, and clear, penetrating eyes, thoughtful rather

than dreamy, which ever seemed to be looking to the future. He thought

much, but spoke little, for his mind was occupied with projects of

ambition, which he would not have whispered even to the winds.

Henry had the advantage of being a native of England. It was at

Selby, in Yorkshire, where an abbey was afterwards founded by the

Conqueror, that Matilda of Flanders, during 1068, the first year of

her residence in England, became the mother of her third son. But

though a native of "the proud isle of liberty," Henry can hardly be

described as an Englishman. His manners were foreign; his habits were

those of a Norman; and it does not appear that he could even speak the

English language. But he never failed, when such was his interest, to

profess ardent love for his native land, and strong sympathy with the

struggles of those who were its inhabitants.

In critical moods, William the Conqueror was in the habit of repeating

a phrase of one of the old counts of Anjou, as to a king without

learning being a crowned ass; and the words sank deep into Henry's

mind. The prince, thus strongly impressed with the necessity of

acquiring knowledge, exhibited exemplary diligence; and, in 1084,

William, when keeping his court at Abingdon, left him under the care

of Robert D'Oyly, to be educated by the monks. Subsequently Henry was

instructed beyond seas in philosophy and the liberal sciences, and won

such renown for his knowledge that he was distinguished by the

honourable surname of Beauclerc.

Meanwhile, Henry's military education was not neglected. It was an

age, as the grim Conqueror knew full well, in which no prince could

hope to prosper who was not prepared to lead fighting men to the

field, and ride boldly, through all dangers, into the thickest ranks

of foemen. Henry was carefully trained in all the warlike exercises of

the period; and, in 1086, he was, with the ceremonies befitting his

rank, admitted to the honour of knighthood.

The accomplishments of Henry were not confined to arms and letters.

The scene at Laigle, when he and Rufus were playing at dice, after the

fashion of soldiers at the time of the Conquest--the scene at

Conflans, when he won so much money from Prince Louis that the heir of

France lost his temper--lead to the suspicion that Henry was addicted

to gaming; and there is evidence that his success in playing for

money, if not miraculous, was quite equal to his success in playing

for kingdoms and crowns.

When the Conqueror, on his death-bed, left Beauclerc five thousand

pounds in white silver, and gave the assurance that, after his

brothers had their turn of sovereignty, his would certainly come,

Beauclerc, who probably valued the legacy more than the assurance,

hastened to secure the treasure. He immediately went to receive the

money, had it carefully told and weighed, packed it in chests,

strongly locked, and bound with iron. But the silver did not long

remain in the strong boxes. Curthose came to Normandy poor, and eager

to borrow from any one who would lend on any terms; and Beauclerc was

not unwilling to advance on good security. A bargain was accordingly

struck between the brothers. Curthose received a sum which gladdened

his heart; and Beauclerc, in consideration thereof, took possession of

that part of Normandy known as Cotentin.

One morning, when Beauclerc was hunting near Caen, he entered a church

to hear mass. The priest, whose name was Roger, comprehending the

taste, and consulting the convenience of his visitor, made the service

so brief that Beauclerc was impressed with a high admiration of his

sense.

"By Heavens!" he exclaimed, "this is the most sensible priest I ever

knew. I must attach him to my fortunes."

Roger, who evinced no unwillingness, immediately became Beauclerc's

chaplain, and lived to flourish as Bishop of Sarum, and first minister

of England.

Beauclerc was figuring as lord of Cotentin, when, in 1090, Rufus

invaded Normandy, and threatened Curthose with ruin. The circumstance,

doubtless, caused him alarm, and interfered with his plans. With a

keen eye to his own interest, however, he took part with Curthose, and

exerted himself to prevent Rufus taking possession of the duchy.

It appears that, when the Red King seemed likely to conquer, some of

the inhabitants of Rouen, influenced by threats, promises, and bribes,

conspired to surrender the city. Beauclerc, informed of their scheme,

resolved to baffle it; and, suddenly entering Rouen, he proceeded to a

tower, where the chief conspirator was, and, throwing him headlong to

the ground, caused such terror among the confederates that the city

was saved. But Curthose soon after came to terms with the invader;

and Rufus was in no mood to spare the man who had disappointed his

hopes of complete success.

Not unaware of his danger, Beauclerc threw himself into Mont St.

Michael, and in that fort, situated on a rock, determined to bid the

Red King defiance. Rufus, however, induced Curthose to join in

bringing Beauclerc to submission; and the two princes, with a powerful

army, appeared at Mont St. Michael, and commenced a close siege.

For a time Beauclerc seems to have resisted bravely, and on one

occasion the Red King was in the utmost peril of death or captivity.

Riding carelessly along the shore one day, Rufus was attacked by three

horsemen, who bore him to the ground, and his saddle with him. He was,

of course, in extreme danger. But seizing his saddle in one hand, and

drawing his sword with the other, he managed to defend himself till

his soldiers came to the rescue.

"O king!" exclaimed the soldiers, "how could you be so obstinate to

save a saddle?"

"Nay," cried Rufus, "it would have angered me at the very heart if the

knaves could have bragged they had won my saddle from me."

Meanwhile, the siege was so closely pressed that provisions ran short,

and every man in the fort was suffering from the want of fresh water.

Beauclerc, however, sent a messenger to beseech the besiegers not to

deny him the enjoyment of that which belonged to all men; and

Curthose, touched with compassion, ordered that the garrison should be

allowed to take in a supply. Rufus, who, when this occurred, was

possibly on the shore fighting about his saddle, was highly enraged on

hearing of this permission, and took Curthose to task in no courteous

terms.

"You show your warlike skill," stammered the Red King, "in letting

your enemy help himself to drink. By St. Luke's face! you have now

only to supply him with meat to make him hold out for twelve months."

"And how," asked Curthose, "could I leave a brother to die of thirst?

What other brother have we if we lose him?"

Notwithstanding the supply of fresh water, Beauclerc could not much

longer hold out. After enduring a rigorous siege he was compelled, for

want of provisions, to submit to fate. Rufus despoiled him of all he

possessed, and it was with difficulty he obtained leave to depart to

Brittany. His escort consisted of one knight, three squires, and a

chaplain; and with these adherents, who either disdained to desert him

in his distress, or felt strong faith in his destiny, Beauclerc

wandered about, sometimes in want of the necessaries of life, and

utterly hopeless of reaching any place that could be called a home.

But genius is generally prophetic; and Beauclerc scarcely required to

recall his father's dying words to feel assured that he was yet to

reign in the land of his birth, and over the land he had just quitted

for poverty and exile. The consciousness that he was one day to be

great gave the Conqueror's son a dignity in all that he said or did.

Even as a vagrant, Beauclerc was an influential personage; and he

impressed strangers with so high a notion of his talents and his

political wisdom, that he was, ere long, elected by the people of

Damfront as governor of their city.

It happened, however, that Beauclerc was soon tempted from the

government of Damfront. His high reputation for intellect and decision

filled the mind of Rufus with jealousy, and the Red King, deeming,

perhaps, that his gifted brother would be much less likely to work

mischief under his own eye than when rambling about Europe and ready

to head any movement promising a change of fortune, expressed his

desire for a reconciliation. Beauclerc, who perfectly comprehended the

motives of Rufus, calculated his chances, and, trusting to the chapter

of accidents, came to England.

Beauclerc now suffered all the inconveniences likely, in the eleventh

century, to surround a prince without land and without money. Even for

abilities he got no credit; he was sneered at as "having little in

him." He was fond of the chase; and, having no horses, he was forced

when hunting to follow the game on foot, but such was his speed that

the courtiers of the Red King surnamed him "Deersfoot." Beauclerc,

however, bore all inconveniences and taunts with patience; perhaps,

remembering the paternal assurance that, after his brothers', his turn

would surely come, he hoped he might, by patience, conquer adversity.

If so, he was not doomed to disappointment. It has been remarked that

generally there is in human affairs an extreme point of depression,

from which they naturally ascend in an opposite direction; and

Beauclerc's case was not to prove any exception to the general rule.

[Illustration: Woman with distaff]

LI.

[Illustration: Bringing home the body of Rufus]

THE DEATH OF RUFUS.

On the evening of Wednesday, the 1st of August, 1100, William Rufus,

intent on chasing the deer of the New Forest, stretched his limbs to

rest in the hunting-seat that then crowned the height of Malwood.

At dead of night, a loud voice roused the royal household from repose;

and the officers, starting to their feet to listen, with surprise

heard the king invoking the aid of the Virgin Mary, and calling for

lights in his chamber. On entering, they learned that his rest had

been disturbed by a fearful vision, in which he himself figured with

the veins of his arms broken and blood flowing in streams. Such was

the effect produced on the King's imagination, that he would not allow

them to leave the side of his couch till the sun rose, and the light

of day streamed into the chamber.

Nevertheless, on the morning of Thursday, a grand breakfast was spread

in the hall of the hunting-seat, and Rufus rose to indulge in the good

cheer. As he was dressing, however, a messenger arrived with a

despatch from the Norman Abbot of Gloucester, warning the king that

danger was at hand.

"One of my monks," said the abbot, "has had a dream of evil omen. He

has seen Jesus Christ seated on His throne, and at His feet a woman

supplicating Him in these words--'Saviour of the world, look down with

pity upon this people, who suffer under the yoke of William.'"

"Tush!" cried Rufus, breaking into a loud laugh; "do they take me for

a Saxon with their dreams? Do they think I am one of the idiots who

tremble because an old woman sneezes? But I warrant the monk would

have something for his dream. Let him have a hundred shillings, and

bid him look that he dream more auspicious dreams in future."

With these words, Rufus tied his shoes, left his chamber, and seated

himself at table with his friends around him. It was a gay party that

feasted that morning in the hunting-lodge of Malwood, and included

many personages of high degree. Among them were the king's brother,

Henry Beauclerc; his bosom friend, Walter Tyrel; his bow-bearer, Nigel

de Albini; his treasurer, William de Breteuil, who was eldest son of

the great Fitzosborne, and hardly less proud than his father had been.

Perhaps Rufus, with the scene of the previous night preying on his

mind, felt unwontedly depressed. At all events, he ate more than

usual, and drank copiously, as if to banish sadness. The potations, of

course, soon took effect. The king's spirits rose. He blustered and

swore with characteristic indecency.

While Rufus was still passing round the wine-cup, an artificer brought

him six arrows for cross-bows, which seemed so sharp and strong as to

excite much admiration. The king received the arrows, praised the

workmanship, took four for his own use, and handed the others to

Walter Tyrel.

"There, Tyrel," said he, "take two; for you know how to shoot to some

purpose. Sharp arrows for the best shot! And now to horse!"

The king and the Norman knights, excited with wine, strung their

hunting-horns round their necks, called for their horses, sprang into

their saddles, and with huntsmen in attendance, their hounds running

at their feet, rode down the steep of Malwood, and entered the New

Forest. According to the custom of the period, they then dispersed

through the wood to pursue the game. Walter Tyrel, however, remained

with the king, and all day their dogs hunted together.

At length, as the sun was setting, the king and the knight found

themselves at a place known as Charingham, where were the ruins of a

chapel which the Conqueror had dismantled. At that instant, a large

hart, roused by the huntsmen, came bounding up between Rufus and

Tyrel, who were on opposite sides of the glade. The king instantly

pulled his trigger; but, the cord of the cross-bow breaking, the arrow

did not fly. The stag, however, hearing a sharp sound, halted

abruptly; and Rufus, after making a sign to his comrade to shoot,

without being understood, cried out impatiently--

"Shoot, Walter, shoot, in the devil's name!"

The knight bent his bow, and at that instant an arrow, whistling

through the air, pierced the king's breast. In another moment he

dropped from his horse, and expired without having time to utter a

word.

When Rufus fell to the ground, Tyrel, in great alarm at what he saw,

leaped from his horse and rushed forward. But the king was already a

corpse. Perceiving that life was quite extinct, Tyrel sprang upon his

horse, spurred through the glade, rode hastily to the coast, embarked

for France, and soon set foot on continental soil. Protesting his

innocence, but horrified at being suspected of killing a king, even by

accident, the knight afterwards went to Palestine.

A rumour that the king was killed ran through the forest; but none of

the knights or nobles deemed it their duty to pay any attention to the

corpse. For hours the body remained among the rank grass that grew

over the ruins of the chapel of Charingham, as completely abandoned as

that of the Conqueror had been in the convent at Rouen.

However, as the evening advanced, a charcoal-burner, passing by with

his cart, observed the body pierced with an arrow, and recognised it

as that of the king. More humane and considerate than Norman knights

and nobles, the charcoal-burner wrapped the corpse in rags, placed it

in his cart, and conveyed it to the castle of Winchester. Soon after,

Rufus was buried in the choir of that cathedral, where Anglo-Saxon

kings and their Danish foes reposed in peace together. Scarcely a

tear, however, was shed over the grave of the Red King. The

Anglo-Normans felt no grief at his death, and the Anglo-Saxons openly

rejoiced that the destroyer had struck down their oppressor in the

midst of his pride.

[Illustration]

LII.

[Illustration]

A CHANGE OF FORTUNE.

When a rumour ran through the New Forest that Rufus had fallen, never

again to rise, Henry Beauclerc, far from manifesting any excessive

grief at the death of his rude brother, sprang upon his horse--which

was probably a borrowed one--and, with a resolution to turn the

circumstance to the best account, spurred off to Winchester, to secure

the royal treasure, as a preliminary step to seizing the crown.

On reaching Winchester, Beauclerc rode straight to the castle, and

demanded the keys of the treasury; but, while the officials were still

hesitating, William de Breteuil galloped up breathless and in haste,

and, in his capacity of treasurer, protested against the keys being

surrendered.

"Thou and I," he said to Beauclerc, "ought loyally to remember the

fealty we swore to the Duke Robert, thy brother. He has received our

homage, and, absent or present, he is entitled to the crown."

"Nevertheless," answered Beauclerc, who observed that the populace had

gathered, "no man shall have possession of the crown of England but

whom the people appoint."

As he spoke these words, Beauclerc, seeing it was no time to be

squeamish, drew his sword, and a scuffle ensued. But it was not

serious. Indeed, Breteuil and other lords, seeing the mob on Henry's

side, deemed it prudent to retire; while he secured the public money

and the regal ornaments. Hastening then to London, and gaining the

support of the bishop, he was elected as king, and solemnly crowned

before the high altar in the abbey of Westminster.

Nevertheless, many of the Anglo-Norman barons continued faithful to

the cause of Curthose, and prepared to support his claims to the

crown. But Beauclerc was not a man to surrender, without a struggle,

the prize he had so boldly grasped. Feeling his insecurity, he

determined on adopting measures of safety. He set himself to win the

hearts and to secure the aid of the Saxons; he reminded them of his

being a native of the country, and promised, as their king, to guide

himself by their counsel, to maintain their ancient liberties, and to

grant them a charter confirming the laws in force during the reign of

Edward the Confessor. The Saxons, on hearing Beauclerc's promises,

consented to befriend him; and he, to consolidate the alliance,

engaged to marry a woman of Saxon race.

At that time there was in the convent of Rumsey, in Hampshire, where

she had been educated under the care of her aunt Christina, a daughter

of Malcolm Canmore and of Margaret Atheling. The hand of the princess,

whose name was Edith, had been sought by Norman lords of high rank;

and Beauclerc and she had loved in other days. But a somewhat serious

objection was made to their union. It was said that she had taken the

veil of a nun. An inquiry, however, was instituted, and it appeared

that she had never been consecrated to God.

"I must confess," she said, "that I have sometimes appeared veiled,

but only for this reason: in my youth, when I was under the care of my

aunt Christina, she, to protect me, as she said, from the Normans--who

then assailed the honour of every woman they met--used to place a

piece of black stuff on my head; and when I refused to wear it, she

treated me harshly. In her presence I wore this cloth, but as soon as

she left me I threw it on the ground, and trampled on it in childish

anger."

In order, however, that the position of Edith might be formally

investigated, an assembly of clergy and lay lords was convoked at

Rochester, and this assembly decided that "the girl was free to

marry." Accordingly she was united to Beauclerc, and exchanged her

name of Edith for that of Maude. Even envy itself could not discover a

flaw in her conduct as wife; but it is said that the Anglo-Norman

barons favourable to Curthose affected to regard Henry's marriage with

a princess in whose veins ran the blood of the vanquished race as a

_mésalliance_, and, in derision, nicknamed the regal pair Godrick and

Godiva. Beauclerc, perhaps, did not relish the joke, but, like a man

of sense, he laughed at the allusion.

In fact, Henry had more serious business to think of, for the

partisans of his brother were watching their opportunity, and only

awaiting the presence of Curthose to do their utmost to overturn

Beauclerc's throne. And where, in reality, had that eccentric son of

chivalry been at the time of the crisis of his fate? Had he been

carried away to Fairyland, between death and life, like King Arthur,

or borne to another region on the backs of fiends, like his grandsire,

Robert the Devil? In order to ascertain his "whereabouts," we must

follow his steps on an expedition which at that time excited universal

interest, and which was destined to exercise no slight influence on

the destinies of Europe and of Asia.

[Illustration]

LIII.

[Illustration: Peter the Hermit preaching the first Crusade]

CURTHOSE AT THE CRUSADE.

In the autumn of 1095, a little man, of mean aspect and eccentric

manners, arrayed in a coarse woollen mantle, and mounted on a mule,

rode about Europe, exhorting Christians to arm for the rescue of the

Holy Sepulchre. Sometimes he preached in a church, or at the

market-cross; at others, under a tree by the wayside; and wherever he

went people crowded round him, hung on his eloquent words, and seemed

delighted if they could touch the hem of his mantle, or pluck a hair

from the mane of his mule. This remarkable man was known as Peter the

Hermit, who had recently visited Jerusalem as a pilgrim, and vowed to

deliver the Holy Land from the domination of the Turks.

[Illustration]

The preaching of Peter the Hermit was marvellously successful. Peasant

and peer alike confessed the grandeur of his idea; and, as the

conquest of England by the Normans had inspired feudal warriors with a

desire for adventurous enterprise, multitudes expressed their

willingness to take part in a crusade. Many men of princely rank,

among whom the chief was Godfrey de Bouillon, Duke of Lorraine,

assumed the cross, alienated their possessions, and mustered armies to

fight in Palestine. At length the idea which was agitating all

Christendom, penetrating to the castle of Rouen, excited the ardent

imagination of Robert Curthose, and stirred the somewhat sluggish

blood of Edgar Atheling.

Both princes resolved to take part in the Holy War. But a serious

obstacle presented itself. Money was necessary, and neither the heir

of the Conqueror nor the heir of the Saxon kings had the means of

defraying their expenses. The difficulty, however, was overcome.

Rufus, who was glad to hear of his brother's wish to leave Europe,

agreed to furnish ten thousand marks on condition of being put in

possession of Normandy for five years; and Curthose, having received

the sum, made his preparations, and set up his white banner

embroidered with gold.

In spite of his faults, few men of that period were more popular than

the Norman duke; and, eager to fight under a chief so brave and

generous, a goodly band of warriors, led by feudal barons of great

name, came around his standard. Aubrey de Vere, Everard Percy, Girard

Gourney, Conan Montacute, Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, and Stephen, Earl of

Albemarle, were among those who attended the Conqueror's heir. Edgar

Atheling, who was on the point of setting out for Scotland to dethrone

Donald Bane, and seat his youthful nephew on the Scottish throne, did

not accompany his friend. But he promised to join Curthose in the Holy

Land, with a host of Saxons, which he was about to lead against the

Scottish usurper.

[Illustration: Church of the Holy Sepulchre Jerusalem]

Meanwhile, Curthose, at the head of his army, and attended by his

chaplain, Arnold de Rohés, made his way eastward, met the pious

Godfrey de Bouillon, and other pilgrim-princes, under the walls of

Constantinople, and, after causing much alarm to the Emperor Alexis,

crossed the Bosphorus, and marched towards Nice.

[Illustration: Curthose and the Saracen]

No sooner was Curthose on Asiatic soil than his valour and prowess

excited general admiration. At the siege of Nice he repelled the

fierce onset of the Sultan's cavalry; at the battle of Dogorgan he

performed prodigies of valour, made the most magnificent charge of the

day, spurring into the midst of the foe, with his banner flying and

his sword flashing, and cutting down three Emirs with his own hand; at

Antioch he led the van of the Crusaders, seized the bridge, defended

by towers masked with iron, and during one of the subsequent

skirmishes when fiercely attacked by a gigantic Saracen, who figured

as chief in command, he cleft him with his battle-axe from crown to

chest.

[Illustration: Pilgrims in sight of Jerusalem.]

"Pagan dog!" exclaimed Curthose, as the Saracen fell lifeless to the

ground; "I devote thy impure soul to the powers of hell."

At Laodicea, Curthose was joined by Edgar Atheling. Faithful to his

promise, the Saxon prince, after seating his nephew on the Scottish

throne, brought the flower of the Saxon race to fight for the Holy

Sepulchre. Side by side, like brothers, Curthose and Atheling marched

to Jerusalem; side by side they fought at the siege of the Holy City;

and side by side, in the hour of victory, they scaled the walls,

Saracens bearing back in terror before the Norman's falchion and the

Saxon's axe.

[Illustration: Godfrey de Bouillon elected King of Jerusalem]

After taking possession of Jerusalem, the Crusaders assembled for the

purpose of electing a king; and it is understood that Curthose might,

if he had chosen, worn the crown of Jerusalem. However, Curthose

declined the high honour, which fell to the lot of Godfrey de

Bouillon; and, after taking part in the battle of Ascalon, where, at

the head of the European cavalry, he broke the Saracens' ranks,

penetrated to their centre, and seized the Moslem standard, he left

the Holy Land, and returned to Europe.

When Curthose was at Palermo, on his way home, Odo of Bayeux breathed

his last. The Norman duke, having buried his uncle in St. Mary's

Church, pursued his way, and found himself quite at home among the

Normans, whose families had been settled by warlike adventurers in

Southern Italy. All these Norman warriors treated the heir of the

great William with high honour; and all their daughters manifested

interest in a hero who had won such fame as a Champion of the Cross.

But of all the Normans of Southern Italy, none showed Curthose so much

hospitality as William, Count of Conversano, a kinsman of the

Guiscards, founders of the Norman dynasty in Naples.

The Count of Conversano was the most powerful lord in Lower Apulia.

His possessions extended along the shores of the Adriatic, from

Otranto to Bari. His castle was situated on an eminence, amid olive

groves, and was replete with all those means for rendering life

pleasant which the feudal system brought into existence. Curthose

thought Conversano a terrestrial paradise, and was delighted with his

host's fine hounds, choice hawks, and mettled steeds; but, above all,

he was delighted, charmed, and fascinated with his host's daughter,

Sybil, who was still in her teens, and as beautiful as she was young.

It could not be concealed that Curthose was verging on fifty, and that

Sybil was just seventeen. But that was no conclusive objection to a

match. In fact, such fame as that of a Crusader, and such rank as Duke

of Normandy, were strong recommendations; so, when Curthose told his

enamoured tale, Sybil smiled on her lover; and, ere long, the daughter

of the Count of Conversano was led to the altar, and became Duchess of

Normandy.

Even after his marriage Curthose found himself too comfortable to

move. Perhaps he was averse to change the splendour of Conversano for

the irksome poverty of Rouen. At all events he lingered in the scene

of his courtship, and among the olive groves on the shores of the

Adriatic wasted months, which, if judiciously spent, might have

secured him a duchy and assured him a crown.

[Illustration: Trieste.]

LIV.

BEAUCLERC AND CURTHOSE.

Among the ministers who enjoyed the favour of Rufus, and ministered to

his tyranny, none had rendered himself more odious to the people of

England than Ralph Flambard, Bishop of Durham, known as "the fighting

bishop," and celebrated as founder of the castle of Norham-on-Tweed.

Immediately on taking possession of the throne, Henry caused Flambard

to be arrested and imprisoned in the Tower. Flambard, however,

contrived to escape; and, passing over to Normandy, he exerted his

eloquence to persuade Curthose to invade England and seize the English

crown.

For some time Curthose, who had just arrived from Italy with his

bride, remained inactive. Indeed, the Norman duke was so much occupied

with showing off Sybil of Conversano, and devising pageants on which

to squander her fortune, that he had no leisure "to play for kingdoms

and crowns." In 1102, however, when the young duchess was dead, and

her money spent, Curthose lent a willing ear to the tempter, roused

himself to energy, made preparations, and embarked for England.

It now appeared that Beauclerc would have to fight desperately for

the throne he had so boldly seized; and, summoning the Saxons, he

marched to Pevensey, where he anticipated his brother would land.

Curthose, however, landed at Portsmouth. But the brothers gradually

approached each other, and a sanguinary conflict appeared inevitable.

Ere Beauclerc and Curthose met, however, the quarrel had been

adjusted. Instead of a bloody battle there was a hurried treaty.

Curthose, who was in want of money, sold what he deemed his birthright

for an annual pension of three thousand marks; and the brothers

embraced with all the semblance of genuine affection.

Returning to Normandy, Curthose scrupulously maintained the treaty.

Nevertheless, to his surprise, he found that his pension was not

regularly paid. Feeling, no doubt, extreme inconvenience from the

circumstance, he paid a visit to England to make arrangements for

regularity in future. But, ere this, the Norman duke had yielded to

the temptation of indulging too frequently in the wine-cup, and, when

at Beauclerc's court, he was often drunk for days together. On such

occasions, of course, nothing was too absurd for him to consent to;

and one night, when intoxicated, he was easily prevailed on to resign

his annual pension in favour of the queen, who was his goddaughter. On

recovering possession of his faculties, and becoming aware of the

advantage taken of him while under the influence of wine, he expressed

high indignation, and, much exasperated, returned to Normandy.

By this time the castle of Rouen was the most miserable of ducal

palaces, and Normandy was the most wretched of duchies. Poverty

reigned in the palace; disorder prevailed in the duchy. While

Curthose, for want of fitting raiment, lay in bed for days, Robert de

Belesme, Earl of Shrewsbury, whom Beauclerc had exiled from England,

ravaged Normandy at his pleasure; and matters soon reached such a

stage that the Norman nobles entreated the King of England to

interfere. Beauclerc, who only wanted an excuse, received their

message with gladness, and, by way of settling affairs, proposed to

purchase the duchy.

"Thou hast the title of lord," he said, addressing Curthose, "but thou

art no longer a lord in reality; for they scorn, who should obey thee.

Yield to me thy duchy, and I will give thee money."

Curthose declined the proposal with disdain; and Beauclerc, having

prepared to take Normandy by force of arms, fitted out an armament,

and soon appeared on continental soil with a determination to conquer.

For a time, however, Beauclerc and Curthose proceeded with caution,

and not till the autumn of 1106 did they put their fortunes to the

chance of a decisive engagement.

It was Friday, the 28th of September--the vigil of St. Michael, and

just forty years after William the Conqueror had landed at Pevensey;

and Beauclerc, with a great army, was besieging the castle of

Tinchebray, situated about three leagues from the town of Mortain.

Curthose, however, having promised speedy relief, the garrison made a

brave defence; and the Norman duke, having allied himself with De

Belesme, came to redeem his pledge, accompanied by Edgar Atheling, who

by his side had fought so gallantly beneath the Cross in Palestine.

On learning that a hostile force was approaching, Beauclerc turned to

give battle; and the trumpets having sounded an onset, Curthose began

the conflict by a charge so hot, that for a time the English were

thrown into confusion. Bearing down all opposition, William Crispin,

Count d'Evreux, fought his way to the English standard, and dealt the

king so violent a blow on the head that blood gushed from his mouth.

Beauclerc, indeed, was in extreme peril, and his army in danger of

being scattered in dismay. At a critical moment, however, a cry of

"Treason!" arose to turn the fortunes of the day; and De Belesme was

observed leading away his men, and basely deserting his allies.

While Curthose and his friends were still under the influence of

surprise and indignation, Beauclerc recovered himself, and, showing

himself to his army, encouraged them by words and gestures to

encounter the foe, weakened by desertion. But meanwhile Curthose,

rallying his broken forces, made another onset; and never in his

younger days, neither on the plain of Antioch nor on the plain of

Archembrage, had his courage and prowess been more conspicuous. Foe

after foe went down before his weapon, and it seemed for a moment that

his single arm was about to retrieve the day.

At Beauclerc's side, however, was Nigel de Albini, a Norman warrior,

who, more than thirty years earlier, marched with the Conqueror on the

terrible expedition into Northumberland, and who had since figured as

bow-bearer to Rufus. For a captain who had faced the tall Danes of

Northumberland even the prowess of the bravest champion of the Cross

had no terrors; and Albini followed Curthose through the battle as

keenly as he had ever chased a stag in the New Forest. At length,

availing himself of an opportunity, he killed the duke's horse, and

found the redoubted Crusader at his mercy. At that moment forward

rushed Ealdric, the king's chaplain, by whom Curthose was disentangled

from his prostrate steed, and conducted to his victorious brother.

With Curthose were captured several men of high rank, the most

distinguished of whom was his friend Edgar Atheling, who, by some

strange destiny, was ever leagued with the unfortunate.

The captive princes were forthwith conveyed to England. Curthose was

committed as a prisoner to the castle at Cardiff. Atheling was allowed

to go at large, having no longer sufficient influence to endanger the

king's throne. The captors, meanwhile, were well rewarded--Nigel de

Albini having a grant of the lands forfeited by the great Robert de

Moubray; while Ealdric, the king's chaplain, was promoted to the

bishopric of Llandaff.

At first Curthose was indulged with some measure of freedom, and

allowed to walk along the banks of the Severn. For a time he seemed

content with his lot. One day, however, his old spirit of adventure

seized him, and, leaping on a horse, he broke from his keepers, and

rode off at full speed. Unfortunately for him, his horse floundered in

a morass, and having been secured, he was subjected to a rigorous

durance. Some even say his eyes were put out. But, however that may

have been, he remained in his prison at Cardiff till 1135, and then

dying, was laid at rest in the cathedral of Gloucester, where his tomb

is still to be seen.

Edgar Atheling long survived his comrade-in-arms. Indeed, the life of

the Saxon prince far exceeded the term of years ordinarily allotted to

mortal man. Well-nigh a century after the battle of Hastings, and his

coronation as king, when the first of our Plantagenet sovereigns was

on the English throne, Atheling was still alive in England, in full

possession of his faculties, and probably telling old stories of the

Norman Conquest, and the First Crusade, and of William the Norman, and

Rufus, and Curthose, and Beauclerc, and a hundred other warriors and

statesmen who had gone the way of all flesh, and who were known only

by name to the generation amid which he found himself lingering out

the last years of his strange and diversified career.

[Illustration]

LV.

[Illustration: English Archers.]

AFTER TINCHEBRAY.

When Curthose was defeated at Tinchebray and carried captive to the

castle of Cardiff, the son whom he had been left by Sybil of

Conversano was a little boy, known as William Clito. Not relishing the

spectacle of so ambitious a prince as Henry Beauclerc figuring at once

as King of England and Duke of Normandy, Louis, King of France--he

who, in his earlier years, had quarrelled with the Conqueror's sons

over their game of chess at Conflans--supported the pretensions of the

son of Robert, and formed a league, with the object of putting him in

possession of the duchy which Rolfganger had wrested from Charles the

Simple. This, however, proved a much more difficult matter than Louis

had anticipated. In fact, Beauclerc exerted himself with such effect

that all efforts to diminish his power proved vain; and when, in 1132,

William Clito, who had been invested with the earldom of Flanders,

died of a wound received while besieging Alost, Louis gave up the

struggle in despair.

Meanwhile, Beauclerc had not improved his reputation in the country

where he reigned as king. He had been faithless at once to the Saxon

people who had placed him on the throne, and to the Saxon princess

who, for the sake of her race, had, somewhat against her inclination,

united her fate with his. Every promise made to the English had been

so unscrupulously violated, that they began to speak of royalty as

synonymous with crime; and Maude died with the melancholy reflection

that she had sacrificed herself for her race in vain.

Ere "the good queen" was laid at rest in the cathedral of Winchester,

she made Henry father of two children--a son, William Atheling, who

married a daughter of the Count of Anjou, and a daughter, Matilda,

wife of Henry, Emperor of Germany. The son, however, was drowned while

on his voyage from Normandy in a vessel called _The White Ship_; and

the daughter, on the death of her imperial husband, returned to

England a young and beautiful widow.

About that time, Fulke, Count of Anjou, bowed down with grief at the

loss of his wife, undertook a pilgrimage to Jerusalem to seek

consolation at the Holy Sepulchre. Before going, Fulke gave Anjou to

his eldest son, Geoffrey, who, from wearing a sprig of flowering broom

in his hat instead of a feather, was surnamed Plantagenet. Being an

accomplished and handsome prince, Geoffrey Plantagenet had the good

fortune to secure the friendship of Henry Beauclerc and the hand of

the Empress Matilda, who was expected to succeed, on her father's

death, to the crown of England and the coronal of Normandy.

It was, however, otherwise ordered. When, in 1135, Henry Beauclerc,

having eaten lampreys to excess--such is the story--breathed his last

in Normandy, his martial nephew, Stephen of Bouillon, claimed the

English crown, and seated himself on the throne. But Matilda was not

the woman to submit tamely to exclusion under such circumstances; and

a war of succession between her and Stephen was the consequence. A

long and sanguinary struggle resulted, and continued, with varying

success, till 1153, when it was agreed, by the treaty of Wallingford,

that Stephen should be allowed to reign during his life, on condition

of recognising young Henry Plantagenet, the son of Geoffrey and

Matilda, as his heir. Next year, on the death of Stephen, Henry, who,

by his marriage with Eleanor of Aquitaine, had extended his

continental dominions from the Channel to the Pyrenees, was crowned

King of England in the cathedral of Winchester. From the first he

seems to have been in high favour with the nation. In fact, the

people, remembering that he derived his descent, through his

grandmother, "the good queen Maude," from the ancient monarchs of

England, called him "the Saxon king," described him as the natural foe

of the Norman nobles, and believed him favourable to such a system of

laws as popular tradition ascribed to Edward the Confessor.

But the day for the rise of the vanquished race had not yet come. Nor

was it, indeed, till more than a century later, when Simon de Montfort

had fallen at Evesham, and the third Henry had gone to his grave, that

the monarchy of the Plantagenets, having passed through that terrible

struggle celebrated as the Barons' War, was enabled to emancipate

itself, in some measure, from the trammels of feudalism, and associate

its fortunes with the nation. It was then that the first Edward,

already famous as the conqueror of Evesham, returned from romantic

adventures and hair-breadth escapes in the East to rule England with

justice and righteousness--to give prosperity to the country and

protection to the people--to win, by his admirable laws, the title of

the English Justinian; and, by his profound and patriotic policy, to

unite hostile races into a nation capable of great achievements in war

and peace.

THE END.

LONDON:

SAVILL AND EDWARDS, PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET,

COVENT GARDEN.

End of Project Gutenberg's Danes, Saxons and Normans, by John G. Edgar