William the Second
WILLIAM RUFUS, or the Red, as he was called from his florid complexion, was favoured by a concurrence of circumstances in his attempt upon the English crown. The indolence of his elder brother, Duke Robert, his own personal activity, and the custom of the land, which made the throne in a great measure elective, all tended to facilitate his enterprise; and when he made his appearance in England, supported by his father's recommendatory letter to Lanfranc, he met with little difficulty in attaining the prize of royalty, and in three weeks from his father's death, the crown was placed upon his head. Robert, however, though in his usual spirit of tardiness he had thus allowed his brother to get the start of him, was persuaded by his friends to claim the throne as his right, and Odo, the most active of these advisers, lost no time in raising up a party to support his pretensions. With this view he had sailed at once to England, leaving Robert behind in Normandy, to collect what forces he could, and follow as soon as possible. Many of the Norman barons joined Odo without hesitation, but this was far from advancing the cause of Robert with the English, who were only too glad to get a king unconnected with hated Normandy.
Hence they listened readily to the promises of William, and flocked from all sides to his banners, and the rather that they had thus an opportunity of avenging themselves upon a large portion of their oppressors. If anything had been wanted to strengthen this very natural feeling, it was to have been found in the conduct of Odo's associates, who having fortified their castles, issued forth from them as occasion served, like wolves from their dens, to ravage and lay waste the neighbouring country. Acts like these bound the Anglo-Saxons strongly to the cause of William, and powerful as the faction was, he was enabled by their help to defeat its utmost efforts, driving Odo and many of his adherents to take refuge in Pevensey, where he awaited with impatience the coming of Duke Robert. Thither the king pursued him without delay, and after a six weeks' siege compelled him to surrender, life and liberty being granted to him upon condition that he should give up Rochester Castle, which he had entrusted to the care of Eustace, Earl of Boulogne, with a garrison of five hundred knights. This agreement he subsequently attempted to evade, but the king was again successful. Pestilence thinned the ranks of the besieged, and they were only too glad to obtain their lives at the hands of the conqueror, a boon which was extorted from him with no little difficulty by the Norman lords in his service. Odo slunk away pursued by the execrations of the English, who, as he ran the gauntlet of their ranks, muttered in his ears the ominous word of" halter and gallows." Duke Robert had thus lost by his own indolence all chance of possessing himself of the throne of England, and a peace was shortly afterwards concluded between the two brothers under the mediation of the French monarch. Here again the policy of William triumphed over his credulous adversary; he retained possession of the castles he had conquered in Normandy, stipulated that Edgar the Etheling should be divested of his estates, and persuaded Robert to assist in driving out of the land their brother Henry, of whose talents they both were jealous.
The siege of St. Michel, the last stronghold of this young prince, was distinguished by an event, on which the old chroniclers have dwelt with peculiar delight, as illustrative of the high chivalric feelings of the Red King. By some accident he was alone one day, when he saw at a distance a small party of knights, belonging to the hostile faction. Without hesitation he charged them, but in the shock was beaten from the saddle, and, unable to extricate his foot from the stirrup, he was dragged along for some time by his horse that had been wounded and was rendered ungovernable by the pain. In the moment of his release from this peril, one of his adversaries came up with him and had his sword raised to despatch him, when the fallen monarch exclaimed, "Hold, fellow; I am the King of England." And by this declaration the knights raised him from the ground and helped him to a fresh horse. "Which of you was it," demanded the king, as he vaulted into the saddle, "which of you was it that struck me down ?" The man came forward, and, confessing the deed, apologised for it on the score of his not having known the royal person. "Make no excuses," replied the chivalrous monarch, "you are a brave and worthy knight; henceforth you shall fight under my banner." It is a pity that such a character should have been tarnished by the meanness of duplicity and falsehood. But when Robert claimed the fulfilment of his solemn promises, he persisted in his evasions, till the latter despatched his heralds to England, to renounce his friendship and declare him a false and perjured knight. Stung by this charge, so openly made in the presence of his own court, William passed over into Normandy, to defend his honour before the barons who had witnessed the treaty, and were bound by oath to see it punctually fulfilled. These were twenty-four in number, twelve having been chosen by either side, and all, as the result proved, resolved to give an impartial judgement, even though it should be in favour of the weaker party. Their decision proved in favour of Robert, who was clearly in the right, when William, disregarding every feeling of equity, appealed from the judgement he bad courted to the sword. If, however, he was deficient in honour, he was by no means so in military talent, and success attended him in the field, till the French king was induced to throw his weight into the opposite scale. Finding himself thus overmatched he had recourse to his usual expedient of bribery, and purchased the retreat of Philip with the sum of ten thousand pounds, ingeniously extracted from his soldiers. He had obtained in England a levy of twenty thousand men, but when they were drawn up on the beach for the purpose of embarkation, he issued orders that each should pay down ten shillings for the royal use, and march back home again. In truth, their aid was not needed when the French king had withdrawn his aid, and so little was Robert to be feared, thus left to fight his own battles single-handed, that William returned to England.
It was about this period that the spirit of the Crusades, which had seemed to slumber for awhile, woke again with renewed vigour. The emperor of Constantinople trembled for his city; the patriarch of Jerusalem was impatient under the Mahommedan yoke; and both, by letter, urged Pope Urban the Second, who then filled the papal chair, to rouse Europe to their assistance. To these demands the Pope lent a willing ear; in the council of Cleremont he proposed a fresh crusade for the recovery of the Holy Land, and though the attempt must in any case be attended with the slaughter of thousands, the proposal was received by the whole assembly as an immediate inspiration from heaven itself. The high and chivalrous spirit of Duke Robert was excited by the enthusiasm that was leading away so many others. He burned to join the ranks of the crusaders, but not having the means of appearing in a manner corresponding with his rank, he had recourse to his brother, and offered to sell him the government of his dominions during five years for the sum of ten thousand marks. This bargain was too tempting to be refused by the politic and ambitious William, yet he found the means of gratifying his insatiable appetite for power without paying for it from his own resources, a drawback that would have materially diminished his satisfaction. Calling together a great council, he laid before them the duke's brilliant offer, and, pleading his own poverty, appealed to their generosity for assistance. The barons of course were duly sensible of the king's difficulty, but, being to the full as prudent as they were loyal, they in turn appealed, though in a more peremptory style, to their tenants, who had no means of evading a compliance with the will of their masters, under whatever name it might come disguised, and thus in reality the required sum was extorted from the people.
William lost no time in taking possession of his purchase. By the Normans he was received, if not with good will, yet at least without opposition. Not so the Manceaux, whose fealty had been claimed by Robert upon very weak grounds, and who had only been brought by. conquest under his subjection. They re fused to be thus sold and disposed of by one whose authority they had never willingly allowed, and now rejected the new claim ant in favour of Helie de la Fleche, the nephew of the last earl, Herbert. Unfortunately for this youthful aspirant, he was made prisoner by Robert Talavau, while riding abroad one day with a small retinue, totally inadequate to compete with those who had thus surprised him, and although his liege lord, Falk, hastened to the assistance of his vassal in this dilemma, he was at last glad to obtain his liberty by yielding up his rights.
He would then fain have entered into the service of William, but being rejected, he is said to have indignantly exclaimed, "If you will not have me for a friend, you shall learn to fear me as an enemy." - "Knave!" replied William, to whose heart fear was a stranger; "I give you leave to do all that you can; and by the face of St. Luke, if you should conquer me, I will ask nothing of you for this lenity."
Helie kept his word. The next summer he defeated the Normans and surprised Mans, the inhabitants of which city acknowledged him for earl, and the garrison, being closely besieged in the castle, was soon reduced to extremities. Tidings of these events were brought to the king while hunting in the New Forest. Without waiting to collect his troops, or indeed to make. the slightest preparation, he rode off to the sea-shore, exclaiming to those about him, "Let those that love me follow." A heavy gale was blowing at the time, but to the remonstrances of the mariners who pointed out the danger of the passage at such a season, he only replied in the same spirit that had been shown by Caesar many centuries before," Hold thy peace; kings are never drowned." The next day he landed at Barfleur, and so speedy was. his advance, that Helie had scarcely time to save himself by a speedy flight, when, having ravaged the hostile lands after the usual fashion of all conquerors, he returned to England.
While pursuing the train of these events, we have been kept from noticing the affairs of England, in relation to the neighbouring country of Scotland. Malcolm. had taken advantage of the feud between the two brothers, to make his customary inroads, regardless of treaties, or of any thing except the favourable opportunity of plunder. But when the king had again got his hands free, by a reconciliation with the duke, the face of matters was speedily changed. He advanced into Scotland, and though his fleet was dispersed in a storm, his cavalry traversed the Lothians, while the Scots retreated, if they did not fly, before him, till they seemed inclined to make a final stand on the banks of the great river, which they designated as "the water." By the mediation of Robert, a hollow peace was patched up between the belligerents, Malcolm submitting to do homage to the English king, and to render him the same services he had before rendered to the Conqueror. In requital, William gave the Scot twelve manors, and a yearly pension of twelve marks of gold, being in fact no more than he had previously enjoyed from the liberality or the prudence of his father. Edgar the Etheling also had his share of benefit from this convention. He was allowed to revisit England, and by his judicious conduct soon obtained a place of distinction in the court of William.
It was not long before a fresh cause of quarrel arose between the monarchs. In pursuance of his father's policy, the English king had long been in the habit of possessing himself of the strongholds in his kingdom, and it now chanced that Carlisle attracted his attention, which was then held by one of his powerful barons. Him he expelled, and, having peopled the city with a colony of Englishmen from the southern districts, he built a castle for their protection, much to the indignation of Malcolm, who saw in this new fortress an effectual check upon his future inroads. A quarrel arose; the Scottish king was summoned to attend his feudal lord at Gloucester, but when, in obedience to this order, he arrived there, he found himself forbidden the royal presence, till such time as he would consent to plead his cause before the English barons, and abide by their judgement. This demand, though strictly in accordance with feudal custom, was indignantly rejected by the Scotch king. Returning with all speed to his own country, he collected his retainers, and burst with fire and sword into Northumberland, where the Scotch army was surprised, and he himself, as well as his son Edward, perished in the conflict that ensued. So complete was the route that few escaped from the field, and of those the greater part was drowned in the Alme and the Tweed. William thus acquired the power, if not the right, of interfering in the internal affairs of Scotland, and, with his aid the Etheling placed his nephew Edgar on the throne, and restored to their former honours the children of his sister Margaret.
In his attacks upon the liberty of the Welshmen, the English king was much less fortunate. The rugged nature of the country set the Norman cavalry at defiance, and after two campaigns, from which he derived little honour and less profit, lie was fain to content himself with drawing a line of defensive fortresses about the land he was unable to subdue.
Nor was William free from molestation on the part of his barons. They had been kept under by the strong hand of the Conqueror, and the present king was by no means wanting to himself in following out the sagacious example of his father; but the barons were too powerful and too fond of arms to remain quiet for long together. It is true that in the end they were invariably defeated, yet the defeat of one was seldom found to operate as an adequate warning to others, and hence this reign resembles in many of its leading points the preceding one, although with infinitely diminished lustre. Like his father, William was greedy of wealth, and as one mode of gratifying this passion he laid claims to all the vacant prelacies as fiefs escheated to the crown. No sooner was a rich incumbent dead than he took possession of the church's property, which he sold to the highest bidder, or retained for years in his own hands, appropriating to himself the annual revenue. In vain the clergy protested against this encroachment upon their rights; their voices were feeble when opposed to avarice and power united, till at last the king fell dangerously ill, and the probable approach of death began to fill him with a very natural disquietude. He invited to the side of his sick bed the celebrated Anselm, and moved by his own fears no less than the prayers of the venerable man he promised a thorough change of conduct in the event of his recovery. He would repair the wrongs he had done, so far at least as lay in his power, he would restore the church's property, he would forgive all offences committed against himself, and for the future lie would rule like a just and upright monarch. But alas for the old proverb: "When the devil was sick, the devil a monk would be; When the devil got well, the devil a monk was he."
William recovered and speedily forgot all his fine promises. His court became more and more licentious every day, and he even refused to marry that he might indulge his passions with less restraint. What was yet worse for his future fame he again became embroiled with the church, which in those days had the monopoly of historical record, and seemed to employ two different coloured inks, into which it dipt its pen according to the greater or less degree of devotion in the person to be described. Yet making every allowance for the exaggeration which is always unavoidable when the injured party can tell his tale without any fear of reply, it must still be admitted that his aggressions upon the property of his clergy did him little credit, although few at this time of day will feel inclined to censure him for his resolute refusal to acknowledge the papal authority within his dominions. To the honour of the clergy it should be added that few of them were inclined to side with their metropolitan, Anselm, in his scheme to raise the papal power above that of the king to whom they had sworn allegiance. As a last resource, the defeated prelate had recourse to Rome, but the time was not yet come when an English archbishop could place his foot on the neck of his king by the help of a Roman pontiff. So little regard did William pay to his threats, that be allowed him to set out upon his pilgrimage of rebellion, and then sequestered all his lands and property, a striking instance of the religious independence of that period, as contrasted with the story of some succeeding reigns. In fact the contest between the church and monarchy had only just commenced. Men's minds were not as yet prepared to receive the doctrines of passive obedience to the hierarchy, though in the end the superior craft as well as knowledge of the priesthood enabled it to enlist the ignorant people on their side, and thus for many years subdue the wisest and boldest monarchs to their authority.
The end of William's career was now fast approaching. It is said by the old chroniclers that rumours of some violent catastrophe had long been rife among the people, and if the tale be really true, we may with good reason infer a foregone intention of evil, which must have emanated from some fanatics or from some one among the discontented Norman nobles. The people at large had little reason to complain of William, according to the notions of monarchy then existing. A single fact would lead to the suspicion that the assassination was plotted by the clergy, or, to limit the accusation within reasonable bounds, to one or more of their body, who from interest or fanaticism would be most hostile to the king's life. The event alluded to is this. Before sunrise on the first of August Fitz Hamen entered his chamber, and related to him the vision of a foreign monk, which was interpreted into a presage of calamity to himself personally. He endeavoured to laugh it off, saying, "The dreamer was a monk, and for the sake of money had dreamed like a monk. Give him a hundred shillings." But notwithstanding this show of indifference, it was evident the tale had made a deep impression upon his mind. He gave up his intended hunting for the day, devoted the morning to business, and at dinner endeavoured to drown all recollection of the ominous story by a free indulgence in the pleasures of the table. The wine did its usual good office; his spirits rose, and he went out into the New Forest to hunt as usual, and about sunset was found by his attendants weltering in his blood. How was it that the king chanced to be thus deserted by all his followers, and who was it that shot the fatal arrow? It was said at the time, and has since been repeated by some credulous historians, that an arrow shot from . the bow of Walter Tyrrel, a French knight, glanced from a tree and pierced his breast. But this glancing arrow is in itself no very probable tale, and it is rendered yet more doubtful by the subsequent denial of Tyrrel at a time when he had nothing to hope or fear from confession. He solemnly affirmed upon oath that he had never seen the king on the day of his death, nor entered that part of the forest in which lie fell, and while we can see no cause for such an affirmation unless it were true, we can easily understand why the real assassins should lay the deed to the accidental fault of one who on that very day had chanced to leave the country.
Thus fell William Rufus after a reign of twelve years; the vengeance of the priesthood followed him even beyond this life, for though they could not well refuse a grave to their monarch in Winchester cathedral, they chose to mark their unrelenting enmity by denying his obsequies the usual religious rites. The heathen poet has said, "Let the earth cover and protect its dead ;" the divine command enjoins universal charity and forgiveness; the priests of those days wrote their undying vindictiveness on the tomb itself.