Matilda’s support for her eldest son’s rebellion had torn the ducal family apart. Suddenly, one of the most powerful dynasties in the world looked fragile and vulnerable. The system of government that had served William so well ever since his conquest of England had utterly broken down. He could now no longer rely upon either his wife or his eldest son to take care of his dominions during his frequent absences. As well as constituting an immediate crisis, this void also had far-reaching consequences for the succession.

Moreover, the contagion within the ducal family had spread throughout Normandy, bringing it to the brink of civil war. Some of the leading families of the Norman aristocracy were divided by the quarrel, with members of the younger generation supporting Robert and the older members remaining loyal to his father. Worse still, the turmoil had coincided with a time when rival potentates were once again beginning to threaten Normandy’s borders, notably King Philip of France and the duke of Anjou. William’s alliance with the former was by no means a guarantee of loyalty: medieval rulers were notoriously capricious in their dealings with each other, and alliances often proved all too fleeting.

For Matilda, the crisis was deepened by news from her homeland. Her mother, Adela, died on January 8, 1079, at Messines, the abbey that she had founded in 1057.¹ Twelve years before, in the wake of her husband’s death, Adela had traveled to Rome and taken the nun’s veil from the hands of Pope Alexander II, residing at the abbey ever since. Indeed, such was her reputation for piety that she was later honored as a saint by the Roman Catholic Church.

The cause of Adela’s death is not known, but she would then have been around seventy years old, which was an advanced age for the time. Beyond the influence that Adela exerted upon her upbringing and piety, little is known of Matilda’s relationship with her mother. But the reference by Orderic to Matilda’s being “overwhelmed with grief” at the thought of Adela’s bereavement when her husband, Count Baldwin, died in 1071 suggests a degree of affection.² There is no record of Matilda’s reaction upon hearing the news of her mother’s death, but coming at such a time, it must have aggravated her already troubled state of mind. She who had been famed for her serene and dignified bearing was now so distraught that she “choked on her words because of her tears.”³

Regardless of the role that she had played in the rift, Matilda was determined to reunite her warring husband and son and thereby reclaim her former position in the powerful family corporation that had ruled its dominions so effectively for more than two decades. She was assisted by a host of high-profile figures, both within Normandy and overseas. They included the former Count Simon of Amiens, Valois, and the Vexin. He was well known to Matilda, having been raised with her elder sons at the ducal court and apparently intended by William for one of her daughters. Even though Simon had given up the political arena two years earlier to become a monk, his biographer records that he held “sweet talks” with both William and Matilda, which suggests that he was as much a mediator between the couple as between the duke and his son.⁴

Matilda’s old adviser, Roger de Montgomery, also intervened in the quarrel, and even Pope Gregory VII tried to bring his influence to bear, urging Robert to “wholly banish the counsels of wicked men and in all things agree to the will of your father.”⁵ Both of these men were on close terms with Matilda, so it was almost certainly at her request that they endeavored to persuade her husband to relent. Unlikely though it seems, she may also have enlisted the support of her nephew, Philip of France, whom Orderic claims sent representatives to join in the entreaties.⁶ Of course, the very fact that Matilda was forced to rely upon intermediaries proves the degree to which her own influence over her husband had diminished. They might have resumed cordial relations on the surface, but the memory of her betrayal was still fresh in William’s mind. Nonetheless, it was almost certainly through her pacifying influence that the two men were eventually brought to terms. As Orderic observes: “The queen and representatives of the king of France, with noble neighbours and friends, all combined to restore peace.”⁷

The occasion of the formal reconciliation between William and Robert was a great assembly held at Rouen in early April 1080.⁸ The court had gathered for the traditional Easter celebrations, and as well as a host of Norman magnates, there were also important guests from overseas, including envoys from the Pope. It was an ideal opportunity to send a message to the world that the unity and power of the Norman dynasty had been restored.

The assembled dignitaries were sufficiently convinced of the sincerity of the truce. Pope Gregory’s envoys reported back to their master that the rebellion was at an end, and the pontiff subsequently wrote a letter to Robert reminding him of his filial duty.⁹Naturally, it was a carefully stage-managed production, and beneath the apparent cordiality, the old resentments continued to simmer. The duke had only grudgingly agreed to pardon his son. Moreover, Robert would not have returned to Normandy if it had not been for the assurance that he would be restored to his status as heir to the province. William honored this promise, although he must have shuddered at the thought of this upstart’s succeeding him one day.

Indeed, after the charade of the ceremony, William “continually poured abuse and reproach on him [Robert] in public for his failings” and missed no opportunity to humiliate and provoke him.¹⁰ The reconciliation seemed more likely to be a temporary cease-fire than a lasting peace. As Orderic Vitalis observed, the “fiendish dispute” was far from over, and it would give rise to “many battles and outrages later.”¹¹

Robert is next recorded to have been with his family on July 14, 1080, when he and his father were among the witnesses to a charter at Caen. It was also around this time that another opportunity to present a united front arose. Matilda’s youngest daughter, Adela, was to marry Stephen, the son and heir of Theobald III, the count of Blois.¹² Blois had for many years proved a hostile region, so the match provided Normandy with a valuable ally who could help to offset the threat posed by the other northern French territories. A formal ceremony of betrothal took place with due pomp at Breteuil, in southwest Normandy, attended by all the ducal family.¹³ The choice of location was significant not just because of its proximity to Blois, but because the castellan of Breteuil had been one of Robert’s supporters. This was intended as a clear signal that the rebellion was over.

Toward the end of 1080, William set sail for England—his first visit in four years. It is a telling indication of his changed feelings toward Matilda that rather than entrust her with the regency, as he had on numerous other occasions, he took both her and their eldest son with him. Although this had the happy side effect of demonstrating family unity, it is likely that the stronger motive was to keep them both firmly under his control. The records do not reveal whom William left in charge of Normandy; it is possible that he conferred that honor upon his favorite son, Rufus. If this was so, then it must surely have rankled with both Matilda and Robert.

The visit began with the usual ceremonials that accompanied the Christmas season, which the royal family celebrated at Gloucester. Matilda and her son then accompanied William to Winchester for the Easter and Whitsun crown-wearings the following year.

During Matilda’s sojourn in England, Queen Margaret of Scotland, who had attended her coronation twelve years before, gave birth to a daughter, Edith (who was later known as Matilda). Out of respect for the English queen, Margaret asked Matilda to be a godparent, along with her son Robert, and invited them both to the christening. William might have wished to accompany them, but his attention was required in other parts of his vast domain, and he seems to have judged that the pair could be trusted to make the journey without him. Besides, it suited him to have his eldest son in Scotland. The ever-troublesome King Malcolm III had invaded England the previous year, and William was keen to ensure his loyalty, particularly as a rebellion in Northumbria in the spring of 1080 had seriously weakened the nobility there. The presence of a royal heir in Scotland was intended to instill peace on William’s behalf.

Matilda and her son duly attended the baptism. Legend has it that during the ceremony, the infant Edith grabbed at Matilda’s veil and tried to pull it toward her own head. This was said to have been taken as an omen by those present, although it was possibly a later embellishment, written with the wisdom of hindsight, for Edith would one day follow in her godmother’s footsteps and become a formidable queen consort of England.¹⁴

It is not clear how long Matilda stayed in England. Her visit took place during a period that is very sparsely covered by the chroniclers, presumably because the situation was relatively peaceful in both England and Normandy. We do know that William held his Pentecost court at Winchester in 1081, and since all of his sons were present, it is likely that Matilda was, too. The charter evidence suggests that the king returned to Normandy that autumn, accompanied by Matilda and their eldest son.¹⁵

They were certainly back in the duchy before the end of 1081, when Matilda visited the abbey of Évroul in Bayeux. She was “received with honour” by the monks, and it was noted that she behaved with great humility throughout her stay. After placing a gold mark on the altar, the duchess asked to be remembered in their prayers, together with her daughter Constance. It is not clear why she chose to single out this daughter for their devotions. It may indicate that she was the only one still under Matilda’s care. Adeliza had died in the late 1070s, and the evidence suggests that the daughter who was named after Matilda might also have died young.¹⁶ Meanwhile, Cecilia was flourishing at La Trinité, and Adela might also have been there during this time. There is no evidence of any matrimonial or other schemes for Constance, which may suggest that she was a favorite of Matilda, who wished to enjoy her company for as long as possible.

Perhaps Matilda was feeling penitential for the part that she had played in her son’s rebellion, for she made a number of pious bequests at around the same time. For example, she gave the income from the village of Brixton Deverill in Wiltshire to the abbey of Le Bec. She also granted the village of Frampton in Dorset to her husband’s abbey, St.-Étienne in Caen.¹⁷ The queen also maintained a strong interest in her original commission of La Trinité. The archives there include numerous bequests, which show her to have been extraordinarily assiduous in her care of the nuns. They include a grant of wool and precious fabrics, a tithe on wool to pay for their heating and clothes, and another tithe to fund the lighting of their chambers. The nuns must have been among the best fed in any religious house throughout William and Matilda’s domains, for many of the bequests concerned their diet. There was a grant of plowlands and mills to supply bread and grain, regular gifts of “animals, bacon and cheeses” from England, and the establishment of an annual fair, the profits of which were to supply even more delicacies for the nuns’ table.¹⁸ It has been estimated that the total value of Matilda’s donations to La Trinité, excluding the English estates that she gave the abbey, was equivalent to around £650,000 in modern terms.¹⁹

The following year, 1082, Matilda and her husband visited William’s half-brother Odo at Grestain. This was the place where their mother, Herleva, was buried, and out of respect for her, they decided to build an abbey there. The fact that it was more than thirty years since her death suggests that both sons had a true and abiding affection for her.

There was, however, a subtext to the meeting, for William was concerned by the power that Odo had accumulated as regent of England. He was immensely rich, thanks in no small part to the fact that he had plundered the wealth of his adopted country, and he had built up a strong personal following, which could easily have posed a serious threat to the king’s authority. Indeed, he was even rumored to have supported Robert in his rebellion. While Odo was also fiercely ambitious, though, his aim was not the crown. Despite showing a blatant disregard for his vows as an archbishop by fathering children, he had his eye on the greatest church office of all: that of pope.

At his meeting with Odo, which Matilda presumably attended, William expressly forbade him to pursue the papacy. Not only would it take him away from England, where his presence was now necessary during the king’s absences, but it would also place him in a position of such power that he would no longer be subject to his half-brother’s authority. It is a measure of Odo’s arrogance that he promptly disregarded William’s injunction and prepared to embark for Rome. The duke was one step ahead of him, however, and had Odo arrested as he was about to set sail. He was imprisoned in the Tower of Rouen, where he would remain for the rest of William’s reign.

The ruthlessness that William displayed in dealing with his half-brother again highlights just how fortunate Matilda and her eldest son had been. Odo’s fate proved that William had no qualms about punishing members of his family just as harshly as he might do an ordinary miscreant. Matilda and Robert had committed a far greater treachery than Odo; although he had overreached himself by setting his sights on the great prize of the papacy, and had flouted William’s orders in the process, he had not tried to usurp his half-brother’s own position. If it had not been for the love and admiration that the duke felt for Matilda, and to an extent her own skillful manipulation of such fondness, she and her son might well have met a terrible fate.

Throughout this time, Robert Curthose had remained part of his parents’ entourage. However, the veneer of unity had now begun to fracture once more. William continued to scoff at his son in public, tormenting him with petty humiliations, and in turn Robert again began to treat William with contempt. Father and son are last recorded as being together at Caen on July 18, 1083, along with Matilda.²⁰ It seems that, frustrated with being kept under close scrutiny as part of William’s entourage, Robert left court soon after. Although he attested another charter with his father on January 9, 1084, this seems to have been a fleeting return, and he subsequently disappears from the records.²¹ In self-imposed exile, he was this time accompanied by a much-reduced band of followers. Although Robert had come close to victory at Gerberoy, William had reasserted his authority so effectively that few believed his son to have any real credibility any longer as an opponent.

Matilda’s health must have begun to seriously deteriorate shortly after that last meeting with her husband and beloved son at Caen in July 1083, for she would never leave that city. The fear and stress caused by the collapse of William and Robert’s rapprochement may have hastened her decline—contemporaries certainly believed this to be the case. Another theory is that Matilda fell victim to the plague, which had struck Normandy and was particularly prevalent in Caen.²² She was now about fifty-two years old—an advanced age at a time when most women died in their thirties. Although she seems to have been of a robust constitution, and had no recorded illnesses, the years of childbearing, travel, and the tumultuous travails of state must have taken their toll.

Orderic claims that Matilda had in fact fallen grievously sick the previous year, at about the time when she and William met Odo at Grestain.²³ This is supported by one of the charters to which she bore witness. Around 1156, her great-grandson restored to St.-Étienne the village of Northam in Devon, which he said had been originally granted to the abbey by Matilda “in her last illness.” The charter to which this refers is not dated, but it is likely to have been compiled in around 1082.²⁴ It was also around this time that Matilda’s ecclesiastical endowments increased, perhaps in an attempt to secure eternal salvation. In 1082, she granted the manors of Felsted in Essex and Tarrant Launceston in Dorset to La Trinité in order to provide the nuns with money for wardrobes and firewood. Out of respect for her husband, she also made bequests to three churches in Falaise, the place of his birth.

More conclusive evidence that Matilda knew she was dying in 1082 was the fact that she almost certainly drew up her will in that year. The document survives in the registry of La Trinité, along with an inventory of Matilda’s wardrobe and jewels. It is a disappointingly neutral list, with no touching bequests for her loved ones and precious few references to personal belongings that would provide a clue as to what Matilda held dear. She was returning to that typical businesslike approach she had taken toward all affairs of state throughout her reign as duchess and queen. In the carefully crafted piece of statesmanship, she maintained the appearance of a dutiful wife to the last, stressing, “I have made all … bequests with the consent of my husband.”

The contents of the will also functioned to reiterate Matilda’s public image of benevolence and piety. For instance, she left the contents of her chamber, including her crown and scepter and many other precious objects, to her abbey at La Trinité, where she wished to be buried. The bequests give a further clue to the lavish style in which she must have lived, for they included a fine chasuble made by an English noblewoman at Winchester, “a cloak worked in gold from her chamber which is to be used to make a cope, two gold chains each with a cross, one chain with carved decorations for hanging a lamp in front of the altar, candlesticks made at Saint-Lô … a chalice and vestment made in England, with all a horse’s accoutrements and all her vases, with the exception of those given away during her lifetime.” The trappings for the horses stand out as a peculiar item amongst the rich regalia. It is possible that the nuns of La Trinité had asked Matilda to make this bequest, knowing that they would be useful for the abbess or prioress during visits away from the abbey. Or perhaps they were meant to signal the peripatetic life that Matilda had led as queen and duchess.

The abbey was also granted some property owned by the queen, including the town of Quettehou in Normandy and two houses in England.²⁵ Lastly, she gave generously to the poor, which seemed to inspire her husband, a witness to her last bequests, to do the same upon his own death four years later.

However, the fact that the lion’s share of Matilda’s possessions went to her abbey in Caen could indicate that she was influenced not just by a desire for eternal salvation, but also by consideration for her daughter Cecilia, who was now in her mid-twenties and had completed seventeen years’ service at the abbey. She was no doubt already of some standing in the hierarchy of La Trinité, and she would go on to achieve a highly successful career there.

With this in mind, then, it could be said that the will to some extent reflected Matilda’s character. Functional and businesslike, it displayed her cool grip of statecraft and the importance of a benevolent public image, but it also contained a hint of that underlying, and at times destructive, tenderness toward her family.

The long interim between the will and Matilda’s death suggests that the decline was a lingering one. By the onset of winter 1083, she was gravely ill, and in the early hours of November 2, “growing apprehensive because her illness persisted, she confessed her sins with bitter tears and, after fully accomplishing all that Christian custom requires and being fortified by the saving sacrament, she died.”²⁶ William stayed with her throughout. He was consumed with grief at the death of the woman whom he confessed to love “as my own soul,” and was said to have wept profusely for many days afterward.²⁷

Despite its often turbulent nature, William and Matilda’s marriage had been one of the most successful partnerships in medieval Europe. Matilda had been instrumental to her husband’s success. His mainstay for more than thirty years, she had been one of his most valued advisers, had proved a wise and capable ruler during his long absences in England, and had borne him many children to secure his dynasty. It was her bloodline that had enabled him to pursue so vigorous a claim to the English throne in the first place, and her family connections had helped him to retain both this kingdom and the duchy of Normandy for himself and his heirs. Above all, though, it was her personal qualities that he would miss the most. Her wisdom, shrewdness, and strength of character made her utterly irreplaceable.

According to Malmesbury, William eschewed all other women for the remainder of his days. “For when she died, four years before him, he … showed by many days of the deepest mourning how much he missed the love of her whom he had lost. Indeed from that time forward, if we believe what we are told, he abandoned pleasure of every kind.”²⁸ The duke subsequently fell into a profound depression, from which he never truly recovered, and was, according to one historian, “a mourner till the day of his death.”²⁹ The various bequests that he made for the soul of his dead wife reveal the sincerity of his grief.³⁰

Upon Matilda’s death, the entire duchy was plunged into mourning, and Mass was celebrated for her everywhere, from the great abbeys and cathedrals to the smallest and most remote of its churches. The monastery of St.-Évroult, where the young Orderic Vitalis took up residence two years later, was among those that held special services of remembrance.³¹ He and his fellow Anglo-Norman chronicler, Malmesbury, record Matilda’s passing with regret and claim that she was greatly missed. Orderic remembered her as “the most amiable, the most courteous, the most intelligent woman of her time; the most chaste, the most devoted to her husband, the most tender towards her children.”³² Her recent transgressions had soon been forgotten. The large number of bequests that were made for her soul by her family and members of her court—even many years after her death—demonstrate the high regard in which she was held as well as her enduring influence.³³

In an epigram that he wrote to honor the late queen, the poet Fulcoius, Archdeacon of Beauvais, lamented:

If she could be brought back from death through tears,

Money, fair or foul means, then rest assured

There would be an abundance of these things …

Let this be the inscription [on her tomb]:

“Matilda, queen of the English

Known for her twofold honour, ruled over the Normans,

But here rests entombed in good state,

Blessed in title that nature cannot revoke from her.

O twofold light of November, it is a little plot,

A small pile of ash, but nevertheless a source of glory and grace.”³⁴

A series of other memorial poems followed, all equal in their praise of the late queen. As well as those written by Norman and French poets, there was also a eulogy by Geoffrey of Cambrai, a monk at Winchester—a testament to the respect that Matilda had earned on both sides of the Channel.³⁵ By contrast, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle affords only the following cursory mention: “And in this same year passed away Matilda, King William’s queen, on the day after the Feast of All Saints.”³⁶ This gives a misleading impression of the impact that her death had upon her English subjects, who had just as much cause as the Normans—if not more—to mourn her loss, as the years to come would prove. Indeed, as one contemporary put it: “Her death represents tragedy for both the clergy and the common folk.” She would be “wept for by the English and the Normans for many years.”³⁷

Orderic tells how Matilda’s body was conveyed to La Trinité as soon as she had breathed her last. To honor her memory, William ordered “a most splendid funeral” at the abbey, which lasted for two full days. It was attended by scores of monks, abbots, and bishops as well as the nuns of La Trinité.³⁸ This reinforced the reputation for great piety that Matilda had enjoyed during her lifetime. Likewise, the “great throng of poor people” who came to pay homage to their late duchess served as a testament to her generosity as a benefactress to many charitable causes.³⁹ One account claimed that “murmurs of loud and heartfelt grief” were heard throughout the land.⁴⁰

The sources do not reveal which, if any, of Matilda’s children attended the funeral. By the time of her death, she had three surviving sons—Robert, William Rufus, and Henry—and as many daughters—Cecilia, Constance, and Adela. As a nun of the abbey, Cecilia would certainly have witnessed her mother’s body being laid to rest. The close bond that existed between the late queen and her eldest son, Robert, makes it likely that he, too, would have honored her memory by attending, even if it did entail the unsavory prospect of meeting his father. The presence of Cecilia may have provided an added incentive. Judging from the evidence of the charters, Robert felt a strong affection toward her, for he made a number of generous bequests to the abbey when she later became its abbess.⁴¹

Some time after Matilda’s funeral, an exquisite monument, “wonderfully worked with gold and precious stones,” was erected over her tomb in the nave of the abbey.⁴² However, her remains suffered as turbulent a history as she herself had done in life. Five centuries after her death, her tomb was plundered in the French wars of religion. The marauding Calvinists spared the tombstone, but they smashed the monument and the effigy of the late queen that lay upon it and eagerly searched the tomb for treasure. When Matilda’s corpse was uncovered, their leader, Admiral Gaspard of Coligny, spied a gold ring set with a fine sapphire on one of her fingers. It was the ring with which Matilda had been presented at her coronation and which she had worn ever since. No doubt realizing its value, Coligny promptly seized it, but the abbess, Anna de Montmorenci, condemned his desecration with such passion that he was overcome with remorse and presented the ring to her.⁴³

In the seventeenth century, amends were made for this violation, and Matilda’s bones were reverentially reinterred in a small casket. A new monument was erected in 1708, but this was destroyed during the French Revolution. Her coffin was spared, though, and in 1819, the original eleventh-century tombstone, crafted from black-and-white Tournai marble in honor of her Flemish origins, was restored and moved to pride of place in the middle of the choir, before the high altar, where it can still be seen today.⁴⁴ The epitaph, which her husband had ordered to be “lovingly engraved in letters of gold,” demonstrates that, to the last, Matilda was immensely proud of her ancestry.⁴⁵ It also bears testament to her piety, and the charitable works she undertook during her lifetime:

The lofty structure of this splendid tomb

Hides great Matilda, sprung from royal stem;

Child of a Flemish duke; her mother was

Adela, daughter of a king of France,

Sister of Henry, Robert’s royal son.

Married to William, most illustrious king.

She gave this site and raised this noble house,

With many lands and many goods endowed,

Given by her, or by her toil procured;

Comforter of the needy, duty’s friend;

Her wealth enriched the poor, left her in need.

At daybreak on November’s second day

She won her share of everlasting joy.⁴⁶

This monument, and the eulogies that preceded it, suggest that even in death Matilda maintained her dutiful and pious image. Indeed, she remained a powerful figurehead for the Norman dynasty—perhaps even more so than she had been in life. However, as her grieving family were soon to learn, the loss of her active, physical presence was to cost them dearly.