Matilda’s achievements as duchess of Normandy and queen of England had been considerable. She had carved out a position of power and influence in the male-dominated political arena of both countries, and in so doing had confounded the conventional stereotypes of women. Far from being a meek and submissive wife and consort, subject entirely to her husband’s will, she had wielded authority in her own right and had enjoyed an independence of action matched by few of her contemporaries.

In the dangerous, brutal world of conquest and rebellion, fragile alliances and bitter familial rivalries, Matilda had possessed all the attributes required for a woman to thrive. Her impeccable lineage, combined with her loving, pious, and loyal nature, had made her a paragon of fidelity and motherhood. But strength, intelligence, and ambition were also prerequisites to survive in such an environment. This side of her character, coupled with a fiercely independent nature, had made her essential to William’s rule, giving her unparalleled influence over the king. She had proved such an able and effective ruler that he had come to rely upon her completely.

Matilda’s ambition and strength of will had ultimately contributed to the fracturing of the Norman dynasty. But without the unifying influence that she had exerted for so long, this fracturing would arguably have occurred much sooner. It should not therefore detract from the extraordinary achievement of this remarkable woman—an achievement that would prove an inspiration both to her immediate successors and for hundreds of years to come.

Matilda’s influence was particularly apparent in the lives of two of her daughters. Cecilia made a resounding success of her career at the abbey of La Trinité, rapidly gaining renown for her virtue and dedication. The noted intellectual Baudri of Bourgueil, the archbishop of Dol, wrote in praise of her, as did the poet Hildebert of Le Mans. To them, she was “a queen, a goddess and a royal virgin married to a heavenly husband.”¹ Cecilia lavished care and attention upon the abbey that she seemed to have come to love as much as her mother had, and she commissioned a number of improvements. She also played a leading role in the administration of La Trinité, acting as coadjutor to its long-lived abbess, Matilda. Her efforts were rewarded in 1113, when she was appointed abbess upon the death of her superior. That same year, she granted her first charter—an indication of her newfound power.² She held that exalted position until her death fourteen years later, at the age of sixty-eight.³

While Cecilia inherited her mother’s piety, her youngest sister, Adela, echoed her political achievements. Of all Matilda’s children, Adela seems to have been the closest to her in appearance, character, and spirit. The amorous archbishop of Dol, who seemed to be a little in love with her, praised her “beauty, dignity and grace” and claimed that she had “the brilliance of a goddess.”⁴ At the time he wrote these words, Adela would have been in her forties. It is interesting to consider whether she inherited her lasting good looks from Matilda, whose beauty had been praised even in middle age and who had held William in thrall for most of their marriage.

Adela certainly inherited her mother’s extraordinary fecundity, giving birth to as many as eleven children during the course of her marriage to Stephen of Blois, including a daughter whom she named after Matilda.⁵ Having been inspired by the education that her own mother had given her, she paid as much attention to their studies. Like Matilda, Adela was strong-willed and politically astute, and she ruled her husband every bit as effectively. Malmesbury describes her as “a powerful woman with a reputation for her worldly influence.”⁶ This was demonstrated most forcefully in 1098, when her husband returned from the siege of Antioch, a key encounter in the First Crusade. Rather than welcoming him home like a dutiful wife, Adela promptly ordered him back to rejoin the crusade.⁷At first Stephen shrank from the idea of returning to the danger and hardships of the crusading life, but Adela eventually wore him down with “these speeches and many more like them.”⁸

Continuing the similarity to her mother’s life, Adela acted as regent for her husband while he was abroad on campaign. Orderic praised her competence: “This noble lady governed her husband’s county well after his departure on crusade.”⁹ Judging from her reaction to his return from Antioch, she evidently relished the role just as much as Matilda had. Thanks to her insistence that he return to the Holy Land, she had the chance to exercise her authority to the full, because her husband met his death on this crusade in 1102. Their eldest son, William, would probably then have been old enough to inherit his father’s title, but he was deemed unfit to rule. His mother therefore had him married off to a lady of her household and gave him lands in the north of the principality, well away from court.

This left Adela free to seize the reins of power herself. She proved more than equal to the task, and her shrewd political judgment and wise government were widely praised. Jumièges observed that she “ruled the country nobly for some years,” while Orderic lauded her as a “wise and spirited woman” who ably led the province until her sons had reached maturity.¹⁰ The archbishop of Dol, meanwhile, claimed that although she was a countess, she was “worthy rather of the name of queen.”¹¹ Having learned from her mother’s example, Adela became active in every sphere of government, wielding authority over political, ecclesiastical, and military matters as well as the administration of justice.

In 1107, Adela’s second son, Theobald, was invested as count of Blois. Theobald was much more stable than his elder brother. He was also entirely subject to his mother’s authority. Just as Matilda had ruled on behalf of her son Robert, so Adela retained power even after Theobald had been made count. Only when she was confident that he would continue the work that she had begun did she gradually cede authority to him. Even then she remained at the heart of government, advising her son and keeping him firmly under her control—just as Matilda would have done if she had outlived her husband.

It was no doubt at Adela’s instigation that Theobald intervened on her brother Henry’s behalf when he attempted to take Normandy from Robert Curthose in 1106. As the two youngest siblings, Adela and Henry shared a natural affinity, and the countess certainly favored him over their reckless elder brother. On September 28, 1106, forty years to the day since their father had embarked for the conquest of England, Henry defeated his elder brother in the Battle of Tinchbrai and became duke of Normandy, thus reuniting the Norman empire. It was fitting that, through the influence of Adela, the spirit of Matilda had played a part in such a reunification.

In April 1120, Adela finally relinquished the political life and entered the nunnery of Marcigny-sur-Loire. Like her sister Cecilia, she possessed her mother’s piety and would thrive in the religious arena. Jumièges wrote admiringly that she “served God in a praise-worthy manner till the end of her life.”¹² Adela also shared her elder sister’s longevity, and was in her seventieth year when she died in 1137.

Matilda would have taken great pride in Henry’s restoration of the might of the Norman dynasty, even though he had ousted her favorite son from power. Yet her influence over the English monarchy would far outlive her youngest son. Her bloodline would continue for more than a thousand years. Indeed, all sovereigns of England and the United Kingdom, including the present queen, are directly descended from this remarkable woman.

But Matilda’s legacy extends beyond even this extraordinary feat. The first crowned queen of England to be formally recognized as such, she had established a model of female rule that would last for hundreds of years. Thenceforth, the consorts of kings would expect to do far more than fulfill the conventional role of producing heirs. For instance, because the tradition had been set by the first Matilda, her daughter-in-law, Edith-Matilda, the wife of Henry I, was the natural choice for regent when her husband was away. Moreover, Henry subsequently bequeathed his throne to his daughter, even though his nephew Stephen had a stronger claim in the eyes of most of his subjects; clearly, his mother’s example had inspired a confidence in female rulers that few of his contemporaries shared. In so doing, he became the first English king to put down in written form the right of a daughter to inherit land.¹³ Farther afield, other female consorts, such as the formidable Eleanor of Aquitaine, or Isabella the “She-Wolf” of France, the wife of Edward II, would aspire to the same authority and influence over their husbands and their kingdoms that Matilda had exercised to such brilliant effect.

It is a legacy of which Matilda, whose formidable skills of leadership and political guile have been overshadowed by the achievements of her conqueror husband, would heartily have approved.