From the very beginning, Matilda’s life was shrouded in mystery. Even the date of her birth cannot be deduced with any certainty from the surviving sources. At the earliest, it would have been toward the end of the year 1031. Her parents were the future Count Baldwin V of Flanders and Adela, daughter of Robert II “the Pious,” King of France, by his third wife, Constance of Arles.¹ Their marriage took place in 1028. The Norman chronicler William of Jumièges, who was a direct contemporary of Matilda, claims that it was not consummated until 1031, and that the long period of waiting was one of the factors that incited Baldwin to rebel against his father that year.² In fact, young Baldwin had already rebelled soon after the wedding; it seemed that an alliance with French royal blood had given him an inflated sense of his own importance, and he therefore contested his father’s position as count. The two men came to terms in 1030 and a truce was concluded whereby they agreed to rule jointly.

Despite the rumor of its delayed consummation, Baldwin and Adela’s marriage was said to have been blessed with “a numerous progeny of gifted sons and daughters.”³ However, the only children we can be certain of are Matilda and her two brothers, Baldwin and Robert, and it is not clear in what order they were born. Matilda is often referred to last in the lists provided by contemporary chroniclers, but this does not necessarily mean that she was the youngest child: daughters were seen as being of secondary importance to sons and were often left out of accounts altogether.

If Matilda’s age was uncertain, her pedigree was not. One of the most prominent chroniclers of the age introduces her to his readers as “the highly born Matilda.”⁴ This was no mere flattery. Born into the ruling family of one of the most important principalities in Europe, she could trace her descent from impressive stock. The Flemish counts had the most distinguished lineage of any nonroyal house in Europe. Her father’s male forebears had been counts of Flanders since the ninth century and were descended from the great Charlemagne, founding father of the French and German empires. Count Baldwin II had married the daughter of King Alfred the Great—an alliance with Saxon blood that would prove useful to Matilda. Moreover, as the granddaughter of a French king, she retained strong royal connections. On Robert II’s death in 1031, her maternal uncle, Henry, had become king of France, and another uncle, Robert, had inherited the dukedom of Burgundy the following year, and so through her mother’s side of the family, Matilda was related to most of the great nobility of France.⁵

Her parents chose a name to emphasize this impressive pedigree. “Matilda” was a highly unusual moniker in Flanders and France at the time of her birth. It came from the old Teutonic “Machtild” and was firmly rooted in Baldwin’s German ancestry.⁶ With her illustrious lineage, Matilda was a great prize in the international marriage market—even more so given the immense strategic importance of the principality in which she was born. Flanders was situated in the heart of western Europe, embracing parts of modern-day Belgium, northern France, and the Netherlands. Its name derived from the area around Bruges known as the Pagus Flandrensis. It had been dominated by Germanic tribes for several hundred years before becoming part of an empire established by Charlemagne in the ninth century. The first known count, Baldwin I, ensured his family’s fortune in late 861 by eloping with Judith, the eldest child of the Carolingian emperor Charles the Bald. His lands were at that time limited to the prosperous town of Ghent in eastern Flanders, but when he finally married Judith in 863, he was granted the Pagus Flandrensis. The marriage greatly enhanced the prestige of the county by uniting it with both the French and English royal families.

Under Baldwin I’s leadership and that of his son, Baldwin II, Flanders was made secure against the incursions of the Vikings, who had plagued the province for many years. The latter added other territories to the county so that it comprised a sprawling area of land bordering parts of Normandy, northern France, and the Germanic empire. Baldwin II’s marriage to Aelfthryth, the daughter of King Alfred the Great, also strengthened ties with England. In the early part of the tenth century, their grandson, Baldwin III, laid the basis for the future industrial and commercial greatness of the region by establishing the wool and silk industries at Ghent and instituting annual fairs at Bruges and other towns. Prior to this, their son, Arnulf I, who succeeded as count in 918, had embarked upon an ambitious campaign to extend the Flemish territory southward. His attempt to take the strategically important town of Montreuil-sur-Mer led to conflict with William Longsword of Normandy. There followed a prolonged period of hostilities as each tried to gain the upper hand, which culminated with William’s murder by Arnulf’s men in 942. This rivalry between Flanders and Normandy continued to dominate Flemish foreign policy until the middle of the eleventh century, when Matilda’s marriage brought it to an end.

Although it was later to become a thriving center of commerce and culture, in the early eleventh century Flanders was a primitive place. The landscape to the west was dominated by swamps and was barely habitable. The east, which was densely wooded, was comparatively more civilized and had a higher number of inhabitants. But in contrast to neighboring Normandy, there were no bustling urban centers, and the towns that did exist were small, with rudimentary buildings. Language also presented a problem. There was no uniformity, with some areas speaking a Germanic dialect and others French. It was only gradually that Flemish was adopted as the national language. It seems the populace, too, retained a certain primitivism. In 900, for example, Archbishop Fulk of Rheims scorned the inhabitants as being “of barbarous … savagery and language.”⁷ Indeed, the Flemish soon became the butt of jokes among the more civilized nations, such as England and France, where they were derided for their crudity and backwardness. Their reputation had improved little by the late twelfth century, when Richard of Devizes advised a young man who was due to travel to England that he should expect nothing but ignorance and boorishness from Cornishmen, “as we in France consider our Flemings.”⁸

Flanders was also a notoriously lawless area, where violence and uprisings were commonplace. “Daily homicides and spilling of human blood had troubled the peace and quiet of the entire area,” claimed the twelfth-century Life of St. Arnulf. “Thus a great number of nobles, through the force of their prayers, convinced the bishop of the lord to visit the places where this atrocious cruelty especially raged and to instruct the docile and bloody spirit of the Flemings in the interest of peace and concord.”⁹

Nevertheless, under the stewardship of Count Baldwin IV (988–1035), Flanders began to show signs of improvement. Its salvation was trade. The textile industry became particularly successful, thanks to imports of wool from England and Spain. Matilda’s father, Baldwin V, commissioned the building of new roads and canals to stimulate the growth of trade both within and outside Flanders. Before long, he had amassed more wealth than any of his predecessors. This dramatically improved standards of living among his subjects, particularly within the major urban centers. Handsome stone houses replaced the ramshackle wooden dwellings of former days, and the citizens also benefited from the dazzling array of exotic goods that arrived into the principality from far-flung corners of the globe.

By the time of Baldwin V’s reign, then, Flanders was enjoying increasing wealth. Given the new count’s overweening pride and ambition, it is likely that he would have built magnificent residences for his family. There are very few contemporary descriptions of the buildings and palaces that Matilda would have known, but a detailed account by the twelfth-century chronicler Lambert of Ardres of the castle there gives a sense of a typical stately residence of the principality. The castle was built of wood and stood atop a large mound, towering over the rest of the town. Its rooms were structured according to a strict hierarchy:

The first storey was on the surface of the ground, where were cellars and granaries, and great boxes, tuns, casks, and other domestic utensils. In the storey above were the dwelling and common living-rooms of the residents, in which were the larders, the rooms of the bakers and butlers, and the great chamber in which the lord and his wife slept. Adjoining this was a private room, the dormitory of the waiting maids and children. In the inner part of the great chamber was a certain private room, where at early dawn or in the evening or during sickness or at time of blood-letting, or for warming the maids and weaned children, they used to have a fire … In the upper storey of the house were garret rooms, in which on the one side the sons (when they wished it), on the other side the daughters (because they were obliged), 5 of the lord of the house used to sleep. In this storey also the watchmen and servants appointed to keep the house took their sleep at some time or other. High up on the east side of the house, in a convenient place, was the chapel, which was made like unto the tabernacle of Solomon in its ceiling and painting. There were stairs and passages from storey to storey, from the house into the kitchen, from room to room, and again from the house into the loggia, where they used to sit in conversation for recreation, and again from the loggia into the oratory.¹⁰

This castle belonged to the lord of Ardres, so it is likely that, as the daughter of the count of Flanders, Matilda would have known even greater luxury.

As well as encouraging the commercial development of his principality, Matilda’s father also capitalized upon Flanders’s immense strategic importance. Its situation enabled the counts to hold the balance of power between the kings of France to the south, the dukes of Normandy to the west, and the German rulers to the east. This made Flanders a power to be reckoned with in medieval Europe. Baldwin V made the most of this advantage by negotiating favorable treaty terms and arranging prestigious marriages for each of his children. Keenly aware of his family’s distinguished pedigree, he took every opportunity to enhance his own prestige, and became known as “prince of the fatherland” in Flemish texts.¹¹

The eleventh-century chronicler William of Poitiers was apparently in some awe of Baldwin V, describing him as “a man of great power who towered above the rest” and “this wisest of men.” According to his account, “Counts, marquises, dukes, even archbishops of the highest dignity were struck dumb with admiration whenever the duty of their office earned them the presence of this distinguished guest … Kings too revered and stood in awe of his greatness.”¹² William of Malmesbury, whose Gesta Regum Anglorum (The Deeds of the Kings of the English) was completed in around 1125, was no less impressed, but he paints a rather more benevolent picture of “a man admirable alike for loyalty and wisdom, grey-haired yet with the vigour of youth, and of exalted position as husband of the king’s sister.”¹³

The growth of Flanders’s status, and that of Baldwin, ensured that Matilda enjoyed a privileged upbringing. Most of her childhood was spent at the comital palace in Bruges, which was by now the foremost city in the principality, Baldwin V having rebuilt and “greatly beautified” it as an expression of his dynasty’s growing status. Bruges was immensely rich, having evolved into a thriving center of commerce.¹⁴ This lent it a cosmopolitan atmosphere, with traders from across the globe converging upon the city. One contemporary visitor observed that it “enjoys very great fame for the number of its merchants and for its affluence in all things upon which mankind places the greatest value.”¹⁵ Matilda and her family also regularly stayed at Lille, Ghent, Thérouanne, and the coastal town of St.-Omer, where her father’s court met on “special days” such as religious festivals.¹⁶

Matilda’s upbringing was superintended by her mother. As such, she had a powerful female role model from her very earliest days. Even though women were assigned the inferior role in marriage, politics, and society in general, Adela’s relationship with Count Baldwin was a marriage of equals. Not for her the traditional duties of a consort, which were confined to producing heirs and leading a godly life. Instead she played an active part in the government of Flanders, and her name appears in more than half of the charters that were issued during her husband’s reign. In many of these she was styled as the “sister of the king of France,” an indication of the same pride in her ancestry that she would pass on to her daughter. Few of her peers enjoyed such prominence in the political life of their kingdoms, and it is rare to find a consort’s name on more than a handful of legal documents: Adela’s contemporaries were obviously aware of her connections. The biography of Queen Emma of England, who was well acquainted with Adela, claimed that her name meant “most noble,” and it was careful to describe her as the “daughter of Robert, king of the French.”¹⁷

It was by no means unusual that Adela should supervise Matilda’s education. The role of the mother was seen as paramount in this respect throughout the medieval period. A ninth-century account praised King Alfred’s mother, Osburgh, “a religious woman, noble by birth and nature,” who gave her two sons a book of Saxon poetry, saying, “Whichever of you shall the soonest learn this volume shall have it for his own.” When Alfred triumphs over his brother, his mother “smiles with satisfaction.”¹⁸

Mothers were expected to attain a high standard of learning themselves so that they might pass this on to their offspring. Despite being rarely praised by contemporary sources, it was in fact common at this time for wives to exceed their husbands in intellect. The early eleventh century was one of the most enlightened periods in the education of women, when it was taken every bit as seriously as—and often more seriously than—that of their male counterparts. Daughters were encouraged to spend their leisure time cultivating their knowledge through reading, while sons would undertake more active pursuits such as hunting and training for warfare. Royal women, in particular, tended to be better educated than men. Even though many others were taught little else but how to read the psalter and sign their name, this was more than most laymen were capable of.

The relative enlightenment of the period is proved by comparing it with the later Middle Ages, when the entire emphasis of a woman’s education seemed to be upon how she might best serve her future husband. The influential fourteenth-century manual The Book of the Knight of the Tower advocated submissiveness and modesty in young girls in preparation for marriage, and said that women’s learning should be limited “to the virtuous things of scripture, wherefore they may better see and know their salvation.”¹⁹ In a similar vein, in the following century, Bartholomew Granville urged the importance of serenity in appearance to the well-bred woman’s character. She should carry herself erect but with her eyes cast down, and she should be “mannerly in clothing, sober in moving, wary in speaking, chaste in looking, honest in bearing, sad in going, shamefast among the people.” Even the inspirational Venetian writer and poet Christine de Pisan (born in 1365), whose works challenged contemporary stereotypes of male dominance, advocated such pursuits as spinning, sewing, and embroidery for girls in order to keep their minds from wandering to sinful subjects.

Adela’s ambitions extended far beyond such limited pursuits. She herself had received an excellent education, and was determined to pass the same on to her daughter. She inherited her love of learning from her father, Robert the Pious, who was recognized as a “literate man” by Pope Gregory VII. She had been betrothed to Baldwin as a child and had been raised and educated at the Flemish court. This included receiving instruction from the monks of St. Peter’s in Ghent, and Adela may later have sent her own children there for lessons.

That Matilda was praised for her learning is a testament to her mother’s efforts.²⁰ She was almost certainly fluent in Latin, which was widely spoken at the Flemish court, and she later passed this knowledge on to her own daughters. It is unlikely that she was similarly well versed in writing, however, for this pursuit tended to be confined to those in religious orders. Aristocratic laywomen often used a clerk to write their letters, and given that her signature was a cross (albeit in an elaborate Jerusalem style), it is possible that Matilda did the same.

One of the most important elements of Matilda’s education was religious instruction. This was one sphere in which women enjoyed equality with, and in some cases superiority over, men. The new monastic movement that swept across Europe between the sixth and the tenth centuries was spearheaded by women, notably those drawn from royal and noble families. It is estimated that some fifty religious houses in England appointed their first abbess from a royal family.²¹ These women were not simply retreating; by playing such an active role in the foundation of new abbeys, they were helping to create potent symbols of royal power. As active religious patrons, they were able to utilize—and expand—the considerable landed wealth at their disposal. Their role was therefore just as much political as it was religious.

Even so, the women who were involved in the monastic movement were motivated by a genuine religious fervor. For example, Saxon women played an important role in converting their male kin to Christianity. The eighth-century chronicler known as the Venerable Bede cited several examples of this evangelizing spirit, such as Bertha, wife of the Kentish king Aethelred, and her daughter Aethelburh, who in 625 married and converted King Edwin of Northumbria. This chimed with the teachings of St. Paul, who urged upon women the duty to influence their “unbelieving husbands.”²² At the same time, though, it jarred with the traditional Christian ethos that wives should be meek and passive. Matilda’s later history would suggest that she was more inclined to follow the former example.

But in the sphere of religion, she had a role model closer to hand. Her mother Adela was instrumental in Baldwin V’s reform of the church in Flanders. She was also responsible for the founding of several colleges, including Aire, Lille, and Harelbeke, as well as the abbeys of Messines and Ename—something that inspired her daughter a great deal. Pope Gregory VII recognized Adela’s influence in ecclesiastical matters and wrote to implore that she use this to promote clerical celibacy.²³ And while the active role that Adela played in the religious life of the principality lent her considerable political power, it seems her piety was sincere—so much so that she later became a nun herself.

Matilda’s aunt, Judith of Flanders, whom she saw regularly during her childhood and youth, also enjoyed a reputation for devoutness and was an active patron of religious houses. No less renowned was Matilda’s grandfather, the appropriately named Robert the Pious, King of France. In praising her distinguished lineage, William of Poitiers draws particular attention to this king, “whose praise for his piety and wise rule of the kingdom will be sung all over the world.”²⁴

Religion, then, had a profound impact upon Matilda’s education, and her interest in it would prove both genuine and enduring. She would have been aware of the revolutionary changes that the monastic movement had wrought across Europe, and the fact that she herself would become one of the most active religious patrons in both England and Normandy suggests that she was inspired by the examples she encountered in her childhood. She also learned to appreciate the earthly influence that such piety could bring.

In this respect, she had a powerful role model in Empress Adelaide of Italy, an enormously influential female ruler of the tenth century who was praised for that rare ability to combine piety with power. So active was Adelaide’s role in government and religion that she came to be seen as her husband’s equal—as testified by the fact that coins were struck in Italy bearing jointly the names of Otto and Adelaide. Matilda’s mother had commissioned a vita (biography) of the empress, and she may well have included this in her daughter’s curriculum. The evidence suggests that she certainly encouraged Matilda to challenge the traditional perceptions of women’s place in society.

There were other inspiring examples of female power for the young Matilda to draw upon. The previous century had witnessed an unusually high number of queens regent, and for a brief period during the 980s, almost the whole of western Europe had been ruled by women whose force of character and political acumen had propelled them to the height of international affairs. Among them was Adelaide’s daughter-in-law, the formidable Empress Theophanu. As regent for her son, Otto III, she ruled a vast conglomeration of territories and enjoyed a level of power possessed by few of her male contemporaries. She was a fount of patronage, bestowing vast estates and prestigious appointments; she received ambassadors from across Europe; and she could make war and peace as her will dictated.

Little wonder that the late tenth century has been described as the zenith of female power. But it did not last. The eleventh century saw a return to a political climate dominated by men, and women were once more relegated to second place. The fact that Adela should commission a biography of one of the last women to enjoy such power suggests that she had drawn inspiration from Adelaide’s story, and that she wished Matilda to do the same.

As the only daughter of the comital family, it was natural that Matilda should also be trained in the accomplishments that would one day make her a fitting bride for a ruler or statesman. As well as learning the art of embroidery—at which she excelled—she may also have practiced the harp and viol, which were popular at the time. In common with other high-born women, she was taught how to manage households and estates. This was an important skill at a time when men were often absent for long periods on military campaigns, and it would have a profound effect upon Matilda’s later career. She also learned the arts of deportment: how to present herself in public with a modest demeanor and serenity of countenance, as well as being “mannerly in clothing, sober in moving, wary in speaking, chaste in looking, honest in bearing.” She evidently excelled in this, for throughout her life she would be widely praised for her modesty, virtue, and graceful manner, which would prompt Pope Gregory VII to call her “the most serene.”²⁵

But some of these attributes were little more than skin deep. Although Matilda appeared every bit the modest young woman, as she grew into maturity she became keenly aware of her status. William of Poitiers infers that this was largely due to Adela’s influence: “Her wise and blessed mother had nurtured in her daughter a lineage many times greater even than her parental inheritance.”²⁶ The fierce pride that Matilda took in her ancestry would become ever more apparent in the years ahead.

As well as the conventional aspects of her education, Matilda’s upbringing at the comital court also gave her an unplanned grounding in English politics. This was largely thanks to the exiled queen Emma of England, who arrived in Bruges in 1037. Emma was the daughter of Duke Richard I of Normandy (and thus the great-aunt of the future William the Conqueror), and had married Aethelred of England in 1002. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle records that “in that same spring [of 1002] the Lady, Richard’s daughter, came to the land.”²⁷ Upon her arrival in England, she had either adopted or had been given the name Aelfgifu. This was a subtle attempt by the ruling elite to sideline her, for it was the name of her predecessor. But Emma, quick to realize the potential of her queenly status, had insisted upon being called by her proper name. After the death of her mother-in-law, Aelfthryth, around November 1002, she enjoyed a position of virtually unparalleled influence at court, even rivaling the king himself. According to one recent authority, she became “the axis around which English politics turned.”²⁸ Aethelred’s death in 1016 did not end her power, for she married his successor, Cnut of Denmark (who had without ceremony “ordered [her] to be fetched to him as wife”), thus becoming the first woman to be made queen twice.²⁹

During Cnut’s reign, Emma amassed a considerable fortune, making her the richest woman in England. William of Malmesbury depicts her as a profligate wife who encouraged her husband to build up his treasury and then wasted it on jewels and other precious things. “At Winchester especially he [Cnut] exhibited the munificence of his generosity, where his offerings were such that strangers are alarmed by the masses of precious metal and their eyes dazzled as they look at the flashing gems. This was prompted by Emma, who lavished her treasure on such things with holy prodigality.”³⁰ In fact, the English queen had put her riches to far better use than this. Her wealth, which derived from her own inheritance as well as from her position as Cnut’s wife, enabled her to become one of the most influential ecclesiastical and literary patrons in western Europe.

In 1035, however, following Cnut’s death, Emma was ousted from power by Harold Harefoot, Cnut’s son from his first marriage, who “had taken from her all the best treasures which King Cnut had.”³¹ She remained holed up in her house at Winchester for two years before being “driven out without mercy to face the raging winter.”³² Shortly afterward, she set sail for Flanders.

Although William of Malmesbury claims that Baldwin, “a man of well-tried integrity,” offered the beleaguered English queen sanctuary out of kindness and generosity, the wily count was no doubt eager to cultivate this potentially valuable ally for more tactical reasons.³³ He organized a lavish reception, and his daughter was probably among the welcoming committee. At most, Matilda would have been five or six years old when the exiled queen visited her father’s court, and she may have been a good deal younger. Given that Emma stayed for some considerable time, it is likely that Matilda became well acquainted with her.

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle notes that Baldwin “received her [Emma] well, and kept her there as long as she had need,” and Emma herself attested that she was “honourably received.”³⁴ Baldwin and Adela arranged for a house to be made available for her use in the city. It is a mark of Emma’s pride and independence that although she received shelter from Count Baldwin, she lived off her own income and funded her own patronage throughout her stay at his court.

Her visit was recorded in the Encomium Emmae Reginae, a very flattering account of her life written during her stay in Bruges, probably by a monk of St.-Omer. The Encomium was one of several illuminated manuscripts commissioned by the English queen, which she intended as a means of asserting her power during her enforced absence from England. The book refers to her as queen throughout, and her name is highlighted whenever it appears, leaving the reader in no doubt of her regal status. In the frontispiece, she is depicted crowned and seated on a throne while Edward and Harthacnut, her sons by Aethelred and Cnut respectively, bow deferentially at her side. Meanwhile, the author of the work kneels at her feet in silent supplication. It was extremely rare for anyone other than Christ or another deity to be enthroned in contemporary illustrations such as these, let alone a woman. Moreover, Emma and her sons had been thrown out by Harold Harefoot, and the prospect of their inheriting the English crown was far from certain, so this was an audacious piece of propaganda.

Nevertheless, the illustration proved remarkably prophetic. Emma made good use of her time in Bruges, drawing upon her international contacts to champion the claim of her favorite son, Harthacnut, to the English throne. He joined her in 1039, arriving with an impressive fleet, and spent that winter as the honored guest of Count Baldwin. The following year, news came from England that Harold Harefoot was dead. Thanks in no small part to Emma’s campaigning, Harthacnut was now acknowledged as the rightful heir.

Three years after her arrival in Bruges, Emma returned to England in triumph to see her younger son become king of England. Although her departure was under the most auspicious of circumstances, according to Emma’s own account it prompted much grieving among the people of Flanders, who had come to view her as one of their own. “They wept, in short, that she, whom during her whole exile they had regarded as a fellow citizen, was leaving them … Such was the lamentation on the whole shore, such was the wailing of all the people standing by.” Emma proceeded to kiss her hosts goodbye, “after a great abundance of tears had been shed on both sides.” It is likely that Matilda was among them, and this touching description (exaggerated though it may be) implies that she and her family had formed a close bond with the powerful exiled queen.³⁵

As queen mother, Emma regained the position of power that she had enjoyed during her husbands’ reigns. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle records that, accompanied by an impressive retinue, she took up residence in her former home at Winchester, where it was decided that she would “hold all Wessex in hand” for her son.³⁶ When troubles in Denmark forced Harthacnut to return there, she became regent in all but name, seizing the reins of government in Wessex, the most powerful province in the land. In order to appease Edward (later known as the Confessor), her son by Aethelred, and avoid any rebellion on his part, in 1041 he was awarded dual kingship with Harthacnut. When the latter died suddenly the following year,³⁷ Emma was forced to adopt a more conciliatory attitude toward Edward, who resented the favor that she had always shown toward his younger half-brother. He was not fooled by her apparent change of heart, however, and “robbed her of all the treasures which she owned, which were untold, because earlier she was very hard on the king her son, in that she did less for him than he wanted before he became king.”³⁸ She died in relative obscurity ten years later. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle dismisses the passing of “the Old Lady” in cursory prose, adding merely that she was buried next to King Cnut in Winchester Cathedral.³⁹

Matilda may have been aware of Emma’s vacillating fortunes across the Channel. Even though her power had waned during Edward’s ascendancy, she had wielded considerable influence in international politics for more than half a century. She had also proved just how much could be achieved by sheer force of personality, and she had had a keen sense of the importance of image to royal authority. As such, she provided a powerful example of what a shrewd and determined woman could achieve in the male-dominated world of international politics. It may have been at this formative period of Matilda’s young life that she was inspired with the ambition for power that would become the driving force of her later career.

The number of English exiles at Baldwin’s court increased dramatically after the accession of Edward the Confessor. In 1051, the king banished his archenemy, Earl Godwine, and his entire family from the kingdom. Given that Godwine’s third son, Tostig, was married to Count Baldwin’s half-sister Judith, Flanders was a natural refuge, and most of the family made their way to the court at Bruges.⁴⁰ Little wonder that the contemporary biographer of Edward the Confessor described Baldwin as “that old friend of the English people.”⁴¹

It was not just English exiles who found their way to Baldwin’s court. He also provided sanctuary for some important Norman nobles. They included Richard and Baldwin, sons of Gilbert of Brionne, one of the guardians appointed to protect the young duke William of Normandy, who had succeeded his father, Robert, in 1035. The accession of a minor—and an illegitimate one at that—had led to treacherous times in Normandy, and Gilbert was assassinated, along with various other of William’s guardians. Richard and Baldwin fled to Flanders shortly afterward and were accommodated in the ducal residence at Bruges in around 1040. There they were introduced to Matilda, and it is tempting to speculate that they sparked her curiosity in the young Norman duke by telling stories of the dramatic adventures and narrow escapes from death that he encountered on an almost daily basis.⁴² But events would prove that Matilda’s interest lay elsewhere.

According to contemporary chroniclers, as Matilda grew to maturity, she embodied all possible virtues, both in appearance and character. Orderic Vitalis, whose thirteen-volume Historia Ecclesiastica (Ecclesiastical History) is one of the richest sources for Matilda’s life, writes that she was “renowned equally for nobility of blood and character” and “endowed with fairness of face, noble birth, learning, beauty of character, and—what is and ever will be more worthy of praise—strong faith and fervent love of Christ.”⁴³Malmesbury was just as complimentary, lauding Matilda as “a model of wisdom and exemplar of modesty without parallel in our time.”⁴⁴ The twelfth-century Anglo-Norman poet and chronicler Canon Wace of Bayeux, whose lively account, Le Roman de Rou, was written for Henry II, described her as “very beautiful and noble.”⁴⁵ Others acclaimed her grace and elegance.⁴⁶ Of all the chroniclers, William of Jumièges was probably the only one who saw Matilda in person, and he attested that she was “very beautiful.”⁴⁷This theme was continued by Fulcoius, archdeacon of Beauvais, a contemporary of Matilda, who wrote two epigrams in her honor. As well as lauding her as “courageous, prudent, sober and just”—qualities that made her superior among her sex—he gave her the highest accolade possible by declaring: “She was made equal to blessed Mary in her virtue.”⁴⁸ According to Fulcoius, it was Matilda’s “noble birth” that made her the “most beautiful” of her time.⁴⁹ Nobility and attractiveness were inextricably linked in the eyes of medieval chroniclers, as were inner purity and outward beauty. The young Matilda apparently encompassed them all.

This praise was typical of sycophantic chroniclers eager to ingratiate themselves with a woman of such influence as Matilda later enjoyed. Their accounts were repeated by later commentators—not all of whom had the same bias as Norman and English writers. In his Chronicle of the Kings of Norway, Snorro Sturleson claimed that Matilda was “one of the most beautiful women that could be seen.”⁵⁰ Another thirteenth-century writer, Philippe Mouskes, bishop of Tours, acclaimed Matilda’s virtues in his extraordinary rhyming chronicle:

A girl who knew much

And was very beautiful and worthy

Wise, courtly, eloquent …⁵¹

In fact, there are few surviving clues to Matilda’s appearance in her youth. Any contemporary portraits or statues have long since been destroyed. The only reliable evidence we have derives from the discovery of her skeleton in 1961 during excavations at the abbey of La Trinité by the French archaeologist and historian Michel de Boüard. A detailed study of her remains suggested that she was an extremely small woman, for the skeleton measured just four feet two inches high.⁵² Doubt has been cast upon whether these bones were actually Matilda’s, because her tomb had been despoiled during religious riots in 1562. However, there is good reason to suppose that the remains were genuine, because it is recorded that Matilda’s bones were saved and placed in a small casket after the original coffin was destroyed in the riots. These were then reburied under the original stone slab, which can still be seen in the abbey today.

If the evidence for Matilda’s appearance is fragmentary, her character is more clearly defined by the surviving sources. Although these are subject to the same sycophancy that marks the descriptions of her beauty, Matilda’s actions throughout her life bear witness to their truth. Her upbringing had served her well, for she was said to embody all of the virtues expected of a young woman of high birth: modesty, piety, and virtue. However, she also had less conventional traits, and these would come increasingly to the fore as she grew into adulthood. Principal among them were her mother’s pride and her father’s indomitable will.

To the outside world, Matilda’s apparently faultless character, together with her beauty and pedigree, made her a highly desirable bride, and it is likely that her parents would have begun to consider her marriage prospects soon after her birth. The minimum age at which a girl could be betrothed was not set down in law, but according to the social customs of the day, most noble families tried to marry their daughters off as early as possible. It was not uncommon to see brides as young as twelve, although the general lack of eligible men meant that many women were considerably older than that when they married. But Matilda was apparently eager to settle her own fate at an early age.

As one of the foremost rulers in western Europe, Count Baldwin was well used to receiving envoys and ambassadors from foreign potentates. Among them was a man named Brihtric Mau (or Meaw), who had been sent as an ambassador by King Edward the Confessor. The date of his arrival is not recorded by the sources, but it is likely to have been during the mid- to late 1040s, when Matilda was between fifteen and eighteen years old.

Brihtric was one of the greatest thegns in England, perhaps the wealthiest below the rank of earl in the whole of the kingdom, and he could trace his descent to the royal line of Wessex.⁵³ His vast lands spanned six western counties, from Cornwall to Worcestershire, and comprised between 338 and 372 hides.⁵⁴ The lion’s share lay in Gloucestershire and were centered on the prosperous town of Tewkesbury, over which he had lordship. His lands made him immensely rich; some said he was second only to the king in wealth. The Tewkesbury estate alone brought him an annual income of £100, equivalent to around £70,000 today.

With wealth came power. The evidence suggests that Brihtric played an active role in the political life of Edward’s kingdom and was among the king’s closest associates. He certainly regularly attested charters from the 1040s onward.

As well as being a man of wealth and influence, Brihtric also had more personal charms to recommend him. He was handsome in the Saxon way, being tall and “stalwart,” with blond hair.⁵⁵ The name “Mau” or “Meaw” may have been a derivative ofsnew(snow), on account of the fair coloring that ran in his family. The fact that he had inherited the manor of Tewkesbury in 1020 and was already politically active by the 1040s suggests that he would have been at least eleven or twelve years older than Matilda. Perhaps this added to his appeal in her eyes, for the Chronicle of Tewkesbury claims that she fell passionately in love with him. Even after he had left the Flemish court, her affection did not diminish, and without pausing to seek her father’s approval, she sent a messenger to England to offer herself in marriage.⁵⁶

This was an astonishingly audacious act in an age when daughters were expected to meekly accept the fate that was decided for them by their parents. Matilda had not only defied this convention, she had also put her reputation at risk by offering herself in marriage—apparently without encouragement, and with no recourse to the complex etiquette that governed betrothals within royal and aristocratic circles. Little matter that, as Matilda had correctly identified, Brihtric was a suitable match for her in terms of his wealth and pedigree. Her unconventional defiance would have sent shock waves throughout the comital court and noble society at large.

When Brihtric rejected her offer out of hand, Matilda was outraged. She had risked her reputation—not to mention her relationship with her parents—in her pursuit of him. Her status and connections would have meant little if her chastity had been called into question: at a stroke, her prospects of making a good marriage would have been destroyed. What was more, even though he was an eligible suitor, Brihtric was still her inferior in rank and prestige. That he should apparently afford her proposal so little regard was insulting.

Matilda’s first act of independence had backfired spectacularly, but there was little that she could do. Suppressing her fury, she seemed to put the humiliating incident behind her. Many years later, however, she would exact a dreadful revenge on the man who had so callously spurned her.