NOTE SS. Vol. ii. p. 320.
The Death of William Rufus.
I have briefly compared the chief versions of the death of William Rufus, and the writers from whom they come, in Appendix U. in the fifth volume of the Norman Conquest. I will now go somewhat more fully into the matter.
I still hold, as I held then, that no absolute certainty can be come to as to the actor, intentional or otherwise, in the King’s death. Our only sure statement is to be found in the vague and dark words of the Chronicle, which look most like an intentional murder, but which do not absolutely imply it. If Rufus was murdered, it is hopeless to seek for any record of his murderer. We may guess for ever, and that is all. At any rate there can be no ground for fastening a charge of murder on Walter Tirel; for, if we except the dark hint in Geoffrey Gaimar (see p. 325), all those who make him the doer of the deed make it a deed done by accident. And the consent in favour of the belief that Rufus died by an accidental shot of Walter Tirel is very general and very weighty. It is the account of all our highest authorities, except the very highest of all. And even with the version of the Chronicle it does not stand in any literal contradiction. We have to set against it Walter’s own weighty denial (see below, p. 674), and the fact that there were other versions which named other persons. We have also to set against it the circumstance that, if Rufus did die by any conspiracy, never mind on whose part, it was obviously convenient to encourage belief in such a story as the received one. (See p. 326.) If there were anywhere English or Norman murderers, nothing could better serve their purpose, or the purpose of any who encouraged or sheltered them, than to attribute the deed to one who was French rather than either English or Norman, and to describe it as accidental on his part. And if, as one can hardly doubt, Walter Tirel was known to have been in the King’s near company on the day of his death, he was an obvious person to pick out for the character of the accidental slayer.
I can therefore do nothing but leave the doubtful story to the judgement of the reader. To that end I have given a summary of the chief versions in the text. The account of the early part of the day, as given by William of Malmesbury (iv. 333), which I have followed in p. 327, fits in perfectly well with the account in Orderic (782 A), which begins only after dinner. Nor is there any difference, except in details of no importance, between the accounts of the King’s actual death as given by William and by Orderic (see p. 333). In both the King dies by a chance shot of Walter’s, but William makes the King and Walter shoot at two different stags, while in Orderic’s version they both shoot at the same stag. It is from William of Malmesbury that we get the graphic detail of the King sheltering his eyes from the sun’s rays. His whole account stands thus;
“Jam Phœbo in oceanum proclivi, rex cervo ante se transeunti, extento nervo et emissa sagitta, non adeo sævum vulnus inflixit; diutile adhuc fugitantem vivacitate oculorum prosecutus, opposita contra violentiam solarium radiorum manu. Tunc Walterius pulcrum facinus animo parturiens, ut, rege alias interim intento, ipse alterum cervum qui forte propter transibat prosterneret, inscius et impotens regium pectus (Deus bone!) lethali arundine trajecit. Saucius ille nullum verbum emisit; sed ligno sagittæ quantum extra corpus extabat effracto, moxque supra vulnus cadens, mortem acceleravit. Accurrit Walterius; sed, quia nec sensum nec vocem hausit, perniciter cornipedem insiliens, beneficio calcarium probe evasit.”
Orderic is shorter;
“Cum rex et Gualterius de Pice cum paucis sodalibus in nemore constituti essent, et armati prædam avide expectarent, subiter inter eos currente fera, rex de statu suo recessit, et Gualterius sagittam emisit. Quæ super dorsum feræ setam radens rapide volavit, atque regem e regione stantem lethaliter vulneravit. Qui mox ad terram cecidit, et sine mora, proh dolor! expiravit.”
Florence really adds nothing to the account in the Chronicle, except so far that he adds the name of Walter Tirel. He brings in the event with some chronological pomp, but he cuts the actual death of the King short. He is in a moralizing fit, and takes up his parable at much greater length than is usual with him;
“Deinde iv. non. Augusti, feria v., indictione viii., rex Anglorum Willelmus junior, dum in Nova Foresta, quæ lingua Anglorum Ytene nuncupatur, venatu esset occupatus, a quodam Franco, Waltero cognomento Tirello, sagitta incaute directa percussus, vitam finivit, et Wintoniam delatus, in veteri monasterio, in ecclesia S. Petri est tumulatus. Nec mirum, ut populi rumor affirmat, hanc proculdubio magnam Dei virtutem esse et vindictam.”
He then goes on with a great deal of matter, much of which I have referred to in various places. He speaks of the making of the New Forest, of the death of young Richard, the natural phænomena of the reign, the recent appearances of the devil, and the iniquities of Randolf Flambard. It is here that he notices (see p. 335) that a church had once stood on the spot where the King died. Henry of Huntingdon too brings in the event with some stateliness, as the last act of a great drama. But he gives no special details, beyond bringing in, like Orderic, Florence, and William, the name of Walter Tirel;
“Millesimo centesimo anno, rex Willelmus xiii. regni sui anno, vitam crudelem misero fine terminavit. Namque cum gloriose et patrio honore curiam tenuisset ad Natale apud Glouecestre, ad Pascha apud Wincestre, ad Pentecosten apud Londoniam, ivit venatum in Novo foresto in crastino kalendas Augusti, ubi Walterus Tyrel cum sagitta cervo intendens, regem percussit inscius. Rex corde ictus corruit, nec verbum edidit.”
He then goes on to describe at length the evils of the reign, partly in his own words, partly in those of the Chronicle, and records what followed in a kind of breathless haste, keeping the Chronicle before him, but giving things a turn of his own;
“Sepultus est in crastino perditionis suæ apud Wincestre, et Henricus ibidem in regem electus, dedit episcopatum Wincestriæ Willelmo Giffard, pergensque Londoniam sacratus est ibi a Mauricio Londoniensi episcopo, melioratione legum et consuetudinum optabili repromissa.”
The object of piling facts on one another in this fashion is to bring the record of Henry’s promised reforms as near as may be to the picture of the evil doings of Rufus.
By the time that Wace wrote, there were several stories to be chosen from. The King gives arrows to his companions, and specially to Walter Tirel. They go out to hunt in the morning, contrary to the accounts both of Orderic and of William of Malmesbury (15164 Pluquet, 10069 Andresen);
He distinctly says that he does not know who shot the arrow, but that it was commonly said to be Walter Tirel, with some of the variations in detail which we have already seen, as for instance whether the arrow glanced from a tree or not;
The other French rimers are this time, though certainly less trustworthy than Wace, of more importance in one way, as showing that there was in some quarters, as there well might be in Normandy, a more charitable feeling towards the Red King than we find in the English writers. I have given in the text the substance of the accounts of Geoffrey Gaimar and Benoît de Sainte-More. The version of Geoffrey Gaimar (Chroniques Anglo-Normandes, i. 54) I do not remember to have ever seen referred to, except in M. Michel’s note to Benoît. It is so curious in its details that it is worth giving at length. It is absolutely impossible to believe it in the teeth of opposite statements of so much higher authority, yet it is strange if all its graphic touches are a mere play of fancy;
Geoffrey, it should be noticed, has nothing to say about dreams and warnings; the gab between the King and Walter Tirel seems in his version to take their place (see p. 322). But in the other account which deals kindly with Rufus, that of Benoît de Sainte-More (see p. 332), the warning dream, in this case assigned to the King himself, plays an important part. So also does Gundulf, the expounder of the dream. His presence is thus explained (40523);
We may note that Anselm, not yet canonized, is already called saint in a formal way.
The King is to hunt the next day in the New Forest; in the night he has the dream, which is told with a singular variation. He first sees the dead body of a stag on the altar; then it changes into that of a man (40560);
Gundulf, “li evesques, li sainz hom,” then preaches a sermon of some length, which the King listens to with unexpected docility; he promises amendment of life, and receives absolution;
In this version there is no special mention of Anselm and the synod; the exhortation of Gundulf is quite general. In the account given by Giraldus (De Inst. Prin. p. 174)—who, it must be borne in mind, has two dreams, one dreamed by the King, and another by a premature canon of Dunstable—this is strongly brought out. The bishop, whose name is not given, exhorts the King at much less length than Gundulf does in the rimes of Benoît, and the promise of reformation stands thus;
“Cum episcopus consilium ei daret quatenus, convocatis illico episcopis regni sui et clero universo, eorundem consilio se Domino per omnia conciliaret, missisque statim nuntiis venerabilem sanctumque virum Anselmum Cantuariensem archiepiscopum, quem ea tempestate, quod libertates ecclesiæ tueri volebat, exulare compulerat, ab exilio revocaret, respondens rex se cum regni sui proceribus consilium inde in brevi habiturum.”
In Benoît’s version the King’s companions now urge him to go out to hunt. The description is very graphic;
He refuses for a while, and sets forth his troubled mind with some pathos;
He goes forth, and, as I have said in the text (p. 332), is shot by the arrow glancing from a tree. Benoît knew through what agency;
His speech to his accidental slayer is most pious;
In the earlier of Giraldus’ two stories, one which has much in common with this of Benoît, the arrow strikes the King accidentally, but there is nothing about its glancing from a tree. As he looks on William Rufus as the maker of the New Forest, he describes his going forth to hunt there with some solemnity;
“Protinus contra dissuasionem in prædictam forestam, ubi tot ecclesias destituerat, totosque fideles qui glebæ ibidem ab antiquo ascripti fuerant immisericorditer exheredaverat, venatum ivit. Nec mora, soluta per interemptionem contentione ubi deliquit, casuali cujusdam suorum ictu sagittæ letaliter percussus decubuit; miles enim directo in feram telo, nutu divino cælum pariter et telum regente, non feram eo sed ferum et absque modo ferocem, transpenetravit.” (Cf. the extracts in p. 337.)
Having got thus far, pretty nearly in Benoît’s company, Giraldus goes on to tell his other story which brings in the Prior of Dunstable. But Dunstable, in its own Annals, did not claim an earlier founder than Henry the First. We are therefore left to guess as to the origin of a story which speaks of the priory of Dunstable as already existing in the time of Rufus, and even as enjoying exceptional favour at his hands. The “miles quidam” of the former story here becomes Ralph of Aix, who is brought in after much the same fashion in which Walter Tirel is in those versions of the story which mention him.
These are the chief varieties in the story of the death of Rufus; but the tale is so famous, it has taken such a hold on popular imagination from that day to our own, that it may be well to do as we have done in some earlier cases, and to trace some of the forms which the story took in the hands of writers of later times.
The Hyde writer (302), who always has notions of his own about all matters, has nothing special to tell us about the death of Rufus—“Norman-Anglorum rex Willelmus,” in his odd style—but the story of the dream takes a new shape. A monk in Normandy, in extreme sickness, sees the usual vision of the Lord and the suppliant woman, here called less reverentially “puella vultu sole speciosior,” who complains of the evil doings of Rufus and asks for vengeance (“celerrimam de eo expetiit vindictam, asserens se a canibus ejus et lupis potius quam ministris diu esse laniatam”). He has a further dream about the sins of his own abbot, whom he rebukes, and causes a letter to be sent to the King. The King mocks, but less pithily and characteristically than he does in Orderic (“Quicumque sorti vel somniis crediderit, sicut semper vivet suspiciosus et inquietus, ita semper revertitur”). On this manifestation of unbelief follows the judgement (“Deus Omnipotens telum quod diu vibraverat misericorditer, tandem super regem projecit terribiliter”). He is shot casually in his hunting (“venatum pergens, venatus est, et ex improviso sagitta percussus;”—where surely “venatus est” is meant to be passive). He dies without confession or communion; he is buried, and Henry reigns in his stead. Then, as a kind of after-thought, comes in the mention of Walter Tirel;
“Fertur autem quod eodem die venatum pergenti obtulit munus sagittarum quidam adveniens, quarum unam Waltero Tirello viro Ponteiensi in munere dedit secumque venire coegit. Denique silvam ingressi, dum gregem bestiarum accingunt et invicem trahunt, eadem sagitta, idem Walterus regem vicinus, ut aiunt, percussit et subito extinxit.”
The author of the “Brevis Relatio” (Giles, 11) cuts the actual death of Rufus very short, and mentions no particular actor, but he connects it in a somewhat singular way with the presence of Henry;
“Contigit vero postea ut Robertus comes Normanniæ Hierosolymam iret, totamque Normanniam fratri suo Willelmo regi Anglorum invadiaret, et tunc Henricus fratri suo omnino se conferret atque cum eo ex toto remaneret. Dum itaque cum eo esset post aliquantum temporis contigit ut quadam die rex Willelmus venatum iret, ibique, nescio quo judicio Dei, a quodam milite sagitta percussus occumberet. Quem statim frater suus Henricus Wintoniam referri fecit, ibique in ecclesia Sancti Petri ante majus altare sepulturæ tradidit.”
The introduction of Henry in the former part of the extract is the more remarkable, because the writer has either copied the account given by Robert of Torigny in the Continuation of William of Jumièges (viii. 9), or else he has borrowed from the same source. Robert’s words are;
“Igitur, sicut supra diximus, cum Robertus dux Normannorum anno ab incarnatione Domini mxcvi, Hierusalem perrexisset, et ducatum Normanniæ Willelmo fratri suo regi Anglorum invadiasset: contigit post aliquantum temporis, ut idem rex quadam die venatum iret in Novam forestam, ubi iv. nonas Augusti missa sagitta incaute a quodam suo familiari in corde percussus, mortuus est anno ab incarnatione Domini mc. regni autem sui xiii…. Occiso itaque Willelmo rege, ut præmisimus, statim frater suus Henricus corpus ejus Wintoniam deferri fecit ibique in ecclesia sancti Petri ante majus altare sepulturæ tradidit.”
The words which I have left out record the death of the elder Richard, the son of the Conqueror, in the New Forest—the younger Richard, the son of Robert, is not mentioned—and the belief that the deaths of the two brothers were the punishment of the destruction of houses and churches done by their father. One phrase is remarkable; “Multas villas et ecclesias propter eandem forestam amplificandam in circuitu ipsius destruxerat.” Here is nothing about Walter Tirel or any one else by name, and this is the more to be noticed, because in his own Chronicle, where he seems to have had before him the account of Henry of Huntingdon, who mentions Walter Tirel, he leaves out the name. Henry’s words are; “Ivit venatum in Novo foresto in crastino kalendas Augusti, ubi Walterus Tyrel cum sagitta cervo intendens, regem percussit inscius. Rex corde ictus corruit, nec verbum edidit.” This in Robert’s version becomes “Willelmus rex Anglorum in Nova Foresta, sibi multum dilecta, cum sagitta incaute cervo intenderetur, in corde percussus interiit, nec verbum edidit.” He then goes on to copy part of Henry of Huntingdon’s description of the doings of Rufus somewhat further on.
Among the monastic chroniclers and annalists, the History of Abingdon (ii. 43) seems to see in the Red King’s death a judgement on him for some dealings connected with the lands of that abbey. A man described as Hugo de Dun had, by the help of the Count of Meulan (“Comitis Mellentis Rotberti senioris ope adjutus”), got into his hands some lands of the abbey at Leckhampsted, as had also the better known Hugh of Buckland, Sheriff of Berkshire (“eo quod et Berchescire vicecomes et publicarum justiciarius compellationum a rege constitutus existeret”). The writer then goes on;
“Quadam itaque die rex Willelmus dum cibatus venatum exerceret, suorum unus militum, quasi ad cervum sagittam emittens, regem e contra stantem sibique non caventem eadem sagitta in corde percussit. Qui mox ad terram corruens exspiravit.”
The legend received at Saint Alban’s (Gesta Abbatum, i. 65) seems to have rolled together the dream of the monk at Gloucester and the revelation of William’s death to the abbot of Clugny (see p. 343). Anselm at Clugny has a vision in which many of the saints of England bring their complaints against King William before the tribunal of God. Then the story takes a local turn;
“Iratus Altissimus respondit,--Accede, Anglorum protomartyr. Et accedente Albano, tradidit Deus sagittam ardentem, dicens; vindica te, et omnes sanctos Angliæ, læsos a tyranno. Accipiens autem Albanus sagittam de manu Domini, projecit eam in terram, quasi faculam, dicens; Accipe, Satan, potestatem in ipsum Willelmum tyrannum. Et eadem die, mane, obiit rex transverberatus per medium pectoris sagitta. Dixit autem arcitenenti, Trahe, diabole. Erat tunc temporis, episcopo Wolstano defuncto, episcopatus Wygorniæ nimis afflictus sub manu regis, et multæ aliæ ecclesiæ, sedente tunc Paschali papa.”
I do not know why the Saint Alban’s writer should have specially mentioned the church of Worcester, which certainly had a Bishop (see vol. i. p. 542) at the time of William’s death. But neither should I at p. 43 of this volume have mentioned Saint Alban’s among the churches vacant at that time. For the four years’ vacancy which followed the death of Paul was ended in 1097 by the election of Richard. “Determinata lite quæ in conventu exorta fuerat inter Normannos, qui jam multiplicati invaluerunt, et Anglos, qui, jam senescentes et imminuti, occubuerant” (Gest. Abb. i. 66). Here is a glimpse of the internal state of the convent which would be most precious if it came from a writer of the year 1097, but which must be taken for what it may be worth in the mouth of Matthew Paris or one whom he followed. This abbot Richard was on good terms with Rufus as well as with his successor (“Willelmi Secundi et Henrici Primi regum, amicitia familiari fultus, multos honores et possessiones adeptus est, et adeptas viriliter tuebatur”). Presently we get a second shorter entry of the Red King’s death;
“Tempore quoque hujus abbatis Ricardi, Willelmus rex—immo tyrannus—ultione divina, obiit sagittatus.”
The Winchester Annals which really should, just as much as the Hyde writer, have given us something original at such a moment, have nothing more to tell us than that “hoc anno rex a sagitta perforates est in Nova Foresta a Waltero Tirel et sepultus in ecclesia Sancti Swithuni Wintoniæ.” The Margam Annals merely mark that “hoc anno interfectus est rex Angliæ Willelmus junior, rex Rufus vulgo vocatus, non. Augusti, anno regni sui xiii. cum esset annorum plus xl.” This reckoning falls in with what I said in vol. i. p. 141, and N. C. vol. iii. p. 111. Dunstable, which is so strangely dragged into the tale by Giraldus, and Bermondsey, which has some special things to record during the reign, have nothing fresh to tell us, only Dunstable mentions Walter Tirel and Bermondsey does not. Osney and Worcester merely copy the usual story. Thomas Wykes has been quoted already. Roger of Hoveden simply copies Florence. Ralph the Black and Roger of Wendover at least give a little variety by copying the account in William of Malmesbury. It is not till we get to the English and French rimers, Robert of Gloucester and Peter Langtoft, that we come to anything worthy of much notice or anything showing any imagination. Robert of Gloucester tells the story of the dream, attributing it to a monk, but not saying of what monastery. The appearance on the altar loses perhaps somewhat of its awfulness when it is made into the ordinary rood of the church.
This is surely no improvement on the older version of the story. Robert does not forget the bodily appearances of the devil recorded by Florence, but at his distance of time he does not draw the national distinction which the earlier writer drew;
He then goes on to tell the story, clearly after William of Malmesbury, but everywhere with touches of his own. They have the interest of being in any case the earliest detailed account, true or false, of the story in our own tongue. Thus the account of the King’s not going to hunt before dinner takes this shape;
The actual account of his death stands thus;
Peter of Langtoft (i. 446) has some touches of his own. Among other things, the days of the week have got wrong, in order to bring in a precept as to the proper observance of the weekly fast-day. We also get a purely imaginary Bishop of Winchester;
This last line, fittingly according to the belief of William’s own time, is wanting in some manuscripts.
From the writer known as Bromton we might have looked for some new form of the legend, but he gives us (X Scriptt. 996) only the usual story about Walter Tirel, with a rhetorical character of William and an account of his evil doings. One or two expressions however are remarkable;
“In quodam loco ubi priscis temporibus ecclesia fuerat constructa, et tempore patris sui cum multis aliis ecclesiis, et quatuor domibus religiosis, et tota illa patria in solitudinem redacta, vitam crudelem fine miserrimo terminavit. Jure autem in medio injustitiæ suæ inter feras occiditur, qui ultra modum inter homines ferus erat. Nam stabilitis contra malefactores silvarum, forestarum, et venationis, legibus duris, zelotepia sua agente, custos boscorum et ferarum pastor communiter vocabatur.”
To Knighton’s curious account I have referred already (see p. 333). But he tells the story twice. His first version (X Scriptt. 2372) contains nothing remarkable; the second (2373) is quite worth notice. He attributes to Rufus the making of the New Forest, which he describes in words which are not, as far as one can see, copied from any of the usual sources. He enforced the forest laws with great harshness, “quod pro dama hominem suspenderet, pro lepore xx.s. plecteretur, pro cuniculo x.s. daret.” Then the last scene is brought in with some solemnity; but the age which he assigns to the Red King is quite impossible;
“Igitur, ut ante dictum est, iii. nonarum Augusti, per Cistrensem [sic] anno gratiæ MC. regni sui xiii. ætatis liii. venit in novum herbarium suum, scilicet novam forestam, cum multa familia stipatus, venandi gratia set sibi gratia dura. Cum arcubus et canibus stetit in loco suo, et quidam miles sibi nimis familiaris Walterus Tyrel nomine, prope eum ex opposito loco, ut moris est venantium, cæterique sparsim unusquisque cum arcu et sagitta in manu expecteoli [sic] pro præda capienda. Interea accidit miræ magnitudinis cervum præ cæteris præstantiorem regi appropinquare, videlicet inter regem et dictum militem, at rex tetendit arcum volens emittere sagittam, credens se interficere cervum, set, fracta corda in arcu regis, cervus, de sonitu quasi attonitus, restitit circumcirca respiciens, et inde rex aliqualiter motus dixit militi ut cervum sagittaret. Miles vero se sustinuit. At rex objurganter cum magno impetu præcepit ei, dicens, ‘Trahe, trahe, arcum ex parte diaboli, et extendas sagittam, alias te pœnitebit,’ At ille emisit sagittam, volens interficere cervum, percussit regem per medium cordis, et occidit eum, ibidemque expiravit. Walterus evasit, nemine insequente. Rex vero vehitur apud Wyntoniam super redam caballariam impositus. In cujus sepultura luctus defuit. Omnes gaudium de ejus morte arripiunt, adeo quod vix erat quispiam qui lacrimam emiserit, sed omnes de morte ejus lætati sunt.”
This is well told; but how much more men knew about the matter at the end of the fourteenth century than they did in the last year of the eleventh.
To turn to foreign writers, the Annales Cambriæ say simply that “Willelmus rex Angliæ, a quodam milite suo cervum petente sagitta percussus, interiit”—or, in another manuscript, “Willelmus rex Anglorum, improviso ictu sagittæ a quodam milite in venatu occubuit.” The difference is to be noted. The Brut records the death of William the Red, King of the Saxons (Gẃilim Goch, brenhin y Saeson), and says that “as he was on a certain day hunting, along with Henry, his youngest brother, accompanied by some of his knights, he was wounded with an arrow by Walter Tyrell, a knight of his own, who, unwittingly, as he was shooting at a stag, hit the king and killed him.”
The Annales Blandinienses in Pertz, v. 27, record how “secundus Willelmus rex Anglorum in venatione ab uno milite suo ex improvisu sagitta vulneratus obiit; cui successit Henricus frater suus.” The Saint Denis History (Pertz, ix. 405) has a further touch; “Willelmus Rufus, rex Anglorum, venationi intentus sagitta incaute emissa occiditur. Cui Henricus frater ejus velocissime successit, ne impediretur a Roberto fratre suo, jam de Hierosolimitana expeditione reverso.” Another writer in the same volume (ix. 392), Hugh of Fleury, has a remarkable account, quite in the spirit of the English writers, but seemingly not directly copied from any of them;
“Rex Anglorum Guillelmus, magnifici regis Guillelmi successor et filius, dum venationem exercet in silva quæ adjacet Vindoniæ urbi, a quodam milite sagitta percussus interiit. Ille tamen miles qui sagittam jecit illum inscientem percussit. Cervam quippe sagittare parabat, sed sagitta retrorsum acta regem insperate percussit, et illum inopinabiliter interemit. Quod divino nutu contigisse non dubium est. Erat enim rex ille armis quidem strenuus atque munificus, sed nimis lasciviens et flagitiosus. Verum antequam interiret, magnis sibi signis præostensis, si voluisset, corrigi debuisset. Nam dum sibi subitus, peccatis suis exigentibus, immineret interitus, in eadem insula in qua manebat sanguinis unda fœtida per spatium unius diei emanavit, ipso præsente, quod dicebatur ejus portendere mortem. Ipso etiam tempore apparuerunt alia signa stupenda in eadem insula, quibus, sicut jam dictum est, terreri et vitam suam corrigere debuisset. Quæ juventa stolidus et honore superbus contempsit, et semper incorrigibilis mansit. Unde Dei justo judicio subite et intempestiva morte preventus occubuit. Cui successit frater ejus junior Henricus, vir sapiens atque modestus.”
Hugh of Flavigny, whom we have already had often to quote, adds (Pertz, viii. 495) one detail which I do not think appears elsewhere. The King goes to see the well which sent up blood (the event is wrongly put under 1099);
“Anno inc. dom. 1099 obiit Urbanus papa, successit Paschalis. Obiit etiam Willelmus junior rex Anglorum. Quo etiam anno in Anglia fons verum sanguinem olidum et putentem manare visus est. Ad quod spectaculum cum fere tota insula cucurrisset, insolita rei novitate stupefacta, rex præfatus advenit et vidit, nec tamen ei profuit vidisse. Autumabat vulgus promiscuum portentum istud mortem regis portendere, quod etiam ei dicebatur a referentibus; sed homo secularis et in quem timor Dei non ceciderat, voluptatibus carnis et superbiæ deditus, divinorum præceptorum contemptor et adversarius, qui tamen satis regii fuisset animi, si non Deum postposuisset fastu regni inflatus, nec cogitabat se moriturum.”
He carries on this vein a little further, and then gives the account of his death;
“Quia Deum deseruit, sanctam ecclesiam opprimens et eam sibi ancillari constituens, a Deo quoque derelictus est; in silva quæ adjacet Wintoniæ civitati, dum venationem exercet, sagitta a quodam percussus, quo lethali vulnere decidit et exanimatus est, pœnitentia et communione carens, et apud eamdem urbem sepultus.”
The Angevin chroniclers record the death of Rufus without comment or detail. The Biographer of the Bishops of Le Mans (Vet. An. 309), who looks at the matter chiefly with reference to Bishop Hildebert, moralizes at some length; but his statement of fact is no more than this;
“Dum quadam die in silvam venandi gratia perrexisset, ab uno ex militibus qui secum ierant sagitta percussus, interiit.”
This is really hardly more than the few words of the English Chronicler. Alberic of Trois Fontaines, from whom we might have looked for something, merely copies William of Malmesbury and others. Gervase of Tilbury (ii. 20, Leibnitz, i. 945) mentions another agent in the death-blow;
“Defuncto patre successit Guillelmus primogenius in regnum, vir impius, ecclesiarum persecutor, immisericors circa imbelles, qui archiepiscopum Cantuariensem plurimum persecutus, ab angelo percutiente peremtus, Guintoniæ sepultus est, sub infamiæ perpetuo monumento.”
As for Walter Tirel, he has his place in ordinary memory so thoroughly as the slayer of William Rufus and as nothing else, that it is rather hard to take in that his position as the slayer of William Rufus is very doubtful, while there are undoubted, though meagre, notices of him in other characters. We have already seen him entertaining Anselm in one of his Picard dwellings. The fullest account of his family comes from Orderic, who, when he is commenting on the laxity of the Norman clergy and bishops in his time, gives us the story of Walter’s father (574 D). Dean Fulk was a pupil of Bishop Ivo of Chartres, and inherited a knight’s fee from his father. Then we read how “illius temporis ritu, nobilem sociam nomine Orieldem habuit, ex qua copiosam prolem generavit.” Walter was one of a family of ten, seemingly the youngest of eight sons. He was “cognomento Tirellus,” clearly a personal and not a hereditary or local surname.
If the Dean of Evreux kept proper residence, his son would be Norman natione, whatever he was genere; but most accounts of Walter connect him with France rather than with Normandy. Abbot Suger, who knew him personally, speaks of him (Duchèsne, iv. 283 C) as “nobilissimus vir Galterius Tirellus.” In Florence (1100) he is simply “quidam Francus, Walterus cognomento Tirellus.” William of Malmesbury (iv. 333) says that, on the day of the King’s death, he was “paucis comitatus, quorum familiarissimus erat Walterius cognomento Tirel, qui de Francia, liberalitate regis adductus, venerat.” His possession of Poix appears from Orderic, 782 A, where he is described as “de Francia miles generosus, Picis et Pontisariæ dives oppidanus, potens inter optimates et in armis acerrimus; ideo regi familiaris conviva et ubique comes assiduus.” Walter Map (De Nugis Cur. 222) calls him “miles Achaza juxta Pontissaram Franciæ,” which I suppose means Achères. (But in Orderic, 723 B, we have another Walter and also a Peter brought into connexion with Achères.) Walter’s connexion with that district suggests that the King had bought him over to his side, or had taken him prisoner during the campaign in the Vexin. Geoffrey Gaimar (Chron. Anglo-Norm. i. 51) dwells on his possession of Poix;
His marriage comes from Orderic (783 A); “Adelidam filiam Ricardi de sublimi prosapia Gifardorum conjugem habuit, quæ Hugonem de Pice, strenuissimum militem, marito suo peperit.”
The question now comes whether Walter Tirel appears in Domesday. There is in Essex (41) an entry, “Laingaham tenet Walterus Tirelde. R. quod tenuit Phin dacus pro ii. hidis et dimidia et pro uno manerio.” This comes among the estates of Richard of Clare, and I suppose that “R.” in the entry should be “de R.” as in several others. If this be our Walter Tirel, his estate was not very great, and he did not hold as a tenant-in-chief. One cannot make much out of the extract from an East-Saxon county history in Ellis, ii. 394. Lappenberg (ii. 207) has more to say about this entry and other bearers of the name of Tirel. It cannot much matter that “der Name Tirrel ist in der Liste der Krieger zu Battle Abbey.” It is of more importance when he refers to the Pipe Roll of Henry (56), where we read, “Adeliz uxor Walteri Tirelli reddit compotum de x. marcis argenti de eisdem placitis de La Wingeham.” This comes in Essex, and I suppose that the “Laingaham” of Domesday and the “La Wingeham” of the Pipe Roll are the same place. If so, the two entries, combined with the notice in Orderic, look very much as if they all belong to one Walter and one Adelaide. If this be so, Walter Tirel was a landowner in England, though on no great scale; and whatever was his own case, his wife or widow was living and holding his land in 1131.
Walter’s denial of any share in the King’s death comes from the personal knowledge of Abbot Suger (Duchèsne, iv. 283); “Imponebatur a quibusdam cuidam nobilissimo viro Galterio Tirello, quod eum sagitta perfoderat. Quem cum nec timeret, nec speraret, jurejurando sæpius audivimus, et quasi sacrosanctum asserere, quod ea die nec in eam partem silvæ in qua rex venabatur, venerit, nec eum in silva omnino viderit.”
John of Salisbury in his Life of Anselm, c. xii (Giles, v. 341), refers to this denial on the part of Walter. He speaks of the fate of Julian, likening Anselm to Basil, and goes on; “Quis alterutrum miserit telum, adhuc incertum est quidem. Nam Walterus Tyrrellus ille, qui regiæ necis reus a plurimis dictus est, eo quod illi familiaris erat et tunc in indagine ferarum vicinus, et fere singulariter adhærebat, etiam quum ageret in extremis, se a cæde illius immunem esse, invocato in animam suam Dei judicio, protestatus est. Fuerunt plurimi, qui ipsum regem jaculum quo interemptus est misisse asserunt; et hoc Walterus ille, etsi non crederetur ei, constanter asserebat.” He adds a comment which might be taken in two senses; “Et profecto quisquis hoc fecerit, Dei ecclesiæ suæ calamitatibus compatientis dispositioni fideliter obedivit.”
The very confused story which makes William Rufus the maker of the New Forest, and Walter Tirel the adviser of the deed, comes from Walter Map’s account (De Nugis, 222) of the death of William Rufus, where a good many things are brought close together; “Willielmus secundus, rex Angliæ, regum pessimus, Anselmo pulso a sede Cantiæ, justo Dei judicio a sagitta volante pulsus, quia dæmonio meridiano deditus, cujus ad nutum vixerat, onere pessimo levavit orbem. Notandum autem quod in silva Novæ Forestæ [cf. N. C. vol. iv. p. 841], quam ipse Deo et hominibus abstulerat, ut eam dicaret feris et canum lusibus, a qua triginta sex matrices ecclesias extirpaverat, et populum earum dederat exterminio. Consiliarius autem hujus ineptiæ Walterus Tyrell, miles Achaza juxta Pontissaram Franciæ, qui, non sponte sua sed Domini, de medio fecit eum ictu sagittæ, quæ feram penetrans cecidit in belluam Deo odibilem.” “Exterminium” must of course be taken, not of a massacre, but of a mere driving out. Giraldus too (De Inst. Princ. 173) attributes the making of the New Forest and the driving out of the people to William Rufus;
“Hic Novam in australibus Angliæ partibus Forestam, quæ usque hodie durat, primus instituit; multis ibidem ecclesiis, in quibus divina ab antiquo celebrari obsequia et ipsius præconia sublimari, desertis omnino et destitutis multisque ruricolis et glebæ ascriptis a paternis laribus et agris avitis miserabiliter profugatis et proscriptis.”
We have seen already (see p. 337) how this confusion was further improved in the thirteenth century at the hands of Thomas Wykes, and what rhetorical use of it was made later still by Henry Knighton.
As usual, so-called local tradition knows a vast deal about the matter. The exact place where Rufus fell is known, and is marked by a stone. The tree from which, in some versions, the arrow is said to have glanced, is also known, and its site, or a successor, may be seen. It is of course impossible to say that these things are not so; but one knows too much of the utter worthlessness of the modern guesses which commonly pass for local tradition to attach much value to such stories. I have been on the spot; but, when there is no real evidence to fix the event to one spot rather than another of a large district, it is another matter from tracing out the signs of real history at Le Mans and at Rochester, at Bamburgh and at Saint Cenery. There is also a wild story about a payment made by some neighbouring manor as a penalty, because some one shod Walter’s horse instead of stopping him. The payment is doubtless real enough; the alleged cause for it shows a knowledge of details beyond that of Knighton or Geoffrey Gaimar. The critical historian, after making his way through all these tales, can only come back to the safe statement of the English Chronicler with which he set out.