The notices of language which we come across in our authors are often highly curious. The Romance languages are now just beginning to be felt to be really languages, and not mere vulgar dialects of Latin. We get perhaps our first glimpse of this feeling in Nithard’s description (iii. 5) of the famous oath of Strassburg in 842. The two languages, the parents of modern High-Dutch and modern French, are distinguished as “lingua Teudisca” and “lingua Romana.” Charles the Bald himself spoke Lingua Romana; Pertz, Legg. i. 472. “Romana,” Romance, is the usual description of the new language, as distinguished from the classical “Latina,” though we have seen (see p. 182) at least one instance where “Latinus sermo” means the popular Romance. In the course of the next century the language became nationalized, and in Richer (iv. 100) it appears as “lingua Gallica,” which becomes its usual later name. I leave to professed philologers to fix the exact relation of the “lingua Romana” of Nithard to French and to Provençal respectively. For my purpose it is enough that it is Romance, as distinguished both from Latin and from Teutonic.
We also in the course of the narratives of Flodoard and Richer come across several curious passages where the Romance and Teutonic languages are opposed to each other. Thus Charles the Simple has a conference at Worms with Henry of Saxony (“Heinricus Transrhenensis”), when (Richer, i. 20) “Germanorum Gallorumque juvenes, linguarum idiomate offensi, ut eorum mos est, cum multa animositate maledictis sese lacessire cœperunt.” In 948 Lewis and Otto attend a synod, where letters are read in Latin, and are translated “propter reges juxta Teutiscam linguam.” (Flod. in an.; Pertz, iii. 396.) Lewis therefore spoke German no less than Otto. Otto however (see Widukind, ii. 36) could speak French on occasion (“Romana lingua Slavanicaque loqui scit”), which makes the employment of German still more important. In 981 Hugh Capet and Otto the Second met. Otto spoke Latin, and a Bishop translated his speech to Hugh. (Richer, iii. 85.) Hugh therefore did not understand German, and the Romance which he spoke had departed so far from Latin that Latin needed an interpreter. In 996 certain Gaulish and German Bishops meet (Richer, iv. 100), and the Bishop of Verdun is chosen to speak “eo quod linguam Gallicam norat.” The Lotharingian prelate could doubtless speak both languages. These passages seem enough to make out the view which I have everywhere maintained, that throughout the tenth century the Carolingian Kings at Laon were a strictly German dynasty, speaking German as their mother-tongue, while the Dukes and Kings of Paris were already French.
Sir Francis Palgrave’s assertion (i. 72) that “the German Ritterschaft of Otho the Great raised the war-cry in French” is an evident misconception of the passage in Widukind (ii. 17) on which it seems to be grounded. The historian is clearly speaking of the Lotharingian borderers who spoke both languages. His words are simply, “Ex nostris etiam fuere, qui Gallica lingua ex parte loqui sciebant, qui clamore in altum Gallice levato, exhortati sunt adversarios ad fugam.”
Of the speed with which French displaced Danish as the language of Normandy, I have said something in p. 181. For the retention of the ancient speech at Bayeux, after it had been forgotten at Rouen, our chief authority is Dudo, 112 D; “Quoniam quidem Rotomagensis civitas Romana potius quam Dacisca utitur eloquentia, et Baiocacensis fruitur frequentius Dacisca lingua quam Romana; volo igitur ut ad Baiocacensia deferatur quantocius mœnia, et ibi volo ut sit, Botho, sub tua custodia, et enutriatur et educetur cum magna diligentia, fervens loquacitate Dacisca, tamque discens tenaci memoria, ut queat sermocinari profusius olim contra Dacigenas.” (“Contra sermocinari,” in Dudo’s language, is simply to converse with.) So Benoît, 11520;
Wace (Roman de Rou, 2502) says only
Here “Normant” can mean nothing but French, but it is less clear what he means by it in v. 2377, where we read,
Wace probably meant French, but he seems to have misunderstood a passage of Dudo (99, 100) which contains a curious notice of the use of the Danish language, the force of which Dudo himself seems hardly to have understood. William is at a conference with Henry of Germany (really with Otto). Certain Lotharingians and Saxons talk to their own chief Cono; William, by his knowledge of Danish, understands them (“per Daciscam linguam quæ dicebant subsannantes, intelligendo subaudit”). The Saxon Duke Hermann afterwards speaks to William in Danish, and being asked how the Saxons came to understand that language, explains the fact by the constant incursions of the Northmen. Duke Hermann might very well understand Danish, and might speak Danish to William; but the Saxons and Lotharingians would not speak Danish to Cono. What the story seems to point to is that the Low-Dutch of Saxony and Lower Lorraine was so far intelligible to one who understood Danish that he could guess at the general meaning of what was said.
But the most remarkable notice of language at all is to be found in the Tours Chronicle in Duchesne, Rer. Franc. Scriptt. iii. 360, which records the homage of Rolf to Charles (see p. 168), and the traditional origin of the name Bigot as applied to the Normans. When Rolf is called on to kiss the King’s feet, “lingua Anglica respondit, Ne se bigoth, quod interpretatur, non per Deum, rex vero et sui illum deridentes, et sermonem ejus corrupte referentes, illum vocaverunt Bigoth. Unde Normanni adhuc Bigothi dicuntur” (see Wace, 9907, et seqq.). Here we read that this famous refusal of Rolf to abase himself was made in a language which by Frankish hearers was looked upon as English. That Rolf spoke English in any strict sense is most unlikely; the tongue in which he answered was doubtless his native Danish. Nor is it enough to say, with Sir F. Palgrave (i. 700), that any Teutonic speech was loosely called English by the French; for Rolf was speaking in the presence of a prince whose native speech was undoubtedly Teutonic. But Charles the Frank spoke High-Dutch; Rolf the Dane spoke a language which, in a wide sense of the words, might be called Low-Dutch. England was the most famous and most familiar country of the Low-Dutch speech, and the Scandinavian talk of Rolf was by his Frankish hearers accordingly set down as English.
That Rolf became in the strictest sense the “man” of King Charles, I have no doubt whatever. Against plain facts and probabilities we have nothing to set except the shirkings and twistings of Dudo’s rhetoric. Thus he tells us (83 D); “Dedit itaque [Karolus] filiam suam Gislam nomine uxorem illi Duci, terramque determinatam in alodo, et in fundo, a flumine Eptæ usque ad mare, totamque Britanniam, de qua posset vivere.” And again (84 A); “Ceterum Karolus rex, duxque Rotbertus, comitesque et proceres, præsules et abbates, juraverunt sacramento Catholicæ fidei patricio Rolloni vitam suam, et membra, et honorem totius regni, insuper terram denominatam,” &c. See Palgrave, ii. 361. And he is rather fond of speaking of Normandy as a kingdom or a monarchy; “Tenet sicuti rex monarchiam Northmannicæ regionis;” “Regnum Northmannicæ Britonicæque regionis.” (110 D; 128 B, C; 136 C.) Still the homage of Rolf is perfectly plain, and so is the homage of his son William Longsword. (See pp. 168, 196.) The testimony of Flodoard (927, cf. 933) is express; “Se filius Rollonis Karolo committit.” But whether Richard the Fearless ever did homage to Lewis or Lothar is not so clear. Richard may be included among the “cæteri regni primores” who (see p. 221) did homage to Lewis in 946. Dudo however (126 C) seems very anxious to except him; “Venit rex supra fluvium Eptæ contra Northmannos, cum magno duce Hugone.... Propriis verbis fecit securitatem regni quod suus avus Rollo vi ac potestate, armis et præliis sibi acquisivit. Ipseque et omnes episcopi, comites, et abbates reverendi, principesque Franciæ regni Richardo puero innocenti, ut teneat et possideat, et nullis nisi Deo servitium ipse et successio ejus reddat, et si quis perversæ invasionis rixatione contra eum congredi, vel alicujus rixationis congressione invadere regnum, maluerit, fidissimus adjutor in omni adversæ inopportunitatis necessitate per omnia exstiterit.” As for any homage to Lothar (see p. 232), I suspect that no such homage was ever rendered. The French writers do not mention it, though they would doubtless have been glad to mention it if it had happened. And Flodoard’s way of speaking of Richard is remarkable. William was “the Prince of the Normans;” Richard is only “the son of William Prince of the Normans” (“filius Willelmi Northmannorum principis;” see p. 232, note 3). But I have no doubt that the homage was lawfully due, and it was most likely its refusal which led to the differences between Lothar and Richard. On the other hand, the Commendation of Richard to Hugh the Great (see p. 222) seems to be quite authentic, and it is clear that it was renewed to Hugh’s son. This appears from a charter, which I am obliged to quote at secondhand from Lappenberg, Norman Kings, p. 30. Richard there uses the words, “cum assensu senioris mei, Hugonis, Francorum principis.” The date is 968; the lord therefore is Hugh Capet.
With regard to this matter a remarkable passage of Sir Francis Palgrave (ii. 494–5) must be quoted and commented on. His words are, “A perfect reciprocity was established between France and the ‘Norman Monarchy,’ ... That Dominion which Rollo the Grandsire had won by so many battles, Richard shall henceforward have and hold, owing service to none but God.... Should any enemy attempt to disturb the right of the Norman Sovereign, the King of France shall be his help and aid in all things.... No other service shall Normandy render unless the King should grant the Duke some Benefice within the Kingdom of France. Therefore, as it was explained in after-time, the Duke of Normandy doth no more than promise faith and homage to the King of France. In like manner doth the King of France render the same fealty to the Duke of Normandy; nor is there any other difference between them, save that the King of France doth not render homage to the Duke of Normandy like as the Duke of Normandy doth to the King.”
If I rightly understand Sir Francis Palgrave, his meaning is that the Duke of the Normans ceased from that time to be the man of the King of the French; that he merely entered into a treaty on equal terms with his former lord; that by voluntary commendation he became the man of the Duke of the French; that the later vassalage of Normandy to France was due, not to the kingdom of France but to the duchy, that it had its beginning in the homage done by Richard the Fearless to Duke Hugh, not in the homage done by Rolf to King Charles. I say, if I rightly understand Sir Francis, because I cannot quite reconcile his statements with one another. In one page there “is perfect reciprocity established between France and the Norman monarchy.” Richard has and holds his dominion, owing service to none but God,—yet directly afterwards it is allowed that “the Duke of Normandy promises fealty and homage to the King of France.” It is dangerous to dispute with Sir Francis Palgrave on a question of feudal law, and the more so, as the relations between Normandy and France at once awaken the whole controversy about “liege” and “simple” homage. But surely, even in a case of simple homage, there is not “perfect reciprocity” between him who pays and him who receives the homage; and certainly, in the tale as I read it, I see nothing but the simple relation of lord and man, only clouded over by the big words of Dudo. And as for reciprocity, surely reciprocity of a certain kind was the essence of the feudal relation. Lord and vassal were each to help and defend the other. No one denies that Henry the Second was the vassal of King Lewis the Seventh, if not for Normandy, at any rate for his other continental possessions, but an equal obligation is imposed, in their mutual oath, on Lewis to defend Henry “sicut fidelem suum” and on Henry to defend Lewis “dominum suum.” See Roger of Wendover, ii. 388.
The notion of the independence of Normandy on France comes out very strongly in the speech which Henry of Huntingdon puts into the mouth of William the Conqueror before the Battle of Senlac (M. H. B. 762 D). A much later instance will be found in William of Worcester’s Collections (Stevenson’s Wars in France, ii. 522), when the relations between Normandy and France had again begun to interest Englishmen. We there read of “Normandy, which ducdom, as yt ys sayde by auncyent wrytyng, holdeth of noone higher souverayn in chief but of God.”
The exact relations between Richard the Fearless and the two—if any one cares to reckon the last Lewis, the three—last Karlings I must be content to leave doubtful. When the Duke of the French—the undoubted over-lord of Normandy—became also King of the French the question ceased to be a practical one. As I have said in p. 246, the French King was the lord of the Norman Duke in some character, whether in that of Duke or of King it mattered little. The question was not likely to be stirred again till that change in the relations and mutual feelings between France and Normandy which marked the days of King Henry and Duke William.
The “mos Danicus” with regard to marriage or concubinage, or rather with regard to some third state between marriage and concubinage, is often mentioned in the Norman history of the time. And, though I do not remember the exact words being used in England, yet something of the same kind seems to have existed there also. The ease with which Earl Uhtred (see p. 329) parts with two successive wives, the relations between Cnut and his two Ælfgifus (see p. 411), perhaps the relation between Harold the son of Godwine and the East-Anglian Eadgyth Swanneshals (see vol. iii. Appendix NN), all seem to point to a practice of the same kind. Indeed we shall find (see below, Note SS) that it is by no means clear whether the first wife of Æthelred, the mother of his heroic son, was not in the same way cast aside to make room for the Norman Lady. Instances of the same sort might indeed be found very much later in German, in French, and in English history, and we find a relation essentially the same as far as we can go back in the history of the Aryan race. The “mos Danicus” might just as well be called “mos Achaicus;” the relation between Rolf and Popa at once reminds one of the relation of Briseis to Achilleus, or of Andromachê to Neoptolemos. Briseis is a captive; but she receives the honourable appellation of ἄλοχος (II. ix. 336, 340); she has hopes of becoming even κουριδίη ἄλοχος (II. xix. 298). Still Achilleus’ relation to her in no way hinders him from taking another wife (II. ix. 394), any more than it hinders Diomêdê (ib. 661) from taking her place during her constrained absence. In just the same way, Popa is put away to make room for King Charles’s daughter; but afterwards we read (Will. Gem. ii. 22), “Repudiatam Popam ... iterum repetens sibi copulavit.” (See more in detail, Benoît, v. 7954, and Roman de Rou, 2037.) The “mos Danicus” is opposed to the “mos Christianus.” The tardy bridal of Richard and Gunnor (see p. 253) was done Christian fashion; “Virginem [viraginem?] ... sibi in matrimonium Christiano more desponsavit.” So says William of Jumièges (iv. 18), and he even thinks it necessary to guarantee (v. 5) that the marriage of Alan of Britanny and Hadwisa the daughter of Richard the Good was celebrated “Christiano more.” The expressions used with regard to Sprota herself are many and various. She is in Dudo, 97 A, “conjux dilectissima;” in 110 D, “matrona venerabilis,” a description which, I need hardly say, proves nothing as to her age. In Flodoard, A. 943, her son is “natus de concubina Britanna.” King Lewis, if we may believe William of Jumièges (iv. 3), went a step further, and called young Richard “meretricis filium ultro virum alienum rapientis.” This is mere Billingsgate, as Richard was certainly born before William’s marriage with Liudgardis, though from the Roman de Rou (v. 2073, 2251) one might be led to think otherwise. Elsewhere (iii. 2), in announcing the birth of Richard, William calls her “nobilissima puella, Danico more sibi [William Longsword] juncta, nomine Sprota.” And so Benoît, 8872;
The last line is most likely meant as a compliment to William of Jumièges.
The essence of this kind of connexion seems to be that the woman is the man’s wife but that the man is not the woman’s husband. He can evidently leave her at pleasure, but there is no recorded instance of her leaving him. This difference may however be simply the result of the difference of rank between the parties in all the cases with which we have to deal. The wife or mistress of a prince is obviously less likely to forsake him than he is to forsake her. And from a modern Scandinavian writer I gather that Scandinavian manners, at a somewhat later time, allowed of a connexion of nearly the same kind, but one which put the sexes more on a level.
“The term fylgikona (literally companion-woman), which frequently occurs in the Sagas, must have originally meant the same as frilla. Later on, in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, it received a more honourable import, as it was applied to a free woman living with a man in connubial intercourse according to the terms of a formal contract, but without the observance of the usual wedding ceremonies, and especially without consecration by the Church. Connexions of this kind seem to have been rather common, especially in Iceland, and dated from the time when the Church began to lay greater hindrances in the way of obtaining a divorce than had formerly been the case. This connexion would be dissolved at the wish of either of the parties, or in accordance with the terms which had been previously agreed upon, without the intervention of the Church, a result which was not in accordance with Christian views, and could not be applied to marriages proper.... The fylgikona frequently occupied the position of house-wife.” Keyser’s Private Life of the Old Northmen, pp. 35, 36.
As for earlier Frankish laxity, among many strange examples I choose the strangest. “Luxuriæ supra modum deditus [Dagobertus] tres habebat ad instar Salomonis reginas, maxime et plurimas concubinas. Reginæ vero hæ erant, Nantechildis, Wlfegundis, et Berchildis. Nomina concubinarum, eo quod plures fuissent, increvit huic chronicæ inseri.” Fredegar, c. 60.
We have two main accounts of the election of Lewis. Flodoard (A. 936) tells the tale very briefly; Richer (ii. 1–4), as usual, is much fuller. But the longer version only expands, and in no way contradicts, the shorter one. The main points, that Hugh the Great was the chief mover in the business and that application had to be made to King Æthelstan in England, come out equally in both accounts. Flodoard tells us, in his dry annalistic way, “Hugo comes trans mare mittit pro accersiendo ad apicem regni suscipiendum Ludowico Karoli filio, quem rex Alstanus avunculus ipsius, accepto prius jurejurando a Francorum legatis, in Franciam cum quibusdam episcopis et aliis fidelibus suis dirigit.” We may here note how completely the words “trans mare” had got to mean England and nothing else, and also that Francia seems to be used in a wider sense than usual (see above, p. 614), though not necessarily in a sense taking in the whole of the Western kingdom. Lewis is met at Boulogne by Hugh and the other princes (“cæteri Francorum proceres”), who do homage to him on the sea-shore (“in ipsis litoreis arenis apud Bononiam sese committunt, ut erat utrimque depactum”). He then goes to Laon, and is crowned. Richer (ii. 1) first gives us that geographical distribution of parties which I have mentioned in the text, and of which I have also spoken in an earlier Note (see above, p. 609). He distinctly mentions Hugh’s unwillingness to assume the crown; “Quum Hugo patrem ob insolentiam periisse reminiscebatur, et ob hoc regnare formidaret” (cf. c. 73, where King Lewis says the same), and adds that, through the absence of Lewis and the unwillingness of Hugh, the choice of a King at least seemed freer than usual (“Galli itaque in regis promotione liberiores videri laborantes”). They meet under the presidency of Duke Hugh (“sub Hugone duce deliberaturi de rege creando collecti sunt”). The Duke makes a speech, which we may safely set down as the composition of the historian. Hugh, we cannot doubt, really had a superstitious feeling against taking the title of King, but he is not likely to have made the strong legitimist harangue which is put into his mouth by Richer. He deplores the sin of his father in reigning, even though he had been chosen to reign by the common voice of the nation; “Pater meus vestra quondam omnium voluntate rex creatus, non sine magno regnavit facinore, quum is cui soli jura regnandi debebantur viveret, et vivens carcere clauderetur. Quod credite Deo non acceptum fuisse. Unde et absit ut ego patris loco restituar.” He then goes on to speak of the reign of Rudolf as teaching the same lesson (“quum ejus tempore visum sit, quid nunc innasci possit, contemptus videlicet regis ac per hoc principum dissensus”). He therefore counsels a return to the lawful royal stock (“repetatur ergo interrupta paullulum regiæ generationis linea”). The rest agree, and the embassy is sent to England in the name of the Duke and the other princes (“Ducis benevolentia atque omnium qui in Galliis potiores sunt”).
The real importance of this speech, like that of many other speeches, consists in its setting forth the feelings of Richer, not the feelings of Duke Hugh. It points to a strong royalist tone as prevailing at Rheims when this part of Richer’s history was written, and it is curious to contrast his language now with the language which he uses after the revolution of 987. See p. 240.
William of Normandy is not mentioned in either of these accounts. Dudo (97 D) has quite another story, in which, as I hinted in the text, the first step is taken by Æthelstan, who prays Duke William to restore his nephew. “Audiens autem Alstemus, rex Anglorum pacificus, quod præcellebat Willelmus virtute et potentia Franciscæ nationis omnibus, misit ad eum legatos suos cum donis præmaximis et muneribus, deprecans ut Ludovicum nepotem suum, Karoli capti regis morte jam in captione præoccupati filium, revocaret ad Franciæ regnum,” &c., &c.
It is in recording this election of Lewis that Rudolf Glaber (i. 3) uses those expressions, so well setting forth the union of election and hereditary right, which I have quoted elsewhere (see above, p. 609). He does not mention Hugh at all, though he had just before enlarged on his share in the election of Rudolf.
Our accounts of the circumstances which led to the death of William Longsword differ widely from each other. Flodoard (943) simply tells us that Arnulf invited him to a conference, and there caused him to be put to death. “Arnulfus comes Willelmum Nortmannorum principem ad colloquium evocatum dolo perimi fecit.” Thus much we may accept as certain; but the oldest French and Norman versions of the events immediately going before are remarkably unlike, and in later writers we find quite another version of the whole affair.
Richer (ii. 30 et seqq.) connects the murder of William with an insult offered by him to King Otto in the Council held by Otto and Lewis at Attigny. William, whether by accident or by design, was not admitted at the beginning of the meeting. After waiting for some time, he forced his way in in great wrath, and his indignation was further heightened at what he then saw. The two Kings were sitting on a raised couch, the Eastern King, the truer successor of Charles, taking the seat of honour. Below them, on two chairs, sat Hugh the Great and Arnulf. William had lately renewed his homage to Lewis, and was filled with zeal for the honour of his over-lord. He bade Lewis rise, and he himself took his seat immediately below Otto. It was not fit that the Western King should allow any man to sit above him (“ipse resedit, dixitque indecens esse regem inferiorem, alium vero quemlibet superiorem videri”). He then made Otto rise, and made Lewis take the seat left empty by Otto, he himself keeping the place immediately below Lewis, that where Lewis himself had been seated at first; “Quapropter oportere Ottonem inde amoliri, regique cedere. Otto pudore affectus surgit ac regi cedit. Rex itaque superior, at Wilelmus inferior consederunt.” William thus set forth his theory of precedence; the King of the West-Franks first, the Duke of the Normans second, the Teutonic King and the other princes of Gaul seemingly nowhere. Such a doctrine was naturally unacceptable alike to Otto, Hugh, and Arnulf. They dissembled their anger at the time; but, when the council had broken up, and when Lewis and William had gone away together, they met and discussed their wrongs privately. Otto in vague terms (c. 31) exhorted Hugh and Arnulf to vengeance against William; he who had not spared him, King Otto, would certainly not spare them (“qui sibi regi non indulsit, minus illis indulturum”). Richer however does not charge Otto with counselling the assassination of William, unless such a charge is implied in the words, “conceptum facinus variis verborum coloribus obvelat.” Hugh and Arnulf then met together and determined on the murder of William. His death was expedient, because it would enable them to get Lewis altogether into their power, whereas now William supported the King against them (“regem etiam ad quodcumque volent facilius inflexuros, si is solum pereat, quo rex fretus ad quæque flecti nequeat.” c. 32). The plot was laid; Arnulf invited William to the conference at Picquigny; the Norman Duke was there killed by some of the conspirators whose names are not given, but not in the presence or by the avowed orders of the Count of Flanders.
Dudo’s story (pp. 104 et seqq.) is quite different. He knows nothing of the Council of Attigny, nothing of King Otto as having even an involuntary share in William’s murder. With him the first deviser of the scheme is Arnulf, to whom all mischief is as naturally attributed at this stage of Norman history as, at a later stage of English history, it is attributed first to Ælfric and then to Eadric. Arnulf’s quarrel with William arises wholly out of the affair of Herlwin of Montreuil (see p. 201). But certain French princes who are not named join with Arnulf in the conspiracy; “Arnulfus dux Flandrensium supra memoratus, veneno vipereæ calliditatis nequiter repletus astuque diabolicæ fraudis exitialiter illectus, gentisque Franciscæ quorumdam principum subdolo consilio et malignitate atrociter exhortatus, cœpit meditari et tractare lugubrem mortem ejus Willelmi.” From this point the two tales are nearly the same; only Dudo of course throws Arnulf’s talk with William into a characteristic Dudonian shape. Arnulf is not only ready to make up his differences with Herlwin; he asks for William’s protection against King Lewis, Duke Hugh, and Count Herbert; he is ready to become William’s vassal during life, and to make him his successor at his death; “Quamdiu superstes fuero ero tibi tributarius, meique servient tibi ut domino servus. Post meæ resolutionis excessum, possidebis meæ ditionis regnum” (105 A). No one but Dudo could have thought of putting such words into Arnulf’s mouth, even by way of a blind. The assassination itself is described in much the same way as it is by Richer; Dudo also gives us the names of the actual murderers. They are Eric, Balzo, Robert, and Ridulf or Riulf.
Now these two versions, though at first sight so utterly different, do not formally contradict one another. It is quite possible that Arnulf may have been led to his crime by a combination of causes, of which Richer has enlarged on one part and Dudo on another, according to their several points of view. Arnulf may well have had a grudge against William, both on account of the wrong done to him in the matter of Montreuil and also on account of the insult offered to him at Attigny. And in fact the two narratives to a certain degree incidentally coincide. Richer (ii. 31) implies that Arnulf and his confederates already had a grudge against William before the meeting at Attigny; “Quæ oratio [Ottonis sc.] plurimam invidiam paravit, ac amicos in odium Wilelmi incitavit, quum et ipsi, quamvis latenter, ei admodum inviderent.” Dudo, as we have seen, speaks of a conspiracy of Arnulf with other princes of Gaul. It was not at all unnatural that the affair of Attigny should be of primary importance in the eyes of Richer, and that the affair of Montreuil should be of primary importance in the eyes of Dudo. Attigny lay quite beyond the reach of ordinary Norman vision, and William’s doings there might not seem very meritorious in Norman eyes. It was certainly something to have put an open affront upon the Eastern King; but it was perhaps hardly becoming in the independent lord of the Norman monarchy (see page 221, and above, p. 621) to show such ostentatious deference to the Western King. It is therefore quite possible to put together a very probable narrative, taking in the main statements both of Richer and of Dudo, but of course allowing for the rhetorical and exaggerated form into which both of them throw their details. This is very much what is done by Sir Francis Palgrave (Normandy and England, ii. 299 et seqq.), only in one or two places he gives the story a strange colouring of his own. I can find nothing about William being himself too late, either on purpose or by accident. The statement of Richer, as I read it, is simply that, whether by design or by accident, he was shut out of the council-chamber. Again, Sir Francis simply says that William “compelled King Otho to rise;” he says not a word about William’s motive for so doing or about the exaggerated loyalty which he displayed towards Lewis.
One can hardly doubt, on the authority of Flodoard and Richer, that William was really killed at Picquigny by the machinations of Arnulf. But there is quite another story, briefly alluded to by Sir Francis Palgrave in two places (pp. 298, 303), which transfers the scene of the murder from the Somme to the Seine. This version turns up in several shapes. We get it in Rudolf Glaber (iii. 9. Duchesne, vol. iv. p. 38), according to whom the chief criminal was Theobald of Chartres. Theobald the Tricker is the first to devise the plot, and he is also the actual murderer. In concert with Arnulf, William is invited by Theobald to a conference somewhere on the Seine. Rudolf is not clear whether the summons was sent in the name of the King or of the Duke of the French (“promittens se ex parte regis Francorum seu Hugonis Magni, qui fuerat filius Roberti regis, quem Otto dux Saxonum, postea vero Imperator Romanorum, Suessionis interfecit”); that is to say, Rudolf already failed to understand that there had been a time when the Rex Francorum was quite a different person from the lord of Paris and the Seine. The story of the murder then follows much as before, with the Seine for the Somme and Theobald for Arnulf; only Theobald kills William with his own hand.
In the Tours Chronicle (Duchesne, Rer. Franc, iii. 360) we find another version; “Guillelmus filius Rollonis ducis Normanniæ a Balzone Curto in medio Sequanæ occisus est, propter mortem Riulfi et filii sui Anchetilli.” Now we found Balzo in Dudo’s account as the name of one of William’s murderers, but we had no account of the man or of his motives. He here appears as the avenger of Riulf, doubtless the Riulf who headed the revolt against William in 932 (see p. 189). We then however heard nothing of Riulf’s death, the statement of Dudo (96 D) being that “Riulfus fugiendo evanuit.” But who is Anchetillus, Anquetil, Anscytel, a palpable Dane like our own Thurcytels and Ulfcytels? And why should Balzo avenge either Ancytel or Riulf? Here comes in the story of William of Malmesbury, which he first tells (ii. 145) as if he fully believed it, and then adds, as more trustworthy (“veraciores literæ dicunt”), an abridgement of Dudo’s story. Anscytel (Oscytel) is the son of Riulf, a Norman chief who had somehow incurred William Longsword’s displeasure, and who greatly troubled him with his revolts. But Anscytel is the faithful soldier of Duke William, and he carries his loyalty so far as to take his father prisoner and to hand him over to the Duke. He does however exact a promise that Riulf shall suffer no punishment worse than bonds. But, not long after, Anscytel is sent by Duke William to Pavia with a letter for a potentate described as the Duke of Italy, asking that the bearer may be put to death (“Comes Anschetillum in Papiam dirigit, epistolam de sua ipsius nece ad ducem Italiæ portantem”). This, I need hardly say, is a story as old as Bellerophontês (Il. vi. 168) and as modern as Godwine (see Note EEE). The Duke of Italy of course abhors the crime, and, equally of course, is in dread of the power of his brother of Normandy. A thousand horsemen are sent to attack Anscytel and his companions as soon as they are out of the city. Anscytel, like the Homeric Tydeus, was small in stature but valiant in war (“vir exigui corporis sed immanis fortitudinis”—μικρὸς ἔην δέμας, ἀλλὰ μαχητής· Il. v. 801), whence his surname Curtus. But, less successful than Tydeus (Il. iv. 387; v. 803 et seqq.) or Bellerophontês (Il. vi. 188), Anscytel and his comrades indeed slay all their enemies, but they are also all slain themselves, except Balzo. This sole survivor, unlike Othryadês (Herod, i. 82), does not kill himself, but at once accuses his immediate lord Duke William in the court of his over-lord the King. Besides the treachery practised against Anscytel, Riulf too, contrary to Duke William’s promise, had been blinded in prison. The Duke of the Normans is summoned by his over-lord to answer for the crime, and, somewhat strangely, the court of the Carolingian King of Laon is held at Paris. Thither Duke William humbly comes, and there he is, like Uhtred (see p. 379) and Eadwulf (see p. 527), killed by Balzo under the pretext of a conference.
I need hardly say that this tale, as it stands, is a mere romance; but it is an instructive romance, because it is so easy to trace out the mythical elements out of which it is made up. Still, like most other such stories, it most likely contains its kernel of truth. Balzo may have been one of Riulf’s followers in the Côtentin, who took an opportunity to revenge his chieftain’s defeat. More than this it would be rash to infer. So the story in Rudolf Glaber may justify us in adding Theobald of Chartres to the list of conspirators against William, and the same story falls in with the charge against Hugh brought by Richer. But there is no kind of need to breathe the least suspicion against King Lewis; William was just then his firm friend, and any mention of the King as having a hand in the business seems to be owing only to the fact that the later writers had forgotten what were the true relations between Laon and Paris in the days of William Longsword.
Ælfhere of Mercia is called by Florence (983) “Regis Anglorum Eadgari propinquus,” which most likely means kindred by the mother’s side. His name is affixed to most of the charters of the time, and many acts in Mercia are stated to be done by his consent. See, for instance, a charter of Bishop Oswald (Cod. Dipl. iii. 5), where he bears the title of “heretoga.” The Chronicles (A. 975), followed by Henry of Huntingdon (M. H. B. 748 C), who calls him “consul nequissimus,” charge him with actually destroying monasteries. Florence speaks only of his bringing in married priests and their wives. In some cases it appears that former owners of lands then in monastic occupation laid legal claims to them as having been taken from them unjustly. See Hist. El. lib. i. c. 5, 8; Gale, pp. 465, 467. It is curious to find among these claimants against the monastery of Ely no less a person than Ealdorman Æthelwine himself (Hist. El. lib. i. c. 5). Æthelwine, worshipped at Ramsey, was thought much less highly of at Ely, just as we shall find Harold spoken of very differently at Wells and at Waltham.
Of the house of the Ealdormen of the East-Angles, of whom Æthelwine, who has just been mentioned, was the most famous, we can get a still more distinct idea. See Florence, A. 975, 991; Hist. Rams. 387, Gale. Æthelwine was the youngest son of Æthelstan, surnamed the Half-king (Hist. Rams., u. s.), Ealdorman of the East-Angles, who seems to have died about 967, when we find his last signature (Cod. Dipl. iii. 16). He married (Hist. El. ii. 8; Gale, p. 495) Æthelflæd, daughter of Brihthelm, and sister of the famous Ealdorman Brihtnoth, of whom we shall hear more presently. They had four sons, Æthelwold, Ælfwold, Æthelsige, and Æthelwine. Of these, the eldest and youngest were in turn joined with their father in the government of East-Anglia. Æthelwold, whose widow Ælfthryth married King Eadgar in 964 (when Florence calls him “gloriosus dux Orientalium Anglorum”), signs several charters as dux down to 962, probably the year of his death. From that year his youngest brother (see Florence, 992) Æthelwine takes his place. It is not easy to see why Ælfwold was excluded, as he lived on in a private station, and was on good terms with his brother the Ealdorman (Fl. Wig. A. 975). Æthelsige also, the third brother, signs many charters with the title of “minister,” that is, Thegn. Æthelwine died in 992 (Fl. Wig. 992). The portentous title of “totius [Orientalis?] Angliæ aldermannus,” said (see Hist. Rams. p. 462) to have been inscribed on his grave, is hardly credible, but it has its parallels in the title of “Dux Francorum,” borne by the contemporary Lords of Paris, in that of “Princeps Francorum” borne by the Mayors of the Palace in earlier days (Ann. Mett. 621; Pertz, i. 320, &c.), and in that of “Dux Anglorum” given by the Bayeux Tapestry to Harold when Earl of the West-Saxons. Who succeeded him in his earldom is not very clear. He had a son Æthelweard, who died at Assandun in 1016. Florence calls him “Æthelwardus dux, filius ducis East-Anglorum Æthelwini Dei amici,” but the Chronicles call him simply “Æþlweard Æþelwines sunu ealdormannes.” The testimony of Florence shows that “Æþelwines,” the reading of the Abingdon Chronicle, is the right one. Worcester has “Ælfwines,” Peterborough, more remarkably, “Æðelsiges.” The question as to the right of this Æthelweard to the title of “dux” at once leads us to the position of the famous Ulfcytel of East-Anglia, of whom see below, Note HH. With regard to Æthelsige, the question at once arises whether this is the Æthelsige of whom Æthelred speaks in a charter of 999 (Cod. Dipl. iii. 305) as having beguiled him into his spoliation of the see of Rochester. See above, p. 267. This Æthelsige, he complains, corrupted his innocent youth, and he draws a fearful picture of his evil deeds in various ways. He was at last punished by the loss of all his own honours and property. This is no doubt the Æthelsige who signs many of the earlier charters of Æthelred (Cod. Dipl. iii. 171, 190, 202, 212, 216, 222, 224, 228, 280); but it is not clear either whether this is our Æthelsige, or whether either of them is the same as the captain who ravaged South Wales in 991.
Of Brihtnoth, the uncle and ally of Æthelwine, we shall hear again as the hero of Maldon (see p. 270). Of the many ways of spelling his name and kindred names, Brihtric and the like, Brihtnoth is the one which I prefer. Beorht is the older, briht the later form of the word; so that Beorhtnoth and Brihtnoth are the correct earlier and later forms of the name. Byrhtnoth and other spellings are simply transitional and irregular.
Brihtnoth, we learn from the Song of Maldon, was the son of Brihthelm. I take him to be the same as Brihtnoth the Thegn, to whom a grant of land is made by Eadgar in 967 (Cod. Dipl. iii. 15), and who signs as “minister,” another man of the same name signing as “dux.” This elder Ealdorman Brithnoth can be traced back to the beginning of Eadgar’s reign. It is not easy to say to which of these two Brihtnoths the signatures of “Brihtnoth dux” in the latter years of Eadgar belong. Nor is it clear which of the two it is to whom Eadgar makes another grant of land in 967 (Cod. Dipl. vi. 82). But it is certain that our Brihtnoth had attained the rank of Ealdorman before the death of Eadgar in 975. In 991 he was an old man, “Hár hilderinc.” It should be noticed that Brihtnoth the Thegn gives the lands granted him by the King to the church of Worcester, an act eminently characteristic of our Brihtnoth.
There is another notice of Brihtnoth in a charter of Æthelred of 1005 (Cod. Dipl. iii. 339), which seems to contain a reference to a genuine will of his. In the confirmation charter of Eynsham abbey the King—“ego Eðelredus, multiplici Dei clementia indulgente, Angul-Saxonum antedictus rex, cæterarumque gentium longe lateque per circuitum gubernator et rector”—records among other gifts, “villam quæ Scipford dicitur dedit vir prædictus [the founder Æthelmar] ad monasterium antedictum, quam ei Leofwinus suus consanguineus spiritu in ultimo constitutus donavit, quam Birhtnoðus antea dux præclarus ab Eadgaro patre meo dignis præmium pro meritis accipere lætabatur; Micclantun similiter ad monasterium dedit, quam ille Birhtnoðus dux prædictus ultimo commisit dono ab Eadgaro quoque ei antea donatam et in cartula firmiter commendatam.” We here see the favour in which Brihtnoth stood with Eadgar.
Brihtnoth appears also in the will of Æthelflæd (recited in that of Ælflæd, Cod. Dipl. iii. 271), a document of the reign of Eadgar. Large bequests are made to the Ealdorman by Æthelflæd; but his death seems to have hindered their taking effect, as a different disposal of the property is made by Ælflæd. Mr. Thorpe (Dipl. Ang. 519) identifies this Æthelflæd with the widow of King Eadmund, but his reference to the Chronicles should be 946 instead of 925. Brihtnoth had married Æthelflæd’s sister. As his own widow bore the same name, was she a second wife, or were there two sisters both called Æthelflæd? We find another case of three Æthelflæds in one family, p. 521. In the alleged will of Brihtnoth himself in Palgrave, ii. ccxxiii., I put very little faith.
The accounts of Brihtnoth in the Histories of Ely and Ramsey seem to be mixed up with a good deal of fable. They both (Ramsey, c. lxxi.; Gale, p. 422; Ely, lib. ii. c. 6; Gale, p. 493) tell a story how the Ealdorman, on his march against the Danes, came to Ramsey and asked for food for his army. The niggardly Abbot Wulfsige was ready to entertain the Ealdorman and a few select companions, but he would not undertake to feed the whole host. Brihtnoth, like Alexander, will partake of nothing in which all his soldiers cannot share, and marches on to Ely, where Abbot Ælfsige receives the whole multitude. Brihtnoth accordingly gives to the abbey of Ely certain lands which he had intended for that of Ramsey. This is hardly history; we see too clearly the stories of Gideon and the elders of Succoth and of David and Abiathar the Priest. It is also hard to see how a march to Maldon from any part of Brihtnoth’s government could lead him by either Ramsey or Ely. The Ely History escapes this difficulty by making him Earl of the Northumbrians instead of the East-Saxons, and by making two battles of Maldon. Brihtnoth, victorious in the former, returns to Northumberland; the Danes land again; Brihtnoth comes from Northumberland, taking the two abbeys on his march; he then fights the second battle, in which, after fourteen days of combat, he is killed.
Of the three Thegns of Lindesey or Deira, who played such a cowardly part in 993 (see p. 283), two at least are known to us by the charters of Eadgar’s reign. The account of the affair in the Chronicles is simply, “Þa onstealdon þa heretogan ærest þone fleam· þæt wæs Fræna and Godwine and Friðegist.” Florence expands somewhat; “Duces exercitus, Frana videlicet, Frithogist, et Godwinus, quia ex paterno genere Danici fuerunt, suis insidiantes, auctores fugæ primitus exstiterunt.” The words “ex paterno genere” would imply that the earlier Danish settlers, like the followers of Cnut and of William afterwards, often took English wives. Also Florence translates “heretogan” by “duces exercitus,” lest “heretogan” should be taken to imply the permanent rank of Ealdorman. Neither Fræna nor Frithegist ever held that rank. They sign charters in abundance, from the days of Eadgar onwards, but never with any higher rank than that of “minister” or “miles.” Fræna signs a great many charters long after this. In 995 he signs two of Æscwig, Bishop of Dorchester (Cod. Dipl. iii. 286, 288), which probably implies that he belonged to Lindesey and not to Deira. Of Godwine we may suspect that he also was of Lindesey, that he reformed, and rose to the rank of Ealdorman. Godwine, Ealdorman of Lindesey, who died at Assandun in 1016, is most likely the man here spoken of; but Godwine is so common a name that it is impossible to say to whom all the signatures of “Godwine minister” belong. Sometimes two or more Godwines sign without further distinction.
These are the chief men of the days of Eadgar who are also heard of under Æthelred, with the exception of those who are connected with Northumberland, of whom I shall speak in a separate Note (KK). It would also be easy, by the help of the charters, to trace the succession and promotions of several men of less renown.
The Chronicles do not, either in prose or in verse, say anything about the disputed election which is said to have followed the death of Eadgar, though three of them notice in verse that the crown passed to a minor. Eadgar dies,