William the Red, in breathless haste,
secured the three great forts of Dover, Pevensey,
and Hastings, and made with hot speed for Winchester,
where the Royal treasure was kept. The treasurer
delivering him the keys, he found that it amounted
to sixty thousand pounds in silver, besides gold and
jewels. Possessed of this wealth, he soon persuaded
the Archbishop of Canterbury to crown him, and became
William the Second, King of England.
Rufus was no sooner on the throne,
than he ordered into prison again the unhappy state
captives whom his father had set free, and directed
a goldsmith to ornament his father’s tomb profusely
with gold and silver. It would have been more
dutiful in him to have attended the sick Conqueror
when he was dying; but England itself, like this Red
King, who once governed it, has sometimes made expensive
tombs for dead men whom it treated shabbily when they
were alive.
The King’s brother, Robert of
Normandy, seeming quite content to be only Duke of
that country; and the King’s other brother, Fine-Scholar,
being quiet enough with his five thousand pounds in
a chest; the King flattered himself, we may suppose,
with the hope of an easy reign. But easy reigns
were difficult to have in those days. The turbulent
Bishop Odo (who had blessed the Norman army at
the Battle of Hastings, and who, I dare say, took
all the credit of the victory to himself) soon began,
in concert with some powerful Norman nobles, to trouble
the Red King.
The truth seems to be that this bishop
and his friends, who had lands in England and lands
in Normandy, wished to hold both under one Sovereign;
and greatly preferred a thoughtless good-natured person,
such as Robert was, to Rufus; who, though far from
being an amiable man in any respect, was keen, and
not to be imposed upon. They declared in Robert’s
favour, and retired to their castles (those castles
were very troublesome to kings) in a sullen humour.
The Red King, seeing the Normans thus falling from
him, revenged himself upon them by appealing to the
English; to whom he made a variety of promises, which
he never meant to perform in particular,
promises to soften the cruelty of the Forest Laws;
and who, in return, so aided him with their valour,
that Odo was besieged in the Castle of Rochester,
and forced to abandon it, and to depart from England
for ever: whereupon the other rebellious Norman
nobles were soon reduced and scattered.
Then, the Red King went over to Normandy,
where the people suffered greatly under the loose
rule of Duke Robert. The King’s object
was to seize upon the Duke’s dominions.
This, the Duke, of course, prepared to resist; and
miserable war between the two brothers seemed inevitable,
when the powerful nobles on both sides, who had seen
so much of war, interfered to prevent it. A
treaty was made. Each of the two brothers agreed
to give up something of his claims, and that the longer-liver
of the two should inherit all the dominions of the
other. When they had come to this loving understanding,
they embraced and joined their forces against Fine-Scholar;
who had bought some territory of Robert with a part
of his five thousand pounds, and was considered a dangerous
individual in consequence.
St. Michael’s Mount, in Normandy
(there is another St. Michael’s Mount, in Cornwall,
wonderfully like it), was then, as it is now, a strong
place perched upon the top of a high rock, around
which, when the tide is in, the sea flows, leaving
no road to the mainland. In this place, Fine-Scholar
shut himself up with his soldiers, and here he was
closely besieged by his two brothers. At one
time, when he was reduced to great distress for want
of water, the generous Robert not only permitted his
men to get water, but sent Fine-Scholar wine from his
own table; and, on being remonstrated with by the
Red King, said ’What! shall we let our own brother
die of thirst? Where shall we get another, when
he is gone?’ At another time, the Red King
riding alone on the shore of the bay, looking up at
the Castle, was taken by two of Fine-Scholar’s
men, one of whom was about to kill him, when he cried
out, ’Hold, knave! I am the King of England!’
The story says that the soldier raised him from the
ground respectfully and humbly, and that the King
took him into his service. The story may or
may not be true; but at any rate it is true that Fine-Scholar
could not hold out against his united brothers, and
that he abandoned Mount St. Michael, and wandered
about as poor and forlorn as other scholars
have been sometimes known to be.
The Scotch became unquiet in the Red
King’s time, and were twice defeated the
second time, with the loss of their King, Malcolm,
and his son. The Welsh became unquiet too.
Against them, Rufus was less successful; for they
fought among their native mountains, and did great
execution on the King’s troops. Robert
of Normandy became unquiet too; and, complaining that
his brother the King did not faithfully perform his
part of their agreement, took up arms, and obtained
assistance from the King of France, whom Rufus, in
the end, bought off with vast sums of money.
England became unquiet too. Lord Mowbray, the
powerful Earl of Northumberland, headed a great conspiracy
to depose the King, and to place upon the throne,
Stephen, the Conqueror’s near relative.
The plot was discovered; all the chief conspirators
were seized; some were fined, some were put in prison,
some were put to death. The Earl of Northumberland
himself was shut up in a dungeon beneath Windsor Castle,
where he died, an old man, thirty long years afterwards.
The Priests in England were more unquiet than any
other class or power; for the Red King treated them
with such small ceremony that he refused to appoint
new bishops or archbishops when the old ones died,
but kept all the wealth belonging to those offices
in his own hands. In return for this, the Priests
wrote his life when he was dead, and abused him well.
I am inclined to think, myself, that there was little
to choose between the Priests and the Red King; that
both sides were greedy and designing; and that they
were fairly matched.
The Red King was false of heart, selfish,
covetous, and mean. He had a worthy minister
in his favourite, Ralph, nicknamed for almost
every famous person had a nickname in those rough
days Flambard, or the Firebrand.
Once, the King being ill, became penitent, and made
Anselm, a foreign priest and a good man, Archbishop
of Canterbury. But he no sooner got well again
than he repented of his repentance, and persisted
in wrongfully keeping to himself some of the wealth
belonging to the archbishopric. This led to
violent disputes, which were aggravated by there being
in Rome at that time two rival Popes; each of whom
declared he was the only real original infallible
Pope, who couldn’t make a mistake. At
last, Anselm, knowing the Red King’s character,
and not feeling himself safe in England, asked leave
to return abroad. The Red King gladly gave it;
for he knew that as soon as Anselm was gone, he could
begin to store up all the Canterbury money again, for
his own use.
By such means, and by taxing and oppressing
the English people in every possible way, the Red
King became very rich. When he wanted money for
any purpose, he raised it by some means or other, and
cared nothing for the injustice he did, or the misery
he caused. Having the opportunity of buying
from Robert the whole duchy of Normandy for five years,
he taxed the English people more than ever, and made
the very convents sell their plate and valuables to
supply him with the means to make the purchase.
But he was as quick and eager in putting down revolt
as he was in raising money; for, a part of the Norman
people objecting very naturally, I think to
being sold in this way, he headed an army against them
with all the speed and energy of his father.
He was so impatient, that he embarked for Normandy
in a great gale of wind. And when the sailors
told him it was dangerous to go to sea in such angry
weather, he replied, ‘Hoist sail and away!
Did you ever hear of a king who was drowned?’
You will wonder how it was that even
the careless Robert came to sell his dominions.
It happened thus. It had long been the custom
for many English people to make journeys to Jerusalem,
which were called pilgrimages, in order that they
might pray beside the tomb of Our Saviour there.
Jerusalem belonging to the Turks, and the Turks hating
Christianity, these Christian travellers were often
insulted and ill used. The Pilgrims bore it
patiently for some time, but at length a remarkable
man, of great earnestness and eloquence, called Peter
the hermit, began to preach in various places
against the Turks, and to declare that it was the
duty of good Christians to drive away those unbelievers
from the tomb of Our Saviour, and to take possession
of it, and protect it. An excitement such as
the world had never known before was created.
Thousands and thousands of men of all ranks and conditions
departed for Jerusalem to make war against the Turks.
The war is called in history the first Crusade, and
every Crusader wore a cross marked on his right shoulder.
All the Crusaders were not zealous
Christians. Among them were vast numbers of
the restless, idle, profligate, and adventurous spirit
of the time. Some became Crusaders for the love
of change; some, in the hope of plunder; some, because
they had nothing to do at home; some, because they
did what the priests told them; some, because they
liked to see foreign countries; some, because they
were fond of knocking men about, and would as soon
knock a Turk about as a Christian. Robert of
Normandy may have been influenced by all these motives;
and by a kind desire, besides, to save the Christian
Pilgrims from bad treatment in future. He wanted
to raise a number of armed men, and to go to the Crusade.
He could not do so without money. He had no
money; and he sold his dominions to his brother, the
Red King, for five years. With the large sum
he thus obtained, he fitted out his Crusaders gallantly,
and went away to Jerusalem in martial state.
The Red King, who made money out of everything, stayed
at home, busily squeezing more money out of Normans
and English.
After three years of great hardship
and suffering from shipwreck at sea; from
travel in strange lands; from hunger, thirst, and fever,
upon the burning sands of the desert; and from the
fury of the Turks the valiant Crusaders
got possession of Our Saviour’s tomb. The
Turks were still resisting and fighting bravely, but
this success increased the general desire in Europe
to join the Crusade. Another great French Duke
was proposing to sell his dominions for a term to
the rich Red King, when the Red King’s reign
came to a sudden and violent end.
You have not forgotten the New Forest
which the Conqueror made, and which the miserable
people whose homes he had laid waste, so hated.
The cruelty of the Forest Laws, and the torture and
death they brought upon the peasantry, increased this
hatred. The poor persecuted country people believed
that the New Forest was enchanted. They said
that in thunder-storms, and on dark nights, demons
appeared, moving beneath the branches of the gloomy
trees. They said that a terrible spectre had
foretold to Norman hunters that the Red King should
be punished there. And now, in the pleasant
season of May, when the Red King had reigned almost
thirteen years; and a second Prince of the Conqueror’s
blood another Richard, the son of Duke
Robert was killed by an arrow in this dreaded
Forest; the people said that the second time was not
the last, and that there was another death to come.
It was a lonely forest, accursed in
the people’s hearts for the wicked deeds that
had been done to make it; and no man save the King
and his Courtiers and Huntsmen, liked to stray there.
But, in reality, it was like any other forest.
In the spring, the green leaves broke out of the
buds; in the summer, flourished heartily, and made
deep shades; in the winter, shrivelled and blew down,
and lay in brown heaps on the moss. Some trees
were stately, and grew high and strong; some had fallen
of themselves; some were felled by the forester’s
axe; some were hollow, and the rabbits burrowed at
their roots; some few were struck by lightning, and
stood white and bare. There were hill-sides covered
with rich fern, on which the morning dew so beautifully
sparkled; there were brooks, where the deer went down
to drink, or over which the whole herd bounded, flying
from the arrows of the huntsmen; there were sunny glades,
and solemn places where but little light came through
the rustling leaves. The songs of the birds in
the New Forest were pleasanter to hear than the shouts
of fighting men outside; and even when the Red King
and his Court came hunting through its solitudes,
cursing loud and riding hard, with a jingling of stirrups
and bridles and knives and daggers, they did much
less harm there than among the English or Normans,
and the stags died (as they lived) far easier than
the people.
Upon a day in August, the Red King,
now reconciled to his brother, Fine-Scholar, came
with a great train to hunt in the New Forest.
Fine-Scholar was of the party. They were a
merry party, and had lain all night at Malwood-Keep,
a hunting-lodge in the forest, where they had made
good cheer, both at supper and breakfast, and had
drunk a deal of wine. The party dispersed in
various directions, as the custom of hunters then was.
The King took with him only sir Walter Tyrrel,
who was a famous sportsman, and to whom he had given,
before they mounted horse that morning, two fine arrows.
The last time the King was ever seen
alive, he was riding with Sir Walter Tyrrel, and their
dogs were hunting together.
It was almost night, when a poor charcoal-burner,
passing through the forest with his cart, came upon
the solitary body of a dead man, shot with an arrow
in the breast, and still bleeding. He got it
into his cart. It was the body of the King.
Shaken and tumbled, with its red beard all whitened
with lime and clotted with blood, it was driven in
the cart by the charcoal-burner next day to Winchester
Cathedral, where it was received and buried.
Sir Walter Tyrrel, who escaped to
Normandy, and claimed the protection of the King of
France, swore in France that the Red King was suddenly
shot dead by an arrow from an unseen hand, while they
were hunting together; that he was fearful of being
suspected as the King’s murderer; and that he
instantly set spurs to his horse, and fled to the sea-shore.
Others declared that the King and Sir Walter Tyrrel
were hunting in company, a little before sunset, standing
in bushes opposite one another, when a stag came between
them. That the King drew his bow and took aim,
but the string broke. That the King then cried,
’Shoot, Walter, in the Devil’s name!’
That Sir Walter shot. That the arrow glanced
against a tree, was turned aside from the stag, and
struck the King from his horse, dead.
By whose hand the Red King really
fell, and whether that hand despatched the arrow to
his breast by accident or by design, is only known
to god. Some think his brother may have
caused him to be killed; but the Red King had made
so many enemies, both among priests and people, that
suspicion may reasonably rest upon a less unnatural
murderer. Men know no more than that he was
found dead in the New Forest, which the suffering people
had regarded as a doomed ground for his race.