483 – Standing on Ceremony

Welcome to the British History Podcast.

My name is Jamie, and this is episode 483: Standing on Ceremony.

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The final two years of the 11th century feel like someone was trying to tie up a bunch of plot lines before they start season 12, because things are moving fast, and everybody's suddenly in different countries.

And inevitably, some of these characters are not going to have their contracts renewed.

And in the middle of all of this, Anselm is flatly refusing to exit stage left.

Now, if you remember, the last time that we heard from him, his boss, the Pope, had just ordered him to Rome.

And Anselm finally arrived in the city by late April of 1098, where he stayed at the Lateran Palace for 10 days.

And that meant that Pope Urban II and his staff had to deal with Anselm and listen to all of his complaints for 10 long days.

And there were a lot of complaints.

In fact, in telling this part, Edmur notes some of the stories that are being told about Rufus, but he adds that even he won't vouch for them.

And when your own biographer is all, okay,

I will write that down for you, but I am not sure that really happened.

Well, you know you're ranting your way into crazy town.

And it's not like the Pope didn't have a lot going on already.

I mean, this guy had recently launched this minor little thing called the Crusade.

And on top of that, there was also the ongoing Norman conquest of southern Italy, which was probably front of mind for the Pope considering the proximity.

And yeah, I haven't talked about what was going on there, but basically, the Normans during this period were a huge problem generally.

They weren't just attacking Maine and France and Wales, they were also attacking Italy, which might be part of the reason why the Pope was trying to gently redirect some of that energy towards the Holy Land.

And on top of it, the Normans were also occasionally attacking England and Normandy, which they ruled over.

But, you know, why let that get in the way of a good old-fashioned campaign?

Normans.

So, like I said, the Pope had a lot on his plate.

But then again, Anselm wasn't a man to be refused.

So eventually, the Vicar of Christ agreed that he would write a letter to Rufus.

And then Anselm, being Anselm, was all, well, I'm gonna write one too.

Now, tragically, the letters have not survived.

But we are told in other documents that the Pope informed Rufus that he must restore all of Anselm's properties to the Archbishop.

And then, with that done, Urban tried to get back to poping.

And Anselm went, great, I'll tag along.

So, while he waited for Rufus's reply, Anselm was traveling, many times right along with the Pope, who, I'm sure, was just absolutely thrilled to have him.

And this this would have gone on for quite a while, because travel and correspondence takes time in the 11th century.

So while Anselm was tugging urban sleeves in Italy, and his messenger was dutifully traveling across Europe, back west, the Norman soap opera kept on rolling.

Now, in France, King Rufus and Robert of Blem had recently triumphed over Fulk and Hellias, and that had brought Maine under the Norman umbrella.

But it wasn't fully pacified.

Because if you recall, Rufus picked a fight with Count Hellius over inheritance issues, and then to make it very clear, he essentially dared Hellius to raise an army and fight him.

Even worse, Rufus' uncle and close advisor, Robert of Mulan, was actually egging this conflict on, going so far as to basically call Helius a fink in open court.

And Robert of Mulan was supposed to be a moderating influence on Rufus.

But one of the problems of stupid leaders is that they often surround themselves with stupid officials.

And Uncle Robert was kind of being stupid here.

So that was the general mood in the summer of 1098.

And then the papal messenger arrived in Rufus' court, carrying Anselm and Urban's letters.

The king reluctantly accepted Urban's, but he refused to even touch Anselm's.

Apparently, he was in no mood for Anselm or any of his nonsense.

And then things in court got worse, because Rufus, or one of his courtiers, must have talked to the messenger and asked him about himself, because it became clear that this messenger wasn't just hired for this task.

He actually worked for Anselm specifically.

And this was apparently the last straw for the king's king's temper because he flew into a rage and the records report that he roared at the messenger, commanding him to leave the country immediately, and if he didn't, the king swore on God's face that he would tear out the messenger's eyes.

Naturally, the messenger took the hint and fled.

And as if the vibes weren't chaotic enough, the Northern Front then coughed up some more bad news because Rufus received another messenger of Earl Hugh Montgomery of Shrewsbury and how he had brought a horse to a Dracar fight and had met his end in an island tide pool, which was not exactly a projection of strength for Rufus's kingdom.

But there was one silver lining in it.

The Earldom of Shrewsbury and all of the attached properties were now vacant, and so Rufus sold them all to the Earl's terrifying and actually quite rebellious brother, Robert of Bolem, for £3,000.

And making an earl with a proven track record of rebelling now the most powerful and wealthy magnate in all of England and Normandy is just classic King Big Brain.

But, you know, whatever.

Rufus was flush with cash now, and so he decided to put it to work, and he turned his attention on his other war.

I bet you forgot his other war, didn't you?

Yeah, while he was fighting Maine and his subordinates were launching wars against Wales and accidentally fighting also the king of Norway for reasons, Rufus was already embroiled in a war against King Philip of France and the Crown Prince Louis over control of the French Vexan.

But recently, in a stroke of luck for Rufus, Prince Louis had begun quarreling with his father.

It's not clear precisely why, but there's a good chance it was related to King Philip setting aside Louis's mother, marrying a much younger woman, and then getting excommunicated for it.

And if that's the case, it would also explain why Louis had been recently knighted by Count Guy of Pontiu, who was actually Robert of Boulem's father-in-law, and thus not exactly a subtle indication of how rebellious he was feeling towards his dad.

And the latest move in this family drama was that King Philip Philip had seized the Vexon from Prince Louis, sort of like he was taking away video games.

And in response, Louis retreated to his mother's homeland of Flanders.

So, things between Philip and his son were not going well.

And that was actually a problem for the Vexon, because as Orderic notes, the Vexon was now without a general or a commander to defend the area.

Essentially, the only defenders of the Vexon in in the fall of 1098 were the local garrisons and the general public.

And naturally, Rufus wanted to take advantage of that as soon as possible.

So he began the process of mustering his troops.

But, you know, that kind of thing takes a minute.

And it's at around this point that he or his advisors thought that maybe threatening to tear out the eyes of a churchman was a bit of a mistake.

And that maybe,

just maybe,

the king should use his words instead.

You know, different words, less violent words.

And so Rufus called his nerds into the room and he dictated a letter.

Actually, he dictated several letters.

And I'm guessing the king was now fully realizing how serious this situation was because he sent gifts along with those letters to various important European leaders, including the Duke of Apulia, the very same people who might hold sway over his papal situation.

But speaking of that papal situation, the king also sent some gifts and a letter to the Pope as well.

Now, tragically, yet again, these letters have not survived, but Edmer reports that essentially Rufus said that he was amazed that the Pope would want Anselm restored, because he told the priest quite clearly that if he left England, then his possessions would be confiscated.

And,

well,

he left.

So, they were confiscated.

Cause and effect, bro.

Surely you've heard of cause and effect in Rome, right?

Done.

Send tweet.

Rufus then handed this message off to one of his trusted clerks, William Worrel Wast, the same guy who acted as Norman TSA back when Anselm was exiled, and he told him to take it to Rome, no doubt convinced that his brilliant answer was unassailable and that this would be the end of the matter.

Now, following his movements, it seems that King Rufus basically stopped off in Rouen just long enough to pick a fight with Hellias, threaten to blind a churchman, and send a mean tweet before he moved on to France.

Because it was only September when Orderic tells us that Rufus crossed the border and invaded the lands of King Philip.

And finally, Rufus was where he wanted to be.

None of this talking and court nonsense, and certainly none of this letter reading and letter writing.

No, Rufus was a knight at heart, and he wanted to do knight stuff.

And we're told that once across the Seine, he pushed quickly into French territory, pillaging, burning, and murdering his way through the Vexon.

Crops were ruined, livestock was seized or killed, peasants were captured or slaughtered, homes were destroyed, and this campaign of devastation reached as far as the Pont-Toise.

So basically, Rufus was ravaging up to the suburbs of Paris.

And naturally, he was also loving life.

But raiding in autumn won't win you territory.

You can inflict pain, sure.

and he was certainly doing that.

But if you wanted to actually take control of the Vexon, you would need castles and fortified positions, especially since winter was right around the corner.

So the king directed his forces to take Choman on Vexon.

Now, a well-fortified town or castle could often survive a campaign unless it was quickly brought down by surprise or just bad luck.

And this is why chivalric armies often had to resort to blockading these sites and starving out the defenders.

But there's no glory in doing that.

And by this point, Rufus was an infamous glory hound, which was actually probably why he was finding it so difficult to find an army in the field willing to fight him.

As historian Frank Barlow notes, quote, the more a commander was renowned for his courage, generosity to his troops, and greed for reputation, the more difficult he found it to provoke a pitched battle, end quote.

And that was something that Rufus was experiencing acutely in the autumn of 1098.

And I wonder if this hunger for direct conflict is why Rufus ordered his men to directly assault the fortifications at Choman envaxon.

Furthermore, I wonder if, after weeks of campaigning without the appearance of any major commander in the field, Rufus realized that he was only facing off with local defenders.

And he thought that conscripts, without any royal support or leadership, would be easily scared into submission through a massive show of force.

Because Orderic tells us that the Norman knights rode their horses directly upon Chaumont's defenses.

Now, if this gamble worked, the defenders would break at the sight of a massive cavalry charge, and then Rufus could seize a hard point through surprise and sheer pluck.

If it didn't,

well,

it better work.

Now, the men behind the defenses were probably mostly just farmers, accompanied by at most the local garrison.

And they would have been all too aware of the fact that one side was populated with highly trained people who were basically part of a warrior cult.

And their side were mostly untrained normal people who would really rather be doing literally anything anything else.

They weren't here seeking glory.

They were seeking the next sunrise.

And so, when the Norman cavalry surged forward, it must have been terrifying.

I mean, a cavalry charge makes a lot of noise, and so I can imagine that the sound of it coming for you would make your heart sink.

But the men behind those defenses didn't run.

Instead, they grabbed their bows and their lances, and they waited for the knights to get in range.

And then, aiming as best as they could, they loosed.

But they weren't aiming at the knights.

No,

they were aiming at the horses.

Those easy-to-hit, extraordinarily expensive war horses, who were now running at a full gallop, and who, when they fell, would probably crush or badly injure the knights who were riding on their backs.

And it seems like Rufus ordered one hell of a shock and awe charge, because Orderk claims that over 700 horses were killed in that equine-based assault.

Which sounds like an exaggeration, but if the king really was boneheaded and aggressive enough to think he could take a fortified position with a cavalry charge, then maybe he really did go all in on it.

And that could produce those numbers of casualties.

And the records also note that the wild dogs and carrion animals of France had an absolute feast in the field.

But as for Rufus, well, he was fleeing back across the Epte and into Normandy, mounted on a quote, spirited horse, end quote.

And this, by the way, was a fig leaf.

Calling his horse spirited was basically calling his horse jumpy.

As in, no, the king didn't flee the battle.

It was just his horse that was fleeing, and he was stuck on his back.

Which, sure, buddy.

I mean, I'm not a horse guy.

I've been pretty open about this.

But I've been on a jumpy horse before, and it sucked.

But even I was able to retain control.

Meanwhile, we're expected to believe that a highly trained knight was so unable to control his mount that he was forced to ride all 70 kilometers back to Rouen?

Presumably, without any slowing down or an opportunity to get off?

Come on.

And as for his army, well, I wouldn't be surprised if those that survived that charge were quite spirited themselves because they raced behind their king.

Though Werderick notes that they were now racing on foot.

And at around the same time that Rufus and his boys were limping back home, back in Italy, the church was holding a papal council in Bari, and the matter of Rufus was on the agenda.

In fact, the cardinals reportedly wanted to summon the king, and they were so irritated by the power struggle that they were experiencing with this king that they added that if he refused three times, they should just excommunicate him.

And apparently, weirdly, it was Anselm who was all, you know, let's not jump straight to that.

We should see if we could talk it out first.

And when Anselm is the one holding back the church's fury, you know that Rufus is having an incredibly bad autumn.

But this was also Rufus.

So he wasn't going to stop being stupid and dangerous.

He was just going to go and be stupid and dangerous somewhere else.

After all, he had cash.

He had authority, and he had more men and horses that he could muster.

So once he was back in Normandy, he replenished his losses, marched south, and ravaged the lands from Montfort to Eprian.

And critically, these were not regions that he was trying to assert control over in this war.

As far as I can tell, these were just regions that were linked to King Philip's new wife, Bertrada.

And on the face of it, it does look kind of crazy, though chances are Rufus was attacking these southern lands because he was trying to weaken Philip's legitimacy and authority and bring over new allies to his cause.

And we're told he was seeking those allies in the way that he always did, through a combination of brute force and bribery.

And actually, he did find slightly more success here than he had done in the Vexon,

but not much.

Basically, a couple of Castellans surrendered their fortresses and joined him, but not many, and certainly not enough to make much of a dent in this war.

Making matters worse, you have to take into account the manner in which those allies were gained.

Allies, ideally, should be gained through diplomacy, shared goals, and common bonds.

That's what makes for a durable relationship.

These Castellans, on the other hand, had switched sides under duress, and others had accepted the king's bribes.

And if you can buy someone's loyalty, then who's to say that someone else can't buy their loyalty later on?

So at least as far as I'm concerned, these new allies were kinda sus, especially since right away, one of those Castellans that Rufus forced to switch sides, a man named Navard, abandoned Rufus and claimed that his oath should be void because it violated his previous oaths.

Basically, Navard was saying that Rufus forced him to break his oath to his lawful lord and that he wanted to remain in service to that lord, his real lord, not this Norman bully who forced him to become an oathbreaker.

So yeah, pressing people into switching sides is just not the way to build a coalition.

And interestingly, one of the Castellans who switched sides was a man by the name of Walter Terrell.

And you might want to stick a pin in that.

Meanwhile, back in Rome, the church was getting ready for their Christmas celebration when Anselm's messenger finally returned.

And he basically walked in and said, oh man, it's not good over there.

He took the Pope's letter, but only grudgingly, but he refused to even touch Anselm's.

And then when he found out that I worked for Anselm, he threatened to tear out my eyes

Good god.

Okay,

well

do you have his response?

Yes, he threatened to tear out my eyes.

I didn't stick around to see if there was any more

now right on his heels William Warlwast arrived and I'm guessing he arrived this quickly because he was hauling ass to get there and unf this situation ASAP.

And so when he walked in he handed his letter over to the Pope, who then read it.

And as Anselm and Edmer were also in the room, I'm guessing they read it as well.

I'm also guessing that the mood in the room shifted substantially when they realized that the king's sole argument was,

I told him I was gonna take his stuff if he left, and he left.

Did I stutter?

The Pope turned to Warlast and asked if this was all there was, or if there were any other charges that were being leveled against Anselm.

Warl Wast,

probably blushing from embarrassment over this whole situation, said,

No.

At this, Pope Urban exploded, saying,

Absolutely unheard of.

And you have come all this way to bring that answer?

Be off at once, and on behalf of Saint Peter, order the king to reinvest Anselm immediately and completely if he does not want to be excommunicated and let him do this before the council I shall celebrate in Rome in the third week of Easter.

Otherwise I will excommunicate him then.

⁇ End quote.

It was pretty bad.

However, Rufus chose well when he sent Warlwast to act as a messenger, because Warlwast was a bit of a rare duck in Rufus's regime.

He was actually a clever diplomat, though, admittedly, he was clever in the way that Michael Corleone was clever.

So Worlwast listened patiently as Urban leveled his threats.

And then he calmly told the Pope that he would like to have a private word with him about all of this before he left.

Then, for the next several days, he went all around Rome, meeting with various papal officials, pleading the king's case, and of course, distributing gifts.

He even gave some gifts to the Pope.

And here's the thing.

Anti-Pope Clement was still out there, and he was definitely still a thing in Rome.

This rift was alive and well.

And it meant that Urban really needed support.

And he really needed money.

I mean, sure, the First Crusade was rolling, and recently they claimed to have found the Lance of Longinus and then won a major battle at Antioch.

So religious fervor and the Deus Volt quotient was pretty freaking high, but it wasn't high enough to make the Pope feel fully secure in Rome.

And Worrelwast was exploiting that.

Because, like I said, he was good at his job.

And while we don't know precisely what was discussed when Worlwast eventually got his meeting with Pope Urban in private, when the Pope was celebrating his Christmas Mass of 1098,

Worlwast was preparing for his journey back to Rouen, where he intended to tell the king that he had secured a papal truce on the Anselm issue until at least late September of 1099.

And Anselm

was pissed about this.

Clearly, the Pope wasn't going to go out of his way to help him on his Rufus issue.

And instead, he was focused on doing whatever was politically expedient for himself.

So the old priest announced that he was done with Rome and done with all this papal nonsense and was going back to Lyon.

The Pope, probably realizing that Anselm was planning on making more waves, insisted that he stick around until at least the Synod of Easter.

And Anselm, who had based his entire argument on, dude, I gotta obey the Pope, had no choice but to do what the Pope said here.

So yeah, his Christmas was probably ruined.

But while Anselm couldn't have known it, he probably would have also taken pleasure in knowing that back in France, Rufus was having a pretty bad time of it as well.

His campaign for the French Vexon was not going well.

He was taking heavy casualties.

The allies he was acquiring were

dubious.

And these days, he wasn't even in the French Vexon.

He was raiding lands linked to King Philip's wife, Bertrada, for reasons.

On top of that, there was also only so long that Rufus could be away from Normandy or England before things back there started going wild.

Like, more wild than normal.

And normal these days included an earl getting himself killed by a Norse king who very well might have just wanted to swap wool for some salted fish.

Not great.

The point I'm getting at is that there were plenty of rational reasons to wrap up this war and seek a truce.

Though there was also an irrational reason that, I'm guessing, was really motivating the king here.

Westminster Hall was almost complete.

That project that was designed to be the largest and grandest hall in all of Europe, practically a palace in its own right?

Well, that finally gave Rufus enough of a reason to want to visit England.

And so by spring of 1099, Rufus and Philip entered into a truce.

just in time to allow the Red King to sail for England.

He arrived on Easter Day.

And it's very possible that he had originally intended to get to England in time for an Easter celebration in this new hall, but was delayed either by politics or weather.

And naturally, a hastily thrown together Easter party while he was probably still trying to wash off all the traveling on him?

Well, that just wouldn't do.

So Westminster Hall's big opening celebration was put off until Whitsun, and they began to make their preparations.

Meanwhile, back in Italy, the Pope held a synod on Easter, as promised.

And at it, the Bishop of Lucca tried to raise Anselm's case.

Basically, he wanted to point out that Rufus sucked, and originally he was supposed to get excommunicated on this day.

But the bishop was prevented from bringing this up by the Pope himself.

And at that point, it must have been clear to everyone that Urban had lost all interest in fighting with Rufus.

And so when the Synod went on to condemn lay investiture and the practice of granting ecclesiastical titles contingent on those figures serving as vassals to laymen, well, I'm guessing that Anselm just about lost his mind.

Because clearly the Pope and his allies were happy to say that they condemn all the things that Rufus was doing, but they weren't willing to actually take action on it.

And so when the synod dodged his case yet again, Anselm did what Anselm does best.

He left in a huff.

This time, back to Leon.

And some of you might be saying to yourselves, wait a minute, why did Anselm rely so heavily on the Pope's actions?

He was an archbishop.

He had the power to excommunicate people himself.

He didn't need Urban to do anything.

Well, first of all, I'm impressed at your knowledge of papal politics.

But second, Anselm actually addressed that in a letter later on.

He wrote that he felt it was improper for him to serve as both accuser and judge.

And also, he thought it would be pointless for him to excommunicate Rufus, since Rufus would just make fun of him and it.

And, you know, it's kind of hard to argue against that.

So I can totally see why he wanted the Pope to do it instead.

It would carry more weight.

But speaking of Pope Urban II, being Pope during a crusade was a pretty big and stressful job.

And add to that, the whole anti-Pope situation that he'd been dealing with since day one

and the Norman conquest of Italy, well, it's clear that Urban was dealing with a lot.

And on top of that, he'd also recently spent almost exactly one year with Anselm,

which is a lot in its own right.

And three months later, on July 29th of 1099,

he died.

He was 63 years old.

But while Anselm was on the road nursing his grievances and preparing to dump them all on poor old Archbishop Hugh of Lyon, who, I hope, had a healthy heart, back in England, Rufus was staging his biggest flex yet, the Whitsing Court of 1099.

Now this was a very important court for King Rufus.

And that's saying something because Rufus had placed a lot of emphasis on court, going so far as to have seasonal great courts where all of his magnates were required to attend.

And this practice actually served several purposes.

First, it kept the most powerful lords where he could see them.

So if they started acting weird or just just skipped court entirely because they didn't want to look him in the eye, he would know something was up.

But second, it reinforced loyalty by encouraging shared experiences and friendships through the feasting, while also impressing upon all those in attendance the degree of wealth and power that was held by the king.

And these courts were the reason why Westminster Hall was such a priority for Rufus.

He wanted to bring everyone into a single location that was so large that everyone important in the realm could be gathered in it.

And critically, have it be so grand that everyone within it would be awed by the king's power and susceptible to his influence.

And he needed that right now.

I mean, sure, he was riding high, being fresh off his conquest of Maine.

But he also nearly got excommunicated.

And there was also that whole debacle of a war with France.

And Maine was already rearming.

But, you know, never mind all of that.

He was the conqueror of Maine.

So everyone, just please focus on that part and that part exclusively.

Or at least please focus on the fact that this is the first official gathering at Westminster Hall.

And look, isn't it fancy?

Isn't that proof that everything's fine, folks?

Seriously, everything is fine.

And the big centerpiece of just how fine everything was and how powerful the king was was the ceremonial crown wearing.

Now basically, this is where the king got everyone together so they could go, ooh, look at him.

He's wearing a shiny hat.

Isn't that impressive?

Which, when you say it like that, isn't all that impressive, which is probably why they jazzed it up with all kinds of ceremonial things.

You know, speeches, rituals, and of course, a big procession of various powerful and influential figures carrying various important symbols and relics.

And that's the bit that's intended to really hammer home the king's power.

And for this, King Rufus went all out, even having King Edgar brought down from Scotland to carry his sword of state.

And that's a big deal, because it demonstrated the magnificence of Rufus, as he had another king ritually serving in a a role that was subordinate to him.

Or, at least, that was what it was meant to convey.

But for anyone who knew how this actually went down, it would have been obvious that this wasn't an exercise of authority over Scotland, no matter how calculated it was to look like it.

Actually, Rufus had sent the Scottish king a bunch of gifts to convince him to come down for the occasion.

Like a lot of them.

And Rufus was also providing Edgar lodging and paying him an allowance of 40 shillings a day, all in exchange for him carrying a sword for, you know, about 20 minutes or so.

And when you have to pay someone to receive an honor, then it's not much of an honor, is it?

But speaking of carrying weapons, Guimar writes about how there's a bit of an incident over who got to hold the swords.

Apparently, there were some Welshmen in attendance who were supposed to carry them, but some Norman earls grew jealous and, seeking the honor for themselves, grabbed the swords before anyone else could.

The one earl, Earl Hugh Lupus of Chester, held back.

Whereas the other earls saw a potential for honor, Earl Hugh saw this procession for what it actually was

symbolic submission to Rufus.

And just to be absolutely clear about things, Hugh just went out and said it out loud, telling the king that he wasn't willing to act as anyone's servant.

In response, King Rufus laughed and asked if Hugh wanted to hold his staff and rule England as his equal instead.

And Guimar says that Rufus was in an excellent mood at this point and taking all of this as good fun.

But while I'm sure that he said it with a smile, That offer of co-rule strikes me as a not-so-subtle threat.

Like Rufus' Rufus' way of saying, if you're my rival, then you should just say it and see what happens.

And I think Hugh heard that loud and clear, because then he told the king that he would carry the staff if the king wished him to, but only for as long as the king wished it, and added, quote, I put myself in fealty to you.

Ever will I be faithful to you, but never will I compare myself to you by any equality that may be.

You are chosen and blessed as king, and I am yours.

Which again sounds like the kind of thing that you would say when you realize that an incredibly dangerous man had just threatened to name you an enemy of the state.

Hugh was then allowed to hold the staff for a little bit, and went down on one knee and returned it to the king, and Rufus was satisfied with the display, because he then granted the Earls of Chester the role of serving and bearing the royal staff.

And this whole exchange, by the way, is just one of the many reasons why I'm so hard on chivalric culture.

Because this was very nearly a political incident that almost certainly would have led to armies marching in the field, all because some grown men were getting grouchy about who gets to be the most special knight on the runway.

And that wasn't even the end of the drama.

Walter Gifford, who was a relative of Rufus, one of his justicars, and the Earl of Buckingham, had actually been in town for about a month at this point, and he was angry about that.

See, the issue was that he had come over with 30 squires in his company, and he had expected them to be promptly knighted, which hadn't happened.

So Walter, who was furious by this point, rolled into the Whitson feast with his boys, and when when they presented themselves to the king, Rufus noticed that they all had close-cropped haircuts, even Walter.

It was an incredibly unsubtle jab at the long flowing locks that were so common in the king's court, and which have become the subject of religious condemnations and outright accusations of outlawed sexual behavior.

And what Rufus likely failed to fully appreciate in this moment was that his big celebration was being thrown in the middle of a massive cultural realignment.

Rufus and his boys had come into power reflecting the rising dominance of tournament culture.

They had rolled in looking like the 11th century version of rock stars.

But that wasn't the only cultural movement that was taking place.

And the church had been stoking one of its own.

And in 1095, with Pope Urban II's speech about the Crusade, it was that movement that took center stage.

It is genuinely hard to overstate the religious fervor that was gripping Europe.

And here was Walter, arriving at the court of King Rufus, a place that had become famous for performative masculinity, in a time where the church had outright condemned it, going so far as to declare that long hair was banned.

And Walter and his 30 companions had cut their hair to demonstrate just how non-performative and how pious they were.

Without saying it, Walter was calling Rufus a godless heathen in open court.

And Guimar claims that the king laughed this off as well, and tried to make a joke out of it by having some of his own squires shorn right then and there.

And you know, maybe he did.

And maybe, as Guimar says, this ushered in an era where short hair became fashionable in England.

But these two stories, which Guimar relates as examples of how praiseworthy and chivalric Rufus was, instead strike me as indications of just how rebellious things had become in England.

Because in both cases, these were very real dangers.

I mean, obviously, Lupus held a lot of land and power within England.

But as for Walter, he was dangerous too.

As historian Emma Mason notes, quote, Walter Gifford cannot possibly have had heirs to 30 baronies as his squires, all coincidentally just on the brink of marking their formal entry into the adult world, end quote.

And while Guimar was riding nearly 40 years after these events, so he could have simply got the numbers wrong, I think it's quite likely that this was less of a, all of my squires need to be knighted at this moment because 30 noble families all had kids at exactly the same time,

and more, I'm mad as hell about your immorality, and I've got 30 nobles behind me who agree.

Because if you look at what happened and the context of this situation, Walter and his companions were demonstrating how thoroughly out of step Rufus was with where the culture was going and how angry it was making people within this new culture of sword-wielding piety.

And he and Lupus were confident enough that they had both challenged the king in his own court on the very first celebration in his brand new hall in public.

And only by laughing it off and essentially backing down, offering his staff to one and ordering haircuts with the other, was Rufus able to diffuse the situation.

That's not great.

Though for Guimar, it also didn't matter because he mostly was instead focused on just how fancy this party was.

Apparently, it was bonkers, like a mech gala on steroids, and Guimar could not heap too much praise upon it.

And I suspect the real reason why Guimar wouldn't shut up about this party was because he was writing about 40 years later when someone else was king, and that guy, well, that guy wasn't fancy at all.

He's actually pretty stingy, and Guimar was getting sick of it.

He wanted extravagance, and so he wanted everyone to know how cool things used to be.

But motivations of the writer aside, I am pretty sure that this court was indeed conspicuously extravagant, because this was rufous.

In fact, it was so over the top that there were even some in attendance who told the king that this hall was too big and simply

too much.

I get the feeling that it was sort of like how gold when used well can look magnificent, but when a classless oaf gets his hands on it, it often looks tacky and pathetic.

But the fact people were talking about this means that even the peanut gallery were commenting on how they didn't like how things were going.

And in response, Rufus told them that he felt that actually

this hall should be twice as big.

Now, this statement was likely intended to come off as a grand statement from an all-powerful king.

But again, Rufus was falling out of step with the fervent faith that was rising among the peasant and noble alike.

And based on the commentary from Henry of Huntington, this little boast fell flat, and it came off as just one more indication of Rufus's self-importance and ostentatiousness.

And all of this was a huge problem.

Because those in attendance were really the only people who mattered to Rufus.

I mean, the peasants and townsfolk, they were irrelevant when it came to his power and authority.

But the nobility, that was his power base.

If he lost the nobility, he could lose everything.

And Rufus, with his wars and taxes and general mismanagement and feuds and everything else that he'd been doing well, he had been testing the nobility's loyalty to the crown heavily.

Furthermore, his claim to the crown that he was wearing for that special ceremony was through inheritance.

But his behavior on the throne had been seriously calling into question whether inheritance was important at all, as Rufus seemed to have no problem denying someone else's inheritance or, you know, charging them a massive fee for it if it served his interests.

Now, granted, he had been trying to bolster his position by claiming that actually God had placed him on the throne, and he did things like add, by the grace of God, to his royal seal, which is actually the earliest example of that on a surviving English royal seal.

And adding God into the mix did speak to the cultural moment of the time.

So that was wise.

But at the same time, his behavior towards the church was well known.

And the church's views on his court were equally well known.

And I suspect that adding a few words to a seal wasn't enough to turn back the tide.

At the end of the day, Rufus, like his father, had been relentlessly undermining the cultural norms underpinning society in order to seize power and wealth, not realizing that it was those very same norms that underpinned his claim to power.

And now he was trying to backtrack and adjust.

But the norms were still damaged, and his enemies smelled blood in the water.

And it was really killing the vibe at his parties.

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