485 – What Happened?

It was a calm afternoon in Winchester.

The royal palace, or potentially the Conqueror's Castle, our scribes aren't precise when discussing the location, but probably the palace.

Either way, Winchester would have been full of activity, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Just royal functionaries carrying out their duties while the king was away, and townsfolk going about their business.

It was just a normal Thursday, and so it's quite possible that Unfirth was making his usual delivery of produce for the king's stores.

When suddenly, from behind him, the sound of hooves came thundering down the street, followed by people shouting, and then

chaos.

A man on horseback burst into the courtyard, and given his clothing and the quality of his horse, it was plain to see that he was rich.

But it was the imperious way in which he carried himself that told Unfirth that this man wasn't just a magnate, he was nobility,

very highly ranked nobility.

The Norman jumped off his horse and strode with purpose towards the stone hall that formed the center of social activity for the palace.

He marched right up to one of the royal functionaries and began to shout at him.

Unfurth had no idea what he was saying, because the noble was shouting in French, but context told Unfirth that the man was berating some sort of official, and something about it had the official panicked.

The poor man was looking around for support as the noble kept screaming at him, pushing him backwards.

Then, more hoofbeats pounded into the courtyard and several other well-dressed men on horseback arrived.

Some of them joined the angry noble and also started shouting at the official, but one of them, one Norman, dressed just as richly as the nobleman, stood between that noble and the official and started shouting back.

A crowd began to gather.

Most of them were officials or functionaries, which meant pretty much all of them were able to understand French.

All of them, but Unfurth, who wasn't even really supposed to be here.

But Unfurth did hear a word he recognized, the French word for king.

And this was followed by more shouting.

But whereas the noble was bellowing in fury, that other man was almost pleading with him.

And then Unfurth heard another word he recognized.

Mort.

It was their word for dead.

And this set off a wave of whispers throughout the crowd, and outright shouts by the more bold members of the assembly.

And that caught the attention of the guard.

They rushed in and, not daring to interfere with the nobleman, hustled the crowd out of the courtyard.

And the last thing that Unfirth saw was the nobleman drawing his sword.

Welcome to the British History Podcast.

My name is Jamie and this is episode 485.

What happened?

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So,

what happened?

That's the big question, isn't it?

Unfirth and those in the crowd would have known the basic details pretty quickly.

King Rufus was dead, and it wasn't of natural causes.

He had just been out on a hunting trip with a bunch of nobles, and now a bunch of nobles had started shouting at officials and each other and were threatening violence.

Those parts were well known.

The rest, though, well, the rest was far less clear.

And the people of the 12th century weren't all that different from us today.

When something big happens, people want to know the details.

And when a regime acts strangely, that interest is piqued only further.

And when those in power get cagey about the details, well, that's when the rumor mill really starts to churn.

So I'm guessing that it wouldn't have been long before Unfirth was hearing all sorts of theories and accounts of what happened.

But our earliest surviving written record comes from the Chronicle, and it simply states, quote, King William when hunting was shot with an arrow by one of his own men.

He was hated by almost all his people and abhorrent to God.

And, you know, preach.

But at the same time, come on, scribes, who fired the arrow?

How did it happen?

Oh, and what about that confrontation at Winchester?

Don't you think that deserves a line or two?

So what gives?

And it's not like the scribes lacked ink.

I mean, these were the same scribes who told us about how blood was bubbling up from the ground at Berkshire.

But for reasons they don't disclose, they don't provide us with any detail other than the fact that the king was shot by one of his own men.

Now, Edmur was also writing very close in time to the events, and he actually has a little more to say on the subject.

Quote, On that day, after having breakfasted, he went out into the forest to hunt, and there, struck by an arrow that pierced his heart, impenitent and unconfessed, he died instantly, and was at once forsaken by everyone.

Whether, as some say, that arrow struck him in its flight, or, as the majority declare, he stumbled and falling violently upon it, met his death, is a question we think is unnecessary to go into.

Sufficient to know that by the just judgment of God he was stricken down and slain.

Edmur then relates how Anselm reacted to this news, saying, quote, at this Anselm was utterly stupefied and soon burst into bitter tears.

We onlookers were somewhat surprised, but he declared, in words broken with sobs, that if it had been possible, he would much rather that his own body had died than that the king had died in his present state, end quote.

So, thanks to Edmer, the picture is becoming a little clearer.

It happened in the morning, it was an arrow to the chest, and it was either fired by someone, or maybe he just fell on it.

Our scribe isn't sure, but for him, that detail isn't important, because God had struck the king down either way.

Too bad, so sad.

Though Edmer does think it's very important that we know that Anselm was heartbroken and and that he sobbed when learning that Rufus was dead.

Anselm.

Yeah, that Anselm.

Sure, buddy.

However, characterizing Anselm as so incredibly pious that he even mourned his enemy, despite the fact that only earlier he was quite satisfied to learn that Rufus had been damned by God.

Well, that fits Edmer's goals pretty nicely here.

Because Edmer's aim isn't history, it's sanctification.

Remember, this book he's writing is a pitch for Anselm's spiritual promotion.

And honestly, watching Edmer and Anselm make Rufus' death all about themselves seems like exactly the kind of thing that the Red King deserved.

And hilariously, they aren't the only ones to do it.

But anyway, next up in the New Forest cinematic universe is William of Malmsbury.

Now, Malmsbury, writing years later, breaks with Edmer in important ways.

He tells us that the fatal shot didn't happen until the afternoon, because Rufus ate and drank so much the night before that he spent much of the morning, quote, spewing out the flatulence of his fierce temper, end quote.

Trust Malmsbury to find the most dignified prose for Rufus' final moments.

Though, he does add that Rufus was also a little bit concerned about all of those omens of doom that were surrounding his hunting trip, which had also made him procrastinate actually getting out into the woods that day.

Now, Z and I are going to talk about this in a later shop talk, but all of these signs and portons were written after the fact.

And as such, they tell us much more about a massive shift in culture in Europe than they do about where Rufus' head was on the day that he died.

But the short version is you cannot overstate the impact that the first crusade had on the minds of the public.

I mean, one minute, the Bible was in the past.

And then the next minute, thanks in large part to the success of Robert Curt Hose and his Crusaders, much of the West very much believed that they were living in a new biblical era.

Essentially, After 1099, everything

became a spiritual event, and visions were widespread.

Though those visions were also invariably written down after the fact, so you know.

Anyway, so according to Malmsbury, the king spent the morning farting uncontrollably, and because being a king is stressful, especially when people are telling you you're gonna die soon, and that when you do die, you're definitely going to hell.

Well, apparently, Rufus, quote, soothed his cares with a more than usual quantity of wine, end quote.

And then, once he was completely blattered, he decided to go hunting, quote, attended by a few persons, of whom the most intimate with him was Walter, surnamed Tyrrell, who had been induced to come from France by the liberality of the king, end quote.

So basically, he got drunk and then went into the woods with a bunch of folks he barely knew.

So, not any of his friends, not the Earls, and definitely not his brother Henry.

Now, just a bunch of strangers, and the guy he was closest to was one of the King of France's men that he'd recently bribed.

Weird, but okay.

Malmsbury then tells us that even with this small number of companions going hunting, the king left all of them behind once they were in the woods.

Everyone, except for Walter Tyrell.

And And this fits with how aristocratic hunts often worked.

Huntsmen and beaters would spread out and drive the deer towards a noble stand, where he was waiting for a clear shot.

However, as historian Emma Mason notes, aristocrats, especially glory obsessed aristocrats, usually wanted the honor of the kill, but they didn't always have the skill to attain it.

So they'd cheat.

They would make sure that the best archer was positioned behind them.

And then, when the nobleman loosed his arrow, the actually skilled archer would do the same.

That way, the nobleman could take credit for the kill, which many times would actually just be a wounding shot, and the real kill would be left to the huntsman, who chased after the poor animal and finished it off in the brush, all while the nobleman was patting himself on the back.

So, if Malmsbury is right that it was just the king and Tyrrell, that doesn't necessarily mean that the woods were empty, or that they were even the only two men within sight.

It likely just means that the two of them were posted forward at a kill point, with the other nobles at other positions, and then the staff out in the trees doing the messy part of the drive.

Anyway, so because of all that drinking and farting, it was getting pretty late in the day, and the sun was low in the sky, which was making it hard for Walter and the king to see all that much.

But a stag burst out of the woods in front of them, and Rufus loosed an arrow, wounding it.

But it kept running directly into the path of the sun, partially blinding the king, such that he needed to put his hand up and shade his eyes.

And at that exact moment, a completely different stag came bursting out, and Walter, quote, conceiving a noble exploit, which was while the king's attention was otherwise occupied, end quote, loosed his arrow and shot the king straight through the chest.

Rufus looked down, grabbed the arrow, and broke it off, and then fell forward, driving it even deeper.

Walter, realizing that this was a bad scene, galloped off, assuming that someone was about to come chase after him.

But apparently, no one in the hunting party cared all that much.

Instead, some of the party rode off straight for their castles and began to fortify them in preparation for war.

Others set about pillaging England for reasons, and still others decided to quote, look out for a new king, end quote.

And that last bit, about how they all rushed to take advantage of the situation, and no one really cared all that much about catching catching the guy on the grassy knoll.

Well, that's really one of the only parts of Malmsbury's story that strikes me as true.

The rest of it feels a bit like one of those Netflix docudramas.

But that idea that no one bothered to chase down the killer, well, even Malmsbury notes that there were few in England that lamented the death of Rufus.

So why would you bother?

Now, Guimar has a different take, though naturally, Guimar would.

When writing his history, he made sure to stuff in things like King Arthur, Jason and the Argonauts, and the Golden Fleece.

Anyway, Guimar was writing about a decade or two after Malmsbury, and he clearly cribs from him, though at the same time, he jazzes the story up quite a bit.

He tells us the king of the hunting party spotted a stag, and so Rufus dismounted next to a tree, and he readied his bow and prepared while his companions spread out.

Walter Tyrell dismounted next to an elder tree, and he took position next to an aspen.

When the stag came by, Tyrell loosed a barbed arrow and missed the stag, striking the king's heart instead.

Or maybe not?

Because Guimar contradicts himself, saying it's not known who actually shot the king, but some claimed it was Tyrell.

And, you know, it must have been Tyrell, because Tyrell fled the scene.

And as Tyrell crashed through the forest, we're told that Rufus cried out for the Eucharist.

Yeah,

even though he took an arrow to the heart, he was still alive, and even more incredibly, he was suddenly religious.

Unfortunately, they were in a forest, not a church, so communion was a bit difficult to come by.

But the huntsman was moved by the king's piety, and, lacking consecrated bread for the last communion, he tearfully fed the king a handful of grass and flowers, assuming, apparently, that this gluten-free sacrament would clear Rufus's path to heaven.

Now Guymar adds that major figures of the Clare dynasty, Gilbert Fitzrich and Robert Fitzrich, as well as Gilbert de Layley, were also part of this hunting party.

And upon realizing the fate of the king, they started tearing their hair out with grief.

And then Robert Fitzhaimo arrived, and he had a panic attack at the sight, shouting that he wished he was dead instead, and then collapsed onto the ground, senseless and sobbing.

And then, after everyone had a good cry, Gilbert de Legli told them that tears weren't gonna bring him back and that they needed to get their shit together.

All the crying in the world wasn't ever going to give them another king like this.

Guyar goes on to write that, quote, this noble monarch governed his kingdom honorably and with displays of great splendor, end quote, which is exactly the kind of take that you'd expect from someone who crammed in the damn Argonauts into their history.

And so, yeah, while Guimar was clearly cribbing from Malmesbury, it's also very clear he went wild with the details, adding to the cast a bunch of nobles who, rather than fleeing like Malmesbury asserted, instead stuck around and performed grief like they were auditioning for Antigone.

And this is going to shock you, but those incredibly sad noblemen just happened to be connected to Guimar's patron.

Constance Fitzgilbert, who, like Edmer and Anselm, was using Rufus' death as a vehicle vehicle to push her own agenda.

And I think we can all agree that this heartfelt, if rustic, communion was quite the departure from the earlier accounts that said that everyone bailed the moment that Rufus hit the ground, either to pillage or to find a new king.

So that's the state of the surviving primary accounts of the death of William Rufus.

And when taken together, they range all the way from a drunken, farting king falling on an arrow to Walter Tyrell assassinating the bestest, most pious king to ever sit on the throne of England.

And I think we can all assume that the truth lies somewhere in between.

But there's a lot of room in that in-between.

So,

let's talk about that archer, Walter Tyrell.

Did he do it?

Well, often people point the finger at him for taking the shot, but none of our records prior to Malmsbury name him as the shooter.

And only Guymar accused him of being a deliberate assassin, though he then immediately contradicted himself and basically was all, look.

I don't know who shot the king.

I don't think anyone does.

I'm just saying a lot of people are asking questions about Walter Terrell.

And granted, I'm the one doing most of the asking, but the fact that we're talking about Walter Terrell and you're listening to me talk about Walter Terrell sure makes it feel like Walter Terrell did it, doesn't it?

So someone should take a good look into Walter Terrell.

Needless to say, I am not impressed with Jeffrey Guymar.

So, for the most part, we have Malmsbury.

And you might be thinking that the fact that Edmer didn't mention Terrell at all is a sign that this was a later fabrication by Malmsbury, especially since Edmur was familiar with Walter Tyrell.

But it's not that simple, because Walter Tyrell was a benefactor of Beck, which was Anselm's Abbey.

And he was quite friendly with our exiled archbishop, the same one who was contented to learn in advance that Rufus was condemned to hell, only to reportedly declare he wished he was dead upon learning that, you know,

it was done.

So it's not impossible that Edmur had heard that Terrell did it, but he left it out of his pitch for sainthood because of,

you know,

the implication.

Another thing that people point to is the fact that Terrell fled.

Everyone agrees that Terrell fled.

And as Guimar points out, Why would he flee if he wasn't guilty?

Well, it's not that simple there either.

First of all, there's there's plenty of reasons to flee.

People flee violence for all kinds of reasons.

Beyond that, our sources, or at least the sources that don't have the king eating a corn cockle for a Eucharist, all agree that damn near everyone fled the scene when Rufus was shot with an arrow, or fell on an arrow.

So, if galloping away from the crime scene is proof of guilt, then you've got one hell of a conspiracy going on here.

And it's one that includes Rufus' little brother Henry, because he also fled.

And the Terrell theory gets even more sticky when you look at other documents.

For example, Suguer in his Life of King Louis VI writes that he heard Walter Terrell himself deny that he had shot the king, going so far as to say he wasn't even in the same part of the woods as Rufus on that day, and that he hadn't even seen him during the hunt.

And that's significant, and I would love to take his word for it here.

But at the same time, trusting the French court on this, well, that's brave.

Because Rufus had been in and out of war with them for years by this point, and right before his death, he was eyeing the lands of William the Troubadour.

And when the king was asked on the day before he died where he would be spending Christmas, he reportedly answered, Poitou.

There's also the fact that before Tyrell accepted the Red King's bribe, he was a vassal of the French crown.

And I'm not saying that the French king plotted to kill Rufus, though historian Emma Mason has certainly suggested it.

All I'm saying is that a lot of people wanted this guy dead, and the king of France was probably among them.

So I'm not sure if Souguer's report is as exculpatory as we'd hope.

Though, John of Salisbury is a bit more helpful in making the case of innocence for Tyrell.

He says that Tyrell solemnly denied shooting Rufus throughout his entire life, going so far as to deny it even on his deathbed.

And considering that this was a time of extremely high religious belief, the fact that he didn't make a deathbed confession before he headed off to be judged by Big J

certainly does lend some credence there.

Though John also said that many people thought the king shot himself, which is a fun twist on Edmur's the guy I hated and wanted to see burn in hell might have just accidentally fallen on that arrow.

But at the same time, it also does damage his credibility a bit.

Meanwhile, Gerald of Wales definitely thinks that someone shot the king, but he actually accuses a completely different bowman.

So the whole situation is pretty weird, if you ask me.

And unfortunately, my favorite source, Orderic, doesn't clear things up at all.

Instead, he chooses to throw shade at Rufus spiritually, saying, quote, behold, the bow of divine anger is bent against the wicked, and the arrow swift to wound is taken from the quiver.

It will strike suddenly.

Let every wise man avoid the blow by amending his life, end end quote.

And then he just moves on to the political situation that this death kicked off.

Because our opening scene, the one with Unfirth and a bunch of angry nobles, was drawn from Orderic.

So let's return to the day of Rufus' death, with the king having been recently killed in the new forest, and his companions mounting their horses and fleeing the scene.

Henry had been riding hard for miles.

Dozens of miles.

His horse was exhausted, but there was no time to waste.

Henry needed to get to Winchester now.

And it didn't matter if this ride left his horse lame or even dead.

Everything depended on speed.

Rufus was dead, and that left Count Henry with a narrow window.

An incredibly narrow window.

To get to Winchester before anyone, especially any of Robert's men, found out what happened.

Not because Winchester was some sort of magical safe zone, but because housed within it was the royal treasury, the wealth of the kingdom.

And whoever controlled the treasury controlled the kingdom.

That's why he left so quickly.

That's why he didn't stop to speak with the king's companions.

That's why he didn't give orders to collect his brother's body.

His first and only reaction was to ride for the treasury.

And after hours of riding, the count burst into the courtyard, not even noticing that he nearly trampled Unfirth.

And he practically leapt off his horse while shouting for court officials to bring him the keys to the treasury.

Now naturally, his demands were met with confusion and a flurry of questions.

Why did he need the keys?

Was the king aware of this?

Do you have an an official order from the king?

Where was the king?

What is going on?

You know, all the kinds of questions that any responsible official would ask if someone burst into government with wild eyes and looked like he was attempting a coup.

But Henry didn't have to answer any of those questions.

He was king, or at least he soon would be, once this idiot handed over the keys.

So wielding his authority as a count and a brother of the king, he continued to berate the man, trying to bully him into handing over the keys to the treasury.

And at about this point, more horsemen rode in.

William of Bretuis, a powerful Norman magnate who was friend to both Robert and Rufus, and whose authority stemmed from the fact that he was the firstborn son of the conqueror's childhood friend and second in command, William Fitz Osborne.

And Orderick tells us that Bretuis arrived at this scene breathless because he suspected what Henry was up to, and he'd been chasing the Count for miles, desperate to put a stop to this scheme.

Likely arriving with him were a few of Henry's allies, who had been pounding down the road just behind the Count, and among them was almost certainly the Beaumont brothers.

And their arrival must have been a big relief for this Count who hoped to be king.

Ignoring Bretuis, Henry turned back to the official and once again, quote, imperiously end quote, demanded the keys to the treasury.

Bretuis jumped off his horse and, pushing through the crowd that was gathering, stood before Henry and pleaded with him to stand down.

Henry, you can't do this.

The king swore an oath.

The king is dead.

But Robert isn't, and he's the lawful heir.

Rufus swore an oath.

Hell, you swore an oath.

We all did.

The titles are to go to the eldest living brother.

That's Robert.

F Robert.

Robert has fought for God in the Holy Land, and he was victorious.

If you don't respect your brother, respect the Lord who is restoring him to all his titles that he had relinquished so he could take Jerusalem.

Yeah, I don't see him here.

There's just me, and I am the only son and heir in England ready to assume the mantle of king.

Get out of my way, and you, servant, give me the keys.

Those keys belong to Robert.

I will not allow a foreigner on false pretenses to lay hands on my father's scepter.

Did you catch that?

That is Henry's skill in cynical manipulation on full display.

He was accusing Bretuis and Robert of trying to steal the kingdom.

And he was also accusing them of being foreigners.

When in reality, it was Henry who was trying to steal the kingdom.

And Henry was just as foreign to England as Robert and Bretuis.

And I'm guessing that Bretuis was about to say something along the lines of, what the f are you even talking about?

But he never got the chance because it was at that moment that Henry drew his sword.

And I'm guessing his allies did the same.

And Bretuis, despite having the law on his side, now had the conqueror's son accusing him of conspiracy and threatening to fight him.

And don't forget, there were guards in Winchester, and they were royal guards.

It's unlikely that they were all that interested in the finer points of law.

Chances are, these guards saw one fact and one fact only.

Henry was the king's brother, and Bretuis wasn't.

Orderick tells us that a massive argument followed, probably after Unfirth and the Looky Loos were hustled out of there.

And courtiers and officials all began making arguments for one side or another.

But while Bretuis had the law on his side, and man, did he ever have the law on his side here?

The fact was, the law hadn't really mattered in England for decades now.

It's not like his dad was all that interested in it, and neither was Rufus.

Henry correctly identified that all that really mattered here was authority and fear.

And right now, he had both.

Henry was the only son of the conqueror in England, and he was claiming he was simply defending his father's scepter from foreign influence.

That is a ton of stolen authority right there.

Even worse, Henry had the support of the barons, or at least the barons who were present, like the Earl of Warwick, who was the younger of the Beaumont brothers, and who were told, quote, with whom he had been in the strictest intimacy, end quote, and Count Robert of Moulin, the elder of the brothers, and someone of sufficient authority that he's already shown up repeatedly in our story thus far.

Now, granted, there weren't many barons there, and certainly not all of them, but even having an earl backing his move gave Henry quite a bit of gravitas.

And by drawing his sword, he was now threatening civil war, which everyone feared, because England had already dealt with decades of war thanks to this family.

And so, after a ton of argument, Bretui finally relented.

Henry marched into the treasury, had his men take possession of it, and then he began making preparations for his coronation, because he wanted it done quickly, very,

very quickly.

Though, while coronations do have a certain ritualistic importance to them,

that wasn't the moment when Henry became king.

Not really.

Henry's coup, because let's call this what it was, a coup

well, that coup was successful the moment that he got his hands on the treasury.

Everything that followed afterwards was just window dressing.

What mattered was the cash.

And Henry had it, and so

Henry had the kingdom.

Meanwhile, back in the New Forest, a few peasants came upon the bloodied corpse of a well-dressed man.

They loaded it onto a cart and began wheeling it to Winchester.

Malmsbury reports that blood was dripping from the corpse the whole way.

Now, Malmsbury was a religious man, and so you can read this in biblical terms, Perhaps a reference to Cain and Abel, where God chastises Cain and says,

Your brother's blood cries out to me from the ground, end quote.

And there's a certain spiritual flourish there, and something that echoes what the scribes of the chronicle were reporting when they spoke of blood bubbling out of the ground in Berkshire.

So perhaps that little detail was just Malmsbury trying to make a spiritual point.

Though, if so,

it's a bit bit odd because it's on the side of Rufus.

And Malmsbury was hardly a fan of Rufus.

I mean, he was the same man who threw a fit over how sinfully sexy court had become under this king.

And Malmsbury was the same guy who told us that pretty much no one was sad that the king, after farting uncontrollably and getting hammered, had died.

And it was Malmsbury who, when grudgingly trying to find find something positive to say about Rufus, saying, quote, but there are some proofs of noble magnanimity in the king, the knowledge of which I will not deny posterity, end quote.

But then he ended up devolving into a discussion about how ridiculous Rufus was with his spending, how he engaged in textbook blasphemy, and how Rufus was short, chubby, and thoroughly ofish.

You know, magnanimity.

So, while it is possible he was inventing the trail of blood in order to tie this death to a spiritual event, I think it's just as possible that he was relating a story that was circulating about what was dripping from that very slow wagon trip to Winchester.

And if that's the case, it raises a very interesting possibility.

Because I've done some research.

Research that almost certainly has put me on some sort of government watch list.

And I've learned that due to things like body temperature and fluid pressure, under normal circumstances, a dead body will only bleed for about 20 minutes.

And that cart trip to Winchester would have taken somewhere between 6 and 10 hours.

So if blood really was dripping from his body the whole way,

Rufus was still alive.

Just lying there in the back of the cart, bleeding out for hours.

I guess someone forgot to confirm the kill.

But, you know, whatever.

Once they get to Winchester, I'm sure somebody will.

Not a lot of things to say.

Motherfucker got in the way.

Motherfucker got fucked up Cause he got in the way