XXXVII Fitzosborne and de Gael
One day in the course of the year 1074, when William the Conqueror was in Normandy fighting with his Continental foes, and while Archbishop Lanfranc governed England in the king’s absence, a great marriage took place in the castle of Norwich. Many guests of high rank were bidden; and the occasion was rendered memorable by the circumstance that the feast with which it was celebrated proved fatal to almost every individual who happened to be present.
About the year 1073, William Fitzosborne, the Conqueror’s famous comrade in arms, departed this life, leaving two sons, named William and Roger, and a daughter, named Emma. William, succeeding to his father’s lands in Normandy, was known as Lord of Breteuil; Roger, inheriting his father’s English possessions, became Earl of Hereford; and Emma was sought in marriage by a young Breton, who figured as Earl of Norfolk, and naturally felt ambitious of allying himself with the high Norman nobility. But a union between Ralph de Gael and the daughter of Fitzosborne did not meet with the Conqueror’s approval. In fact, William set his face decidedly against the matrimonial project, and, being at the time in Normandy, sent a messenger to forbid, in the most peremptory tone, the celebration of the marriage.
The interference of William was more than the high spirit of Roger Fitzosborne could brook. He resolved at once to set the Conqueror’s prohibition at defiance; and, on a day appointed for the wedding, conveyed his sister to Norwich.
The ceremony was performed with a pomp worthy of the rank of the parties; and when the feast was spread in the castle hall, Norman bishops, and lords of high degree, both Norman and Welsh, and ladies fair to look upon, gathered around the board. So far all went smoothly. But as dishes were carved and cups emptied the master of the feast and his guests became rapidly excited and frank to excess. The habitual respect displayed by the Norman nobles for the great war-chief who had led them to conquest and plunder vanished as wine flowed in abundance, and the two earls especially vociferated in a strain which caused many present to stare in silent surprise.
“What is this man?” asked Roger Fitzosborne, in accents of supreme contempt—“what is this man, who dictates who are to be the husbands of ladies descended from the comrades of Rollo?—A bastard, owing this kingdom to my father, to whose memory this interference is an insult.”
“He is a bastard, and a man of low birth,” cried the Normans. “He may call himself a king; but ’tis clear that he is not made for one, and that he is not agreeable in the sight of God.”
“And,” exclaimed the Saxons, “he invaded England, he massacred the legitimate heirs of our kings and nobles, or obliged them to expatriate themselves.”
“What is worst of all,” roared the military adventurers who had followed William’s banner in hopes of high reward, “he has not honoured as he might those who came to his aid—those who raised him higher than any of his predecessors.”
“Yes,” cried others; “what has he given to us, the conquerors covered with wounds? Sterile tracts of land, of which he deprives us whenever he sees them improving.”
“It is true!” shouted the guests, tumultuously; “the man is odious to all; his death would gladden the hearts of all. Let him die!”
After further vociferation, the two earls, several bishops and abbots, many Normans and Saxons, and the Welsh chieftains, bound themselves by oath to rise against William, and arranged to ask the aid of Sweyn, King of Denmark, to insure the success of their perilous project. Perhaps, with the morning, repentance came, and many rued the words they had spoken and the promises they had made over wine at the festive board. But it was too late to retreat; and the two earls, to lessen the danger of being betrayed, resolved on immediate action. Roger Fitzosborne hastened home to raise his banner at Hereford; and Ralph de Gael prepared to shorten his honeymoon, leave the company of his bride, and raise his banner at Cambridge.
On reaching the province of which he was earl, Roger Fitzosborne lost no time in rallying his friends around him. Not only did he gather the discontented Normans to his standard. The Welsh on the Marches rose at his summons, and, with wild and vague hopes of recovering independence, rushed with enthusiasm to his aid. Having assembled a force which he deemed sufficiently formidable to inspire foes with terror, he commenced his march eastward, with the intention of joining De Gael. But, on reaching the Severn, and attempting to pass that river by the bridge at Worcester, he found, somewhat to his surprise, that preparations had been made to stop his progress.
In fact, the conspirators at Norwich had not very faithfully kept their secret. By some means or other, Lanfranc had become acquainted with the whole project; and when in possession of such intelligence the great archbishop was not the man to sleep at his post. He despatched soldiers from London to throw themselves in Roger’s path; and he so far made use of the spiritual artillery at his command as to level a sentence of excommunication against the Norman earl.
Meanwhile, the king’s friends were not idle in the west. Walter de Lacy, a Norman baron, and Eghelwig, the Saxon abbot of Evesham, roused the people of the country to take arms against Roger Fitzosborne and his Welshmen; and the people, regarding the Welsh as their natural enemies, obeyed the call of Walter and Eghelwig, and crowded to the royal standard.
At length the royal soldiers and the insurgents met face to face. It was on the banks of the Severn that the hostile armies encountered and fought a sanguinary battle. The Welsh, however, were defeated, and with such slaughter that the river was crimsoned with their blood. Roger Fitzosborne was made prisoner, and with him many adherents were taken with arms in their hands. The chief was kept in secure custody till the Conqueror should decide what was to be his fate. But the inferior captives were summarily disposed of. Some were hung on gibbets, some had their eyes put out, and others underwent such mutilation as to render them incapable of further mischief.
While such disasters attended the adventure of Roger Fitzosborne on the Severn, Ralph de Gael did not yield to the temptation of lingering with his fair bride at Norwich. Leaving that city, the bold Breton encamped in the neighbourhood of Cambridge, and succeeded in alluring a multitude of Saxons to his standard. But Ralph de Gael’s part of the enterprise proved little more successful than that of Roger Fitzosborne had been. While the Breton earl was still gathering men to his camp, William de Warren, with Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, and Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutance, took the field, and the insurgents found themselves menaced by a force decidedly superior to them in number. Not shrinking, however, from a conflict, they bravely faced the royal force at a place named Fagadon. There a stubborn battle was fought; but Ralph de Gael’s men were completely defeated; and the chief escaped from the lost field, while many of his adherents were taken and treated with the utmost cruelty. Indeed, the victors are said to have been so merciless as to cut off the right foot of every captive, no matter what his rank or nation.
In the midst of this operation, Ralph de Gael had the fortune to reach Norwich. He threw himself into the citadel with some vague and desperate notions of defending himself to the last. Seeing, however, the impossibility of holding out, he left the fortress under the charge of his bride, and sailed to Brittany to implore the aid of his friends. The daughter of Fitzosborne made a brave defence, but her resistance proved vain. After a somewhat protracted struggle, the men-at-arms, seeing famine staring them in the face, recognised the necessity of yielding, and agreed, not only to surrender Norwich, but to leave England in case of their lives being spared. Almost every Breton who had come to England with the Conqueror was involved in the ruin of Ralph de Gael, and departed from the English shores. “Glory be to God in the highest!” Lanfranc wrote joyfully to King William, “your kingdom is freed from the filthy Bretons.”
On returning to England, William, at Christmas, held a great council of barons, and dealt with the rebel chiefs. Both were condemned to lose their estates. De Gael, being absent, could not, of course, be punished in person; but Fitzosborne, who appeared before the assembly, was sentenced to perpetual imprisonment.
When matters had reached this stage, a son of Sweyn, King of Denmark, unaware of the ruin of those who had craved assistance, approached the eastern coast. But the Danes made no attempt to land. On learning what had happened they turned their helms towards Flanders, and left Fitzosborne to his fate.
But even captivity and chains could not break the strong spirit nor humble the haughty pride of Fitzosborne. Even in his dungeon he found a way of braving and insulting the king whom he had attempted to dethrone. One day, during Easter, the Conqueror, according to a Norman custom, sent him a magnificent suit of precious stuff, as if he had been at liberty. Fitzosborne received the vestments with a smile, examined the coat and mantle of silk, and handled the jacket, trimmed with foreign furs, as if highly pleased. Having done so, however, Roger ordered a fire to be kindled, and committed coat, mantle, and jacket to the flames.
“Thus,” said he, “does the son of William Fitzosborne treat the gifts of the bastard to whom his father gave a crown.”
“By the splendour of God!” exclaimed the Conqueror, boiling with anger, when informed of this scene, “the man who has thus insulted me shall never leave his prison alive.”