No women were selected to attend by the Pope as the Vatican didn’t keep women of any repute on hand. In those days the Church did a lot of ‘interferring’, but limited themselves to families of European royalty. However, he did send one of his personal chefs as he had heard the ladies attending had a ‘thing for Lasagne’ and wanted to keep them happy, and by inference their husbands wallets open.. The Pasta Supremo promptly arrived on the Pope’s personal carriage, a flat white (no coffee jokes here – nothing to see – move along) wheeled platform with a golden chair bolted to the top and sheets of glass placed all around, pulled by six white stallions – and surrounded by a group of small darkly dressed men who looked furtively around and had an apparent obsession with checking for their wallets in a inside pocket. The old adage of ‘Rome empties a man’s purse with haste’ was clearly engrained deeply.
Guidance from above
Once assembled the ‘Trauma’ (an archaic collective noun for a group of obdurate women on a mission) made their way to the abode of the Oracle, the Nunnery of Salope Chaud. The Oracle, Doris de Connerie, was sought as she was reputed to commune with the heavens. It took some time to gain an audience, the Oracle herself was not in great demand, but the nuns were popular for the succour they provided. Lines of the needy were lengthy and numerous outside the convent walls. The Nuns themselves – the Sisters of Saint Vitalis – were extremely dedicated to their calling and wore minimalist habits, come rain or shine, to show their piety, which they always kept well tended. Many were fallen women who were rehabilitated through good works. Such a worthy cause attracted considerable funds. Subsequently the ‘Trauma’ was well provided for being waited on by healthy young monks from the neighbouring monastery of St Sebastian in their characteristic leather mini shorts and gilded strapping – another sign of religious dedication (alledgedly). It was a little too early for the Oracle, and the spirits weren’t full within her. The Benedictine ‘chapel’ had only opened an hour earlier. However, she did relate details of the Pope’s recent visit to ‘bless’ the Sisters, who had sore knees to prove it. The Trauma took this as a sign of approval and an endorsement from above . The Incognito Pope – apparently he didn’t want to cause too much religious adulation (yeh -right!) – had also encountered access difficulties. His guard, disorganised and weak, had struggled with ‘pilgrims’ for hours to gain access. This sort of ineptness was only resolved with the advent some years later of a force with clockwork timing and a large Toblerone ration. The Vicar of Rome had stayed a whole month along with a team of enthusiastic Bishops and Cardinals. It was heartwarming to see such fervour in their eyes reported Doris, the Oracle. On his return trip the Pope had dallied for a whole month in Avignon – mostly in traction.
Back in Rouen the wheels were set in motion immediately.
The plan takes shape
William the Conqueror married Matilda of Flanders c.1050 and set about producing an heir or ten, just in case most didn’t survive, which was the norm. Everything was going as planned by 1066 and, while William toured his new possesions indisciminately killing, pillaging and extorting cash from anyone who had any (who said the poor people got the shitty end of the stick?), Matilda buckled down to the task of fortifying the whole undertaking with some more offspring. One of the early French issue had been a Matilda – That’s not a surprise… is it? Not much is known about her, with many assuming she died in infancy. In fact she was taken into the care of the ‘Trauma’ and was packed off to a Nunnery for initial training. (William vetoed the Sisters of Salope Chaud as it was ‘too far away’ even though he’d nipped across many times to ‘just to help hang an awkard heavy cupboard and put some pictures up’ – most of which had taken over a week.) She was being groomed – not by a middle aged man pretending to be in a boy band – but by the ‘Trauma’, to one day become the ‘Grand Maud’ of the whole organisation.
The Conqueror’s successor, his son William Rufus (II) never married. Scurrilous rumours concerning a disliking for the opposite sex was a campaign initiated by the Grand Maud hoping to force him to marry what he’d already termed as ‘mingers’. The bottom line (no pun intended) was they just could not produce a good looking Matilda who would entice Rufus away from the hordes of alternatively named ladies who sought his favour. An embarassment of riches indeed. Additionally, being a GWA – Ginger With Attitude – he disliked being told what to do and had an intense, perhaps narcissistic, passion for redheads. This narrowed wife selection. It was reported that on being offered, by an Ambassador, the hand of Matilda de Charcuterie – a large, moistly freckled pale young lady with dubiously dyed auburn hair, the daughter of the Count of Couchon – the King, sitting in his court surrounded by scores of Lolitas, laughingly (in French) to the Ambassador, spake thus, ‘Cast thine eyes on the assembled hordes of top notch totty, and tellest me thou is not having a Camelopard.’ (This was the contemporaneous word for a Giraffe.)
The death of Rufus occurred under mysterious circumstances in the New Forest. This is more often than not pictured as a classic ‘dark hand of the Matilda’ assassination, but he also wasn’t a fan of the Pope, which has very much become a tradition within English Royal circles, so that angle could be considered. It may just have been the ginger one’s massive ego at work. Kings often have them – see Charles I or James II – and downfall follows quickly. He loved hunting, as did all of his ilk, but not Elk, and most of the country was a giant private animal park, thankfully minus Kate Humble. When he went hunting on this day in August 1100 he took his mate Walter ‘Blinky’ Tirel (often envisaged as Jack Douglas on top form). Both had imbibed heavily. It was reported that even sober Tirel couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with a cricket bat, and he made the King look good – who definitely could hit a cow’s arse, not with a cricket bat as it wasn’t invented yet, but with an actual arrow! Nobody witnessed the King getting a terminal arrow to the chest, not because they’d been paid off not to ‘see’ anything but because, in fear of their lives, everyone in a two hundred yard radius had already escaped well beyond Walter’s ‘accidental’ range.
Status Quo restored (an impossibility in fact)
Suceeded by Henry I things went back on track. His wife was a Scottish princess (now un-heard of) named Edith, but with a neat bit of footwork had been renamed Matilda. They had a daughter also called Matilda, which by now was deemed mandatory. He also had a son named William (no doubt picking up on an established naming trend – deftly avoiding the mandatory Matilda label) who was next in line to the throne. He was married in 1119 to the startlingly named Matilda of Anjou. Sadly William ‘Adelin’ – meaning Crown Prince – was lost in the ‘White Ship’ disaster of 1120 – an early channel ferry calamity only eclipsed by ‘Triangle’ some years later. What happened was initially a mystery as there were no survivors. Although the bar had been well stocked the life jacket locker wasn’t, and any state sponsored school swimming certificates were still in the distant future. The inebriated, which included the whole crew including the Captain, succumbed swiftly in the cold November water a mere few hundred yards offshore.
The locals in Barfleur shrugged with down-turned mouths when questioned and muttered comments containing the word ‘Boche’. Assuming an unfamiliarity with power tools it could be deduced the ‘Germans’ were to be blamed. As the term German wasn’t really a nation identifying moniker at that time, blame actually fell on a rather large chunk of rock littered with chunks of white-washed timber, lapped over by only a few inches of water and surrounded by floating bodies. Mrs Adelin was not aboard as she suspected there were a few Sisters of St Vitalis onboard and she wasn’t up for a scrap, or a threesome, or a combination of both. She caught the next crossing and, despite a massive hold up caused by queues of freight carts on the London road, courtesy of customs in France, made her way to the capital. After the disaster she remained at Henry’s court. He no doubt thought one should keep as many Matildas on hand as possible – just in case. A wise man indeed. He died in 1137 leaving no male heir, but a fine selection of Matildas.
The ‘Anarchy’ which ensued after Henry’s death was very much ‘Matilda’ focussed. In spite of deathbed promises – in the vain hope that the name would swing the deal – his daughter Matilda was not made Queen of England. Stephen of Blois, Henry’s nephew domiciled ‘En France’, had shrewdly married Matilda of Boulogne earlier, and in a plot supposedly masterminded from the continent, was promtly given the throne. Stevie ‘B’ was considered to be key in the long term influential French scheme to ransack Britain’s seas for fish as they were already plundering their own waters beyond sustainability.
In fairness Empress Matilda – A title she bore as the widow of Holy Roman Emperor, Henry, who had first bedded his 12 year old wife in his twilight years (33) and gamely battled through the next ten – was offered an opportunity to qualify herself better for the job: Sadly the inability to grow a decent beard in a desirable place*, handicapped any progress. Her then husband, the hirsute bear-like warrior Geoffrey of Anjou, was unwilling to permanently be called Matilda, although the weekends were an option. Additionally he queried the need to be dressed by Robert le Juge, a Norman flaxen haired Gok Wan-like figure (who apparently, when initially approached, had responded ‘I’m game’ – which came as no real surprise as most had already assumed that to be the case). After some ‘intense’ discussion had taken place the newly clarified position – (Geoffrey spent much of his time under canvas on campaign) – concerning the term ‘camp weekend’ caused him to literally back out of the situation, and as a good soldier he’d ensured his rear was fully covered on all occasions. This verbal ‘mix up’ was notorious at the time and not bettered until a few centuries later when Henry VIII overheard Wilfred of Palingputt claim he’d got three under Par, went at all the holes like a man possessed, and finished with an awesome 69. Henry went GWA (see above) ballistic and thankfully Wilfred was only slightly tortured before the error was corrected, but he never played again. Catherine Parr kept her noggin and the rhyme endured intact, – Divorced, Beheaded, Died, Divorced , Beheaded, Beheaded – does not scan well.
(*Geographially challenged, as many still are, Globule, the medieval priest philosopher, cites this as either Scunthorpe or Cunny on the Parrett, Somerset. The latter was said to be more agreeable, but a little surreal.)
It’s all over now…
Historically, when all seems to be days of wine and roses, the fall comes swiftly. The South Sea company, the Dutch Tulip market, Manchester United – many have fallen victim to complacency and a bit of financial shenanigans. It wasn’t that the Matildas were incompetent just unprepared for the hostile takeover by the Eleanor Endeavour (Nope, sorry – still no Ludlum). This owed much to insider dealing, although Eleanor ‘moneybags’ of Aquitaine – the new Queen to Henry II in 1154 – did call her daughter Matilda. There would be a spate of English Eleanors over the next couple of centuries, although with the advent of the Isabel* Initative the market place became highly contested and they all cancelled each other out a bit.
(* This also included Isobel, Isabella and any other spelling permutation you can imagine. It was thought this was a stealth tactic to gain predominance before anybody realised. However, because of the low literacy rates they all sounded similar, and were conflated by illiteracy. It was rumbled fairly quickly and, reluctant to endure the medieval equivalent of three sets of ‘Loose Women’ all belligerently trying to get the first and the last word in, the Pope banned any further palavers and ordered all records expunged of references.
The Matildas were finished.
(Author’s note – If you enjoyed this historical vignette someone will need to explain to me exactly how that was possible. There are traces of genuine historical fact in the above and some less trustworthy. You can work those out yourself – that’s the fun bit. Additionally your French school dictionary will be redundant here unless, like Fatty Higgins, you wrote the rude stuff at the back. If you are the Anorak type (virginity implied) who speaks in an adenoidal voice and are mumbling to yourself in your lonely bedsit, ‘Well, I’m certain that can’t be right…’, please go and get some professional help. Worked for me!)
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L C McCarthy 