I shall record one act of this king's, which being chiefly personal, may pass rather for a part of his character, than a point of history.
As he was hunting one day in the New Forest, a messenger express from Normandy, brought him intelligence, that Hélie, Count de la Flèche, had laid close siege to Mans, and expected to carry the town in a few days; the King leaving his chase, commanded some about him to point whereabout Mans lay; and so rode straight on without reflection, until he came to the coast. His attendants advised him to wait until he had made preparations of men and money; to which he only returned; "They that love me, will follow me." He entered the ship in a violent storm; which the mariners beholding with astonishment, at length in great humility gave him warning of the danger; but the King commanded them instantly to put off to sea, and not be afraid; for he had never in his life heard of any King that was drowned. In a few days he drove the enemy from before the city, and took the count himself prisoner, who raging at his defeat and captivity, exclaimed,[14] "That this blow was from Fortune; but Valour could make reprisals, as he should shew, if ever he regained his liberty." This being told the King, he sent for the count, let him understand that he had heard of his menaces, then gave him a fine horse, bid him begone immediately, and defied him to do his worst.
[Footnote 14: There is so much pleasantry and humour, as well as spirit and heroism in this story, as we have it recorded by William de Malmesbury, who represents the menace as thrown out in the King's presence, that I shall make no apology for setting down his words at length. "Auctor turbarum Helias capitur; cui ante se adducto rex ludibundus, 'Habeo te, magister,' inquit. At ille, cujus alta nobilitas nesciret in tanto etiam periculo sapere; 'Fortuitu,' inquit, 'me cepisti: sed si possem evadere, novi quid facerem.' Tum Willelmus, prae furore ferè extra se positus, et obuncans Heliam, 'Tu,'inquit, 'nebulo! tu, quid faceres? Discede; abi; fuge! Concede tibi ut facias quicquid poteris: et, per vultum de Luca! nihil, si me viceris, pro hâc veniâ tecum paciscar." I.e. By the face of St. Luke, if thou shouldst have the fortune to conquer me, I scorn to compound with thee for my release. [D.S.]
It would have been an injury to this prince's memory, to let pass an action, by which he acquired more honour than from any other in his life, and by which it appeared that he was not without some seeds of magnanimity, had they been better cultivated, or not overrun by the number or prevalency of his vices.
I have met with nothing else in this King's reign that deserved to be remembered; for, as to an unsuccessful expedition or two against Wales, either by himself or his generals; they were very inconsiderable both in action and event, nor attended with any circumstances that might render a relation of them of any use to posterity, either for instruction or example.
His death was violent and unexpected, the effect of casualty; although this perhaps is the only misfortune of life to which the person of a prince is generally less subject than that of other men. Being at his beloved exercise of hunting in the New Forest in Hampshire, a large stag crossed the way before him, the King hot on his game, cried out in haste to Walter Tyrrel, a knight of his attendants, to shoot; Tyrrel, immediately let fly his arrow, which glancing against a tree, struck the King through the heart, who fell dead to the ground without speaking a word. Upon the surprise of this accident, all his attendants, and Tyrrel[15] among the rest, fled different ways; until the fright being a little over, some of them returned, and causing the body to be laid in a collier's cart, for want of other conveniency, conveyed it in a very unbecoming contemptuous manner to Winchester, where it was buried the next day without solemnity, and which is worse, without grief.
[Footnote 15: Yet Eadmer saith, that Tyrrel told him, he had not been in the Forest that day. [D.S.]
I shall conclude the history of this prince's reign, with a description and character of his body and mind, impartially from the collections I have made; which method I shall observe likewise in all the succeeding reigns.
He was in stature somewhat below the usual size, and big-bellied, but he was well and strongly knit. His hair was yellow or sandy; his face red, which got him the name of Rufus; his forehead flat; his eyes were spotted, and appeared of different colours; he was apt to stutter in speaking, especially when he was angry; he was vigorous and active, and very hardy to endure fatigues, which he owed to a good constitution of health, and the frequent exercise of hunting; in his dress he affected gaiety and expense, which having been first introduced by this prince into his court and kingdom, grew, in succeeding reigns, an intolerable grievance. He also first brought in among us the luxury and profusion of great tables. There was in him, as in all other men, a mixture of virtues and vices, and that in a pretty equal degree, only the misfortune was, that the latter, although not more numerous, were yet much more prevalent than the former. For being entirely a man of pleasure, this made him sacrifice all his good qualities, and gave him too many occasions of producing his ill ones. He had one very singular virtue for a prince, which was that of being true to his word and promise: he was of undoubted personal valour, whereof the writers in those ages produce several instances; nor did he want skill and conduct in the process of war. But, his peculiar excellency, was that of great dispatch, which, however usually decried, and allowed to be only a happy temerity, does often answer all the ends of secrecy and counsel in a great commander, by surprising and daunting an enemy when he least expects it; as may appear by the greatest actions and events upon the records of every nation.
He was a man of sound natural sense, as well as of wit and humour, upon occasion. There were several tenets in the Romish Church he could not digest; particularly that of the saints' intercession; and living in an age overrun with superstition, he went so far into the other extreme, as to be censured for an atheist. The day before his death, a monk relating a terrible dream, which seemed to forebode him some misfortune, the King being told the matter, turned it into a jest; said, "The man was a monk, and dreamt like a monk, for lucre sake;" and therefore commanded Fitzhamon to give him an hundred shillings, that he might not complain he had dreamt to no purpose.