Charles, count of Flanders, rose a bit later than usual that first Wednesday of March 1127, although still well before dawn.  “Troubled by a kind of anxious wakefulness,” he had had a hard time falling asleep and had tossed and turned all night, “now lying on one side, now sitting up again on the bed.”  The darkness and cold, humid air did not help matters.  It was only the second night he had spent in his house in the burg, or fortified center, of Bruges since his return from a visit to his cousin, Louis VI of France, and he had “many things on his mind.”^[1]  A carefully cultivated feud between two of the leading men from the region of Bruges–Thancmar of Straten, whose stronghold lay to the west of town on the road to Ypres, and Thancmar’s neighbor, Borsiard–had once again broken out during Charles’s absence, and when he had returned to Flanders, he had been met in Ypres by a crowd of people from the region who had complained of the damage and losses they had suffered at the hands of the freebooters Borsiard had loosed on the countryside.  Borsiard had clearly been the aggressor this time, but he was not an easy man to punish.  His grandfather, Erembald, had become the castellan of Bruges, the count’s principal residence, around 1067 (through, rumor said, adultery and murder) and the post had been held by one of his descendants ever since.  One of Borsiard’s uncles, Haket, was castellan in 1127.  Another uncle, Bertulf, had been the provost of Saint Donatian, the church attached to the count’s house in the castle, since 1091.  Bertulf was also, by virtue of his office, the receiver of the count’s revenues from throughout the county and the chancellor of Flanders, in charge of the clerical personnel attached to the count’s court and administration.  The family’s wealth and power in the county were second only to the Charles’s own.^[2]

The situation was further complicated by the questions that had recently been raised concerning this family’s legal status.  Hearing them accused of servile status in his court one day, Charles had ordered an investigation into the matter and, finding that there was good reason to believe that the members of the family were, in fact, his serfs, had summoned them to Cassel to prove their freedom on a given day in the preceding year.  When the day had come, according to one report, they had shown up with three thousand armed supporters, and Charles, fearing bloodshed, had postponed the hearing.  He had thus incurred the hatred of the family and all its friends and dependents–since they risked losing their wealth, offices, and power if they were found to be of servile status–but had not been able to enforce his rights: all he had gained was a large group of formidable enemies.

Faced with the need to punish a leading member of this powerful and ill-disposed family, Charles had summoned his court to meet in Ypres on Sunday, February 27, and had asked those present to advise him how to do so.  Some had immediately advised him to burn down Borsiard’s house while others–more politic–had suggested that he go himself and see what had been done, and then fit the punishment to the crime.  He had therefore traveled to the region Monday morning–despite being told that Borsiard had recently been overheard asking: “If someone were to kill the count, who would avenge him?” (Vita Karoli, [20], 547, 22)–and, moved to tears by what he had seen, had burned and razed Borsiard’s house.  He had then gone on to spend the night in his own house in the burg of Bruges, from where he could look out and see, within the same castle walls, the houses of the provost and the castellan, Borsiard’s uncles.

He had spent Tuesday hearing suits and tending to the accumulated affairs of the county, and had again been warned, during the day, that Borsiard and his family were plotting some treachery.  After dinner, Guy of Steenvoorde, who had married one of Borsiard’s cousins, and a number of other prominent men had come to his house to ask him to pardon Borsiard and his allies and take them back into his favor.  “‘Did I requite Borsiard’s outrageous deeds fittingly,’” Charles had replied, “‘by burning one of his little houses, himself as yet unpunished?  Does justice not demand rather that he restore to the poor everything he carried off and pay for the suffering caused by such great crimes in his own flesh?  If he wishes to find the mercy he seeks, he should restore justly everything he has unjustly stolen and acknowledge the status of his lineage.  For by what reckoning can he obtain forgiveness and keep what he has stolen from the poor?’” (Vita Karoli, [22], 548, 5/9).  He had nonetheless concluded that “he would act justly and mercifully toward them [Borsiard and his supporters] if they would henceforth give up their fighting; and he assured them, moreover, that he would certainly compensate Borsiard with a house that was even better.  He swore, however, that as long as he was count, Borsiard should never again have any property in that place where the house had been burned up, because as long as he lived there near Thancmar he would never do anything but fight and feud with his enemies, and pillage and slaughter the people” (De multro, [10], 32/39; trans., 107).  The mediators had let the matter drop with surprising ease, but had stayed to drink the count’s wine, “asking to be served again still more abundantly, as drinkers usually do” (De multro, [10], 43/44; trans., 107).

After Charles had retired that night, yet other rumors and warnings had reached him that Borsiard and his relatives were planning some kind of attack.

The count’s insomnia and desire to stay in bed a little longer than usual that morning are thus easy to understand.  When he did finally rise, he washed and, as was his habit, distributed food and clothing to several paupers in his house before crossing the stone archway connecting it to the gallery of Saint Donatian.  Once in the gallery, he proceeded to the altar dedicated to the Virgin Mary, where he prayed and listened to mass every morning when he was in Bruges, while most of the handful of men escorting him wandered off in search of a quiet corner somewhere.

Charles began his prayers as usual.  Eventually, he prostrated himself before the altar and, with his psalter open before him, began to recite the seven penitential psalms.  From time to time, he took a silver penny from the small pile his chaplains had placed on the psalter and gave it to a pauper whom they had led to his side.  As he was reciting the fourth psalm, he reached out his right hand to give a penny to a poor woman whose turn had finally come.  As he did so, he felt a light tap on the left side of his head and the woman cried out: “‘Lord count, look out!’” (Liber, [28], 285, 37; trans., 43).  He turned his head to the left and looked up, but he may never have seen Borsiard or the sword that crushed his forehead and “knocked his brains out on to the floor” (Vita Karoli, [25], 549, 17/18).

Borsiard had not slept well that night either.  When the mediators who had gone to the count on his behalf had returned to the provost’s house where he, his uncle Bertulf and several relatives and supporters were waiting for them, the wine they had drunk gave an aggressive edge to their report.  They announced “that they had not been able to secure any mercy either for the [provost’s] nephews or their supporters” (De multro, [11], 7/8; trans., 108) and that “they would never obtain mercy from the count unless they all confessed themselves his serfs” (Vita Karoli, [23], 548, 18/19).  Enraged by this inflammatory rendition of the count’s response and fearful that he was planning to move against them in the near future,^[3] Bertulf; his brother, Wulfric; their nephews Borsiard, Robert, and Isaac (one of the count’s chamberlains); and a few other men had retired to an inner room where they had sworn to kill the count as soon as they could.  They had then split up, each returning to his own dwelling.  When everyone in his house was asleep, Isaac had gone back out, collected Borsiard at his house, and they had gone together to the house of another knight, Walter, taking with them those members of Borsiard’s household who had been chosen to murder the count.  Once there, they had put out the fire and had plotted, waited and perhaps dozed fitfully in the dark, planning to murder the count when he went to the church.  Isaac, however, had left shortly before dawn.  When the servants Borsiard had sent into the courtyard of the castle to watch had returned and reported that the count had gone into the gallery, “that raging Borsiard and his knights and servants, all with drawn swords beneath their cloaks, followed the count into the same gallery, dividing into two groups so that not one of those whom they wished to kill could escape from the [circular] gallery by either way, and behold! they saw the count prostrate before the altar, on a low stool, where he was chanting psalms to God and at the same time devoutly offering prayers and giving out pennies to the poor” (De multro, [12], 14-21; trans., 112).

After a week of indecision and confusion, the barons of Flanders collected at Bruges and drove the assassins and their accomplices into the castle, where they besieged them.  Aided by friends, relatives, or large bribes, some of besieged escaped; many of those who did, however, including Borsiard and Bertulf, were eventually captured and executed.  Those who remained inside the castle were forced to retreat, first, to the church of Saint Donatian and then to the church’s tower.  They finally surrendered on April 19; on May 5, they were executed by being thrown from the tower of the count’s house.

Charles died without an obvious or designated successor and King Louis VI of France immediately seized the opportunity to exercise his rights as overlord of the county of Flanders in the choice of the new count.  He summoned the barons of Flanders to meet him at Arras and, after hearing appeals from various claimants, chose William Clito (1101-1128), the nephew of Henry I of England and son of Robert Curthose, the dispossessed duke of Normandy.  The choice was confirmed, in return for numerous and significant concessions, by the barons and towns of Flanders, and William was duly invested with the county and officially received as count throughout it. 

Henry I’s enmity towards the new count had a chilling effect on the important commercial relations between the cities of Flanders and England in the months that followed William’s election and the king seems to have bribed everyone he thought could possibly make life difficult for his nephew.^[4]  The loss of commercial revenues, the flood of English money, and a series of unpopular actions taken by William led to rising discontent with the new count in urban centers like Lille, Bruges, Saint-Omer, and Ghent, and by March 1128, William was no longer in full control of the county.  The citizens of Saint-Omer had welcomed Charles’s nephew, Arnold of Denmark, and elected him count, while Thierry of Alsace, Charles’ cousin and the son of Thierry II, duke of Upper Lorraine, had been received in Ghent and elected count there by its citizens.  Baldwin IV, count of Hainaut, had also renewed his claim to the county.  Arnold and Baldwin made no headway, but Thierry gained the support of Bruges and other cities.  William finally won a decisive victory over him at the battle of Axpoel on June 21, and effectively reestablished himself as count.  The defeated Thierry was pursued and besieged in Aalst on July 12 by William and Godfrey, duke of Louvain, but William was mortally wounded in the course of this siege and died on July 27 or 28.  Deprived of its leader, the opposition to Thierry evaporated and he was quickly recognized as count of Flanders, a position he held for forty years until his death in 1168.^[5]