History is written, not recorded. No earthly man or woman has ever captured a perfect facsimile of events as they unfold. And therefore, us as writers have an obligation to tell the truth, to get as close to perfect in our retellings as we can. This is an obligation that my contemporary, the so-called grand, the so-called magnificent, Orderic Vitalis has resolutely, abjectly, and inexcusably failed to uphold. 

This man, this obdurate monk, has slandered the names of great families, dashing their reputations as carelessly across the page as he splashes ink. Prejudice rings clear in his every word. And yet he writes like he is the progenitor of fact, as if his poisonous pen isn’t turning each word for or against his subjects as he pleases.

The family of the Bellêmes, of which I must admit a passing acquaintance, has received the worst treatment. Their tales, their great deeds, are twisted and warped beyond all recognition. Due to his abominable efforts their family name now rings with infamy across the ages. But here, on these pages, his lies must die. It is my duty, my humble responsibility as impartial annalist, to do my utmost to correct the record, to finally tell the true story of this once illustrious house. 

Orderic begins with the patriarch William Talvas. Now this was a great man, resolute in his dealings, fair in action and, if I may say, appearance – all qualities readily apparent in his bloodline. If he was harsh on occasion, it was only as necessity required. When his first wife defied him through her extravagant piety, castigating her husband for such trifling sins as appropriation and petty homicide, it was only just that he took the necessary step of strangling her on the way to church.

And yet, Orderic portrays this distinguished gentleman as a bloodthirsty brute! Take for example how he handles the much maligned episode with William fitz Giroie, progenitor of the contemptible House of Giroie. As is common among our noble gentry, fitz Giroie was pledged to two men: Talvas and his hated rival, Geoffrey de Mayenne. But Talvas endured this dual allegiance until Giroie made his preference clear. In a dispute between the two lords, fitz Giroie defended Mayenne’s castle from Talvas’ assault and only relented when our great battle captain had Mayenne captured.

In exchange for such craven servitude, Mayenne granted fitz Giroie a new castle in recompense. But does Orderic condemn this blatant cronyism? No! Instead, he actually decries Talvas’ just revenge for such a slight. For our cunning potentate invited fitz Giroie to his upcoming nuptials and there took the only reasonable course of action: blinding and mutilating his traitorous wedding guest.

Admittedly, this judicious act may have been a tad extreme. But Orderic uses it to justify the egregious response by the Giroie family. For fitz Giroie’s sons and kinsmen sacked and ravaged Talvas’ lands, reducing our wretched patriarch to ruin. Not once does Orderic pity the unfortunate Talvas. In fact, he manages to blame this poor victim instead!

Orderic’s defamation is only magnified in his description of Talvas’ daughter, the illustrious and beautiful Mabel de Bellême. This loyal scion perpetuated the now brimming feud with the perfidious Giroie family, turning her considerable prowess against Giroie’s son, Arnaud d'Echauffour. Now Mabel may have used her husband’s influence with their overlord Duke William, also known by the supercilious sobriquet of “The Conqueror,” to confiscate Arnaud’s lands and have them bestowed on her instead. But to call this action theft as Orderic does? More like assisted annexation.

But of course Orderic lauds Arnaud for debasing himself, pleading with the Duke for the lands’ return. And William, in his overgenerous nature, was inclined to restore them. So Mabel had to take decisive action in protecting her duly awarded property. It was simply a small misstep that her first attempt to poison Arnaud was accidentally drunk by her brother-in-law. Thankfully it only took a small bribe to Arnaud’s chamberlain to have his poisoning done properly the second time.

Orderic seems to relish in her death some years later. In the intervening years, Mabel continued her elevation through the appropriation of lands that other lords were using quite poorly. One such oaf was Hugh Bunel. Two years after Mabel rightfully diminished the man, he stole into her castle with three of his brothers. Just as she was stepping from a bath, the four men broke into her room and, with no consideration for her disrobed dignity, struck off her head. But rather than condemn such scandalous assassination, Orderic describes with triumph how the four men escaped by destroying a bridge as they fled, in total disregard for the impact to local infrastructure.

But Orderic’s worst treatment is for the greatest man of this illustrious house, a man who, despite Orderic’s efforts to slander him, is truly one of the grandest champions of his era. I am referring of course to the one, the only Robert de Bellême.

This young aristocrat began his road to triumph at the side of the Conqueror, fighting alongside him in the conquest of Maine and earning his knighthood at the ripe age of 21. He became fast friends with Robert Curthose, son of the Conqueror and so-nicknamed for the shortness of his socks.

The two were inseparable. Both sons of important magnates with a flair for firmness, they’d inherited strong senses of moral rectitude. They came by their obsessions with ambition honestly, instilling in both boys a desire to dominate and an abhorrence for submission. While these traits would take the young men far in life, in youth they tended to manifest in a brashness and effrontery that occasionally led to some misfortune much exaggerated by Orderic.

The first incident of boyish calamity began in the fall of 1077. The two Roberts, Bellême and Curthose, were in the flower of their manhood and living in Rouen with Curthose’s mother, father, and younger brothers, William Rufus and Henry Beauclerc, Rufus due to his ginger mane and Beauclerc because, unlike the bumbling Orderic, he actually had some competency with a pen.

On one particular afternoon, the Roberts were carousing with their admittedly wild retinue when Curthose’s brothers decided to engage in a bit of tomfoolery. They unleashed a chamberpot from the rafters straight down upon Curthose and his companions.

In the detritus of the decantation, Bellême and the others denounced Curthose for tolerating such treachery. Curthose turned on his brothers, intending to unleash fury for their crime. But just then the Conqueror burst in. In complete disregard for his son’s honor, he prevented the brothers’ due punishment.

Now Orderic portrays what followed as an unreasonable reaction to a minor prank, but Curthose was rightly furious and, along with Bellême, asserted his authority through the only means available: attempting to capture the castle of Rouen. But the Conqueror’s butler gave away the plot and the Conqueror attempted to arrest the pair along with their followers. They fled, taking their revenge on the Conqueror through the traditional noble recourse of pillaging his peasants.

The Conqueror met Curthose on the field of battle only to be unhorsed by his progeny. Curthose was about to slay his father, unrecognizable in his armor, till the Conqueror shouted his name. But rather than appreciate such clemency, the Conqueror cursed his son for his humiliation and they never truly reconciled. It’s a family tragedy brought about by pride and stubbornness. And yet, Orderic uses the opportunity to portray Curthose as a villain for his father’s shame!

Orderic continues his castigation of Curthose and Bellême in the aftermath of the Conqueror’s death some years later. Although the spiteful duke had wanted to deny Curthose his inheritance, Curthose became Duke of Normandy while Rufus gained the crown of England. Much to Orderic’s consternation, Curthose was preferred by the lords of both lands. His easy attitude to affairs would ensure them freedom, independence, and other well-sought liberalities. But despite such worthy sentiments, willfully ignored by Orderic, Rufus obstinately refused to give up his post. So, the nobles, along with Bellême, called on Curthose to rebel. Orderic may call treason, but these patricians simply desired to be governed by a fair, and fairly relaxed, hand.

During the rebellion, Bellême was involved in a few minor massacres and little arsons as Orderic so liberally points out. And unfortunately, Curthose himself did little to assert his claim, never actually taking the fairly important step of joining his comrades to fight in England. Instead, Bellême found himself in Rochester Castle surrounded by Rufus who wanted nothing more than to see him destroyed. You can almost hear Orderic chortle at the near catastrophe. Only negotiations by Bellême’s father allowed our hero to escape.

Orderic’s delight is only compounded as he relates Bellême’s falling out with his dear friend Curthose. As he returned from England, Curthose’s uncle Odo, the disgruntled bishop of Bayeaux, set the duke against Bellême and his brother, Beauclerc. Curthose had the poor pair imprisoned and once again Bellême’s father had to save the day. He managed to negotiate for Bellême and Beauclerc’s release, but the price was steep. Curthose forced Bellême to give up a castle to the hated Giroie family. Of course, the supposedly impartial Orderic openly applauds such blatant bribery.

Now comes the period that Orderic most maligns, for although Bellême and Curthose renewed their friendship, the ungrateful citizens of Normandy launched an unseemly uprising against their noble rule. It was Bellême’s job to dispose of these traitors. Orderic assails his efforts, as if imprisonment, enhanced interrogation, and the occasional well-executed execution were somehow outside acceptable bounds. And when the citizens of a Bellême stronghold invited Beauclerc to take over instead, Orderic tries his best to portray such callous disregard for firm-handed stewardship as commendable.

In fact, this was just the beginning of Beauclerc’s turncoat turn. When his brother Rufus died, he took the monarchy of England for himself and it wasn’t long before he began eying Normandy as well. The rapacious king invaded and, despite the courageous stand of our faithful friends Curthose and Bellême, he soon had the dukedom under his thumb. Curthose was thrown in prison never to be released. And yet Orderic takes pains to twist events so that Beauclerc, now King Henry of England and Duke of Normany, comes out as the hero of his tale.

Now Bellême didn’t stand idly by. In a sign of loyalty to an old friend, he worked to raise Curthose’s son Clito to his rightful place as duke. And what was Beauclerc’s response? How did he reward such honor, such faith, such fealty to friendship? With a dungeon, chains, and iron bars. To this day, our poor Bellême languishes in lockup, reminiscing on his family’s glorious past with only pen and paper for company. Beauclerc became the tyrant of two lands and Orderic his fawning sycophant.

But why? Outside the obvious obsequiousness toward a new overlord and denunciation for his lord’s past enemies – the man is a toady to power after all – Orderic’s special hatred for the House of Bellême seems beyond all explanation. That is until you look to the most obvious source: his pocketbook. For Orderic had a special relationship with a certain family that appears again and again in this sorry tale. The chronicler’s patrons were none other than the House of Giroie. The man’s scribblings have been bought and paid for, the long dead William fitz Giroie gets the last laugh. What shameful propaganda to pass off as history.