Chronicles of England, Scotland and Ireland (2 of 6): England (02 of 12) William Rufus — Story, Setting & Ideas

A King of 'Variable Mind'

Holinshed repeatedly characterizes William Rufus through the lens of his advisor Lanfranc, who perceived in the king 'a variable mind, an vnstable nature, and a disposition to lightnesse and follie.' This psychological portrait is not merely editorial; it shapes the narrative structure. Early in the reign, William's liberality is presented as calculated—'great and liberall gifts' to win favour—but soon the chronicler notes that he 'imprisoned Marchar and Wilnot, whom he had brought ouer with him from Normandie.' The pattern of promise and betrayal recurs.

The chronicle's language reinforces this instability. Verbs of haste and change dominate: 'came ouer,' 'sought to win,' 'obtained his purpose,' 'forgat himselfe.' Even the king's building projects are tinged with caprice. After completing Westminster Hall, William 'repented that he had made it no larger, saieng; it was too little by the halfe.' Holinshed reports this with a dry finality that underscores the king's restless ambition.

Brutality and the Welsh Campaigns

The Welsh sections of the chronicle are among the most graphically violent. Holinshed describes how the earls of Shrewsbury and Chester 'tempered the victorie with great crueltie and bloudshed, putting out the eies of some, cutting off the noses, the armes, or hands of others, and some also they gelded.' The catalogue of mutilations is stark and unadorned, a deliberate departure from the more measured tone of the court scenes.

The narrative pace quickens during military actions. When the earl of Shrewsbury is slain by an arrow to the eye, the Danish admiral Magnus scoffs 'in the Danish toong, Leit loupe, that is; Let him leape now.' This sudden shift to reported speech—and the inclusion of a foreign phrase—creates a moment of grim immediacy. Holinshed then hedges: 'the English neuerthelesse had the victorie at that time (as some write).' The parenthetical qualifier is characteristic of his method, reminding readers that the chronicle is a synthesis of competing accounts.

The Chronicler's Craft: Sources and Skepticism

Holinshed's margins are crowded with authorities: Polydor, Sim. Dunel., Matth. Paris, H. Hunt, Fabian, Ran. Higd. These names are not mere decoration; they signal the chronicler's reliance on multiple, sometimes contradictory, sources. When reporting the earl of Shrewsbury's desecration of a church, Holinshed adds: 'How true so euer this report is I wote not.' This skepticism is a recurring feature of the narrative voice.

The chronicle also incorporates direct speech and proverbial remarks. Magnus's Danish taunt is one example; another is William's complaint about Westminster Hall. These moments break the otherwise formal, Latinate prose. The result is a text that oscillates between dry annals—'An. Reg. 11. 1098'—and vivid, almost novelistic scenes. Holinshed's editorial hand is visible in the selection and arrangement of material, but he rarely suppresses doubt. The reader is left to weigh the evidence, much as the chronicler himself appears to have done.

Holinshed's chronicle of William Rufus rewards attention to its margins and its shifts in register. The marginalia are not footnotes but active participants in the narrative, reminding us that this is a compiled history, not a seamless story. Readers may find it useful to track how Holinshed handles uncertainty—his 'as some write' and 'I wote not' are not weaknesses but signals of a critical approach. The text's uneven pace, from swift political maneuvering to lingering accounts of cruelty, mirrors the 'vnstable nature' it ascribes to its subject.

Reading Holinshed’s account of William Rufus, with his restless building and shifting moods, I found myself thinking of the quiet, patient lists in Domesday Book and Beyond: Three Essays in the Early History of England — Story, Setting & Ideas. Where the chronicle hurries, that other work lingers, measuring the same land beneath all the noise. A different kind of truth, but a familiar one.