Matthew of Boulogne — The Count Who Kidnapped a Nun
Yesterday, I announced the start of this blog series, which will end in a poll to determine the winner of the ‘Worst Misogynist of the Twelfth Century’ prize.
First up is Matthew of Boulogne…
Nobleman abducting a nun
Picture the quiet cloisters of Romsey Abbey in Hampshire around 1155. The air smells of beeswax and incense, the rhythm of the day marked by bells and chants. Among the nuns was Marie of Boulogne, daughter of King Stephen of England and Queen Matilda of Boulogne. Unlike her royal cousins, who were being married off for political gain, Marie had chosen a different path: the contemplative life of a Benedictine nun.
Marie had been placed in the abbey young, probably to remove her from the political fray during her father’s turbulent reign. She rose to the rank of abbess, a position of dignity and spiritual authority. For a woman of the 12th century, it was a rare chance at independence.
But her peace would not last.
A Count with Ambition
Enter Matthew of Alsace, younger son of the Count of Flanders. Ambitious but landless, Matthew saw an opportunity in Marie. Through her, he could gain control of the wealthy and strategically important County of Boulogne, which lay across the Channel, connecting Flanders to England.
The problem? Marie was a nun, bound by vows of chastity and devotion. But in the brutal realpolitik of the 12th century, vows meant little when power and land were at stake.
The Abduction
In 1160, Matthew seized Marie from Romsey Abbey and forced her into marriage. Chroniclers condemned the act as a violation of holy vows. John of Salisbury, writing in the period, described the outrage with which churchmen viewed the marriage. It was a scandal even by the rough standards of the age.
Marie was wrenched from her abbey, stripped of her religious identity, and thrust into the role of countess against her will. For women in the Middle Ages, the cloister was often seen as protection from such forced unions — but not for Marie.
A Marriage of Misery
Matthew claimed the title of Count of Boulogne by right of his wife. Marie, meanwhile, endured life as his consort. Chroniclers imply that her misery was profound. Yet she bore him two daughters — Ida and Mathilde — cementing his claim to her inheritance.
At her request, the marriage was finally annulled by the Church, but only after Marie had fulfilled Matthew’s ambitions by providing heirs. The annulment rested on the undeniable fact that she had been a professed nun when forced into marriage.
Marie’s Return to Faith
After her annulment, Marie returned to the life she had once chosen. She became abbess of both Romsey Abbey and later Saint-Austreberthe in Normandy, regaining the authority and spiritual dignity Matthew had tried to strip from her.
Her daughters, however, remained pawns of dynastic politics. Ida of Boulogne married three times, including to Reginald de Dammartin, whose rebellion against King John would later cost her dearly. The scars of Matthew’s ambition extended into the next generation.
Matthew’s Violent End
As for Matthew, his end was far less dignified. In 1173, during the rebellion of Henry the Young King against Henry II, Matthew was killed in battle. Chroniclers note his violent death almost with satisfaction, as if divine justice had caught up with him. Few mourned the man who had abducted a nun to feed his ambition.
Why He’s a Villain
Matthew of Boulogne was a Medieval Villain
He kidnapped a nun from her convent.
Forced her to marry against her vows of chastity.
Exploited inheritance to claim power through a woman’s body and rights.
Marie’s Legacy
Marie’s story is more than one of victimhood. She survived violation of her vows, a forced marriage, and the burden of childbearing under duress. Yet she reclaimed her religious life, holding high office as abbess. Her annulment and return to the church stand as rare medieval acknowledgments of a woman’s autonomy, even if only after years of suffering.
Closing Thought
Matthew of Boulogne’s treatment of Marie was shocking even to his contemporaries. It shows how fragile women’s autonomy could be, and how marriage could be weaponised as a form of captivity.
Was Matthew the worst villain of the 12th century — or merely one of many men who saw women as pawns in their pursuit of power? Read about the other contenders over the next few weeks, then place your vote.
Matthew of Boulogne and his ignoble end feature after he joined the rebellion against Henry II feature in my upcoming novel about Nicola de la Haye. Subscribe to my newsletter for news about its release.
Next week: Fulk of Anjou, the king who struck his queen.