‘Hmm. Do you know when he’s likely to be ready?’
‘It’s hard to tell. In about a month, I’d say.’
‘Well, should he ever arrive, we’ll give him the welcome he deserves.’
Normandy, the summer of 1066
As a result of papal support for William’s crusade, more and more soldiers were making their way to Normandy, lured by the promise of absolution and loot. Many thought that whatever the result of their endeavours, they had nothing to lose and much to gain. Numbers were increasing closer to the amount William would need. Many from Brittany answered the call, as did men from Flanders, Anjou and Maine. Many of the crusaders believed William’s propaganda and felt that as God-fearing Christians, it was their duty to fight Harold the Perjurer, as he had come to be known.
Some of the soldiers, or mercenaries to be more precise, were considerably wealthy by any standard but avarice drives a man to many depths. But the bulk of the men gathering from across Europe were landless younger sons, more interested in the prospect of a roof over their head and free meals, rather than any feud between Harold and William. Of all those who made their way to the Normandy coast, the worst were the freelancers, those who were there for the sheer love of violence and the opportunity to make fame and fortune. One of these was Ralph Pomeroy.
Pomeroy had spent the last two years fighting in Sicily and for his efforts he had accrued an excellent sword, two horses, a donkey, a servant who he described as his squire and an earthenware cooking pot. He was tired of hot slosh and the hot Sicilian sun and the flies that went with it. On hearing William’s call for fighting men, Pomeroy and his squire left for Normandy without the money to cover the journey. Robbing a church of some of its plate soon solved the problem. A month later, after an uneventful sea voyage and a trudge across France, they arrived at Dives and enlisted.
They found town and countryside alike bulging at the seams with shipwrights, carpenters, carters, sail makers, blacksmiths and vendors. The town was also crowded with soldiers waiting to embark on the journey of a lifetime. After them came the followers, there to feed on crumbs from the table. For the locals, the days were filled with work, work and more work, but the money flowed freely. While the civilians busied themselves making and preparing the ships for the crossing, the soldiers crammed into the fields round about to practise their martial arts. Everywhere, archers and crossbowmen were shooting at makeshift targets. Infantrymen went through their exercises, as individuals or in formations. The cries of their captains carried grudgingly in the humid air. All along the river, the days passed in sultry heat, the nights in fevered merriment. Hot young men took their pleasure in taverns, putting the cares of the day aside. Wine and beer were consumed by the barrel.
As the strength of Norman army and navy built up, William’s invasion plans grew clearer. As he had never been to England, its geography was a mystery to him; Sir William Malet was a great help and was included in all discussions, but once again it was from the Church that William was to receive invaluable assistance. Obviously, he would invade England’s south coast, but where, precisely? The Abbot of Fecamp, who felt he had good reason to help the Duke, provided the answer. Fecamp had held two abbeys in England under King Edward. Harold had revoked the one at Steyning in Sussex and reclaimed it for the Crown. Although this was quite within his rights, the Abbot had taken umbrage. However, Fecamp still held the other abbey at Rameslie, also in Sussex, which ran to the coast from Hastings to Winchelsea, across the sea, due north of Dives. The arrangement the Abbot struck with the Duke was simple; he would supply William with details of that part of the country in exchange for the return of the estate at Steyning, should the Duke’s invasion succeed.
The Abbot of Fecamp also brought William news that lifted his spirits: Harald Sigurdsson was planning to invade England to claim the Crown for himself. So William would wait until he had word that Sigurdsson had landed before setting sail. He might not be sure whom he would fight but he could be sure that whichever army he met would be depleted from a previous encounter. All he needed was a southerly wind after news of Sigurdsson’s landing and his future would be assured.
Norway, August
Further north, Tostig’s spirits were deflated. At the court of his old friend King Malcolm of Scotland, he was busy trying to persuade his blood brother to join him on the expedition to England. Malcolm advised Tostig to find another ally. Tostig, dismayed by his friend’s reaction, sailed for Flanders to see how many men Copsig had raised. What he discovered dampened his spirits further. Most men who were willing to act as mercenaries had gone to Normandy, where the rewards were more plentiful than anything he had to offer. However, Copsig had found an assortment of pirates and outlaws to bolster the fighting force. With these, he made his way back to Norway, to meet with his only ally, King Harald Sigurdsson.
When Tostig arrived at Trondheim, he was relieved to discover invasion preparations were well underway. More than three hundred longships had gathered and although Harald’s men were loyal in answering his summons, many had forebodings about the expedition. Men were having ominous dreams; some had dreamed of the Norse army being eaten alive by English wolves, others of giant trolls smashing their skulls before devouring their spilled brains.
While his men were nervously awaiting the time for departure, King Harald was in Trondheim with Tostig, finalising invasion plans.
‘My plan is simple, Tostig. We’ll storm York and make it my capital. You’ll be reinstated as Earl of Northumbria. With your influence in the North, we shall raise a Northumbrian army, ready to join the rest of us when we travel south to take London.’
‘It’ll be easy,’ Tostig assured Harald. ‘I’ll use my influence with my sister Edith to raise support in Wessex, or at least make sure there’s little opposition.’
Before boarding his ship, which sat with an escort outside his palace on the River Nid, Sigurdsson paid a visit to the remains of his half-brother, the late saintly King Olaf. Alone, Sigurdsson made his way to St. Clements’s Church. Once inside the cool darkness of the interior, he walked as quietly as he could to his brother’s elaborately decorated shrine, where gold, silver and precious stones sparkled in what little light pierced the darkness. He unlocked the gate, entered the shrine then knelt down beside his brother’s vault. The old Viking warrior never felt comfortable in churches unless he was robbing them. His half-brother might have been a saint but for Sigurdsson it was Thor and Odin who ruled the heavens. Valhalla would be his final destiny, not some kind of Christian great hall filled with peace-loving effeminates playing harps. So he prayed now to the Norse gods, rather than any other.
Having finished his prayer, he took his knife from its sheath, cut off a lock of hair and placed it beside the vault. Then he trimmed his fingernails and put them in a little pile alongside his shorn locks; an offering to his brother to bring him good fortune.
Rising to his feet, he stared in silent contemplation at the vault for several minutes before leaving to rejoin Tostig and a small group of his commanders.
‘Tostig, there you are. Are you ready to reclaim your earldom now?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Good, then follow me.’
Sigurdsson led them at a brisk pace towards the riverbank; he stopped and threw the key to his half-brother’s shrine into the river. His luck would be safely locked away forever. Looking pleased with himself and ignoring the quizzical looks of his followers, he strode straight off to his ship, the Long Serpent. He leaped aboard with one bound and before his feet had even touched the deck, shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Cast off!’
There was a brief moment of activity as lines were untied and cast aboard. The enormous sail was hoisted high up the tall mast and the biggest longship that ever sailed began to make its way out to sea with one hundred and forty-four men pulling on thirty-six pairs of oars. Soon he would join his fleet off the Solunder Islands. It was the end of the second week of August. With a strong north-easterly wind behind them,
Harald and his berserkers left the land of fog and shadows, sailing swiftly in his pagan ships across a godless sea, to reclaim the land of his fathers.
Normandy
When each ship was ready, it was floated downriver to Dives. Gradually, as the summer progressed, more and more ships were to be seen there. By mid-August, William was ready to sail but word came back to him that Harold had still not disbanded the fyrd and he dared not attack while the English king lay in wait for him.
So more churches were robbed and food brought from markets miles away but still there was not enough. Word of William’s problems reached Matilda and she made the journey from Rouen to be by his side. She was saddened to find him frustrated by events that kept him from launching his expedition.
Matilda’s visit came as a real fillip to him; he was delighted to see her. In the privacy of his tent he confided in her.
‘What can I do to raise your spirits, my love? Tell me, I’ll do anything.’
‘Thank you; you’re such a comfort to me. I miss you so much - and the children.’
‘Why not return to Rouen with me and spend a few days with us? It can’t hurt.’
‘No, I can’t,’ he said, looking downcast. ‘If I left, the men might desert.’
‘Then why don’t I go to Rouen and fetch them back myself?’
William’s face lit up with joy. ‘What a marvellous idea.’
Early the next morning, Matilda left for Rouen. A few days later, when she returned with the children, it was to find the port empty and quiet, the last sail disappearing over the far horizon.
September, England, the Nativity of St. Mary
Early in the morning of the day of the Nativity of St Mary, Harold woke from the depths of a deep sleep. Curled up beside him, Edyth lay dreaming, a thousand miles away. The nightmare was over. The army could disband and the fleet could sail home to London. William would not come, not now, probably not ever. For some reason, the Bastard had not taken the opportunity and had missed his chance. Very soon now the storms of the equinox would be upon them. The campaign season over, the men of the fyrd would start making their various ways to home and harvest. By nightfall the beaches, which had been home to so many, would be empty. A ghostly silence would descend on the seashore, empty of ships, laughter and the idle chatter of soldiers. The crashing of the waves and the calling of the gulls would be heard by none.
Gently, Harold nudged Edyth. ‘Time to get up.’
‘Umph,’ she mumbled.
‘Time to get up.’ It had been a long time since Harold had woken up without some sense of foreboding.
‘What time is it?’
‘I’ve no idea but it must be late. Come on. We’ve got to see off the fyrd and I’d like to be in London before the fleet returns.’
‘Are we travelling overland?’
‘Yes, I thought so.’
‘So you can get in a little hunting on the way?’
‘That’s a good idea,’ he replied, good-humouredly.
‘We’re both going to London?’
The smile faded from Harold’s face.
‘I thought you might like to accompany me before travelling on to Waltham.’
‘I’m to go to Waltham, then, am I?’
‘I thought that might be best, under the circumstances.’
‘What you mean is, out of the way.’
‘It’s not that. It’s just …’
‘It’s just that you want me out of the way while your other wife has the baby.’
‘I thought we’d gone through all this.’
Edyth sighed. ‘We have. I’m sorry, Harold, it’s just so hard for me.’
‘I promise, as soon as I can I’ll get everything back to normal, just the way it was before.’
‘Do you really think things will ever be the same?’
‘We can try, Edyth. We can try.’
Throughout the day, the soldiers packed up and left. Some of them gladly turned their backs on the coast and hurried home to their families. One or two left with promises to return to their summer sweethearts or girls with broken hearts who would forever remember the long hot summer of 1066 as the time they met their first love. A few would be married and leave to follow their new husbands to far-off shires.
The sailors, too, made ready to leave, pushing off to catch the morning tide, setting sail for London after bidding farewell.
Further north, Harald Sigurdsson was making for England. With him were sixteen thousand men. Many were Norwegians, including the formidable earl, Eystein Orri, who had been promised the hand of the King’s daughter, the beautiful Maria. Madly in love with the princess, Orri was desperate to prove the choice of groom had been a good one.
Tostig, Skuli and Ketel, with twenty ships filled with mercenaries from Flanders, accompanied King Harald. Godfrey Crovan, son of Harold the Black of Iceland, had arrived with fifty ships full of men keen for a fight, and from Ireland was King Lachlainn, with his small army. These men, along with Paul and Erlin, sons of Thorfinn, the late Earl of the Orkneys, sailed with the biggest Viking invasion force by far that was ever to set foot in England. Even with these numbers there were still those who had reservations, so many of the men were having bad dreams. And there were those who, around midnight, had seen the dances of the spirits in the sky. Not that this was anything unusual at this time of the year; it was the malevolent appearance of the spirits that had unsettled them. The colours in the sky had formed the shapes of beasts and daemons. But Harald told them he, too, had seen the spirits in the sky and they were on the side of the Norsemen. He told them he, too, had had a dream. In his dream, Freya, the goddess of love, had told him that when the English next celebrated Christmas, it would be with a new king sitting on the throne. Freya had never lied, never let him down. Harald flattered himself that the goddess had a particular fondness for him.
Normandy
Before Matilda had had time to return with the children, word had reached William that Harald Sigurdsson had left Norway with a large fleet. He presumed that Sigurdsson would be sailing straight to England. Soon, William would turn his dreams into reality and more good news was on its way. Hugh Margot had arrived with news that the English army had stood down.
William turned to his brother. ‘Well, Robert, what do you think?’
‘The coast is clear, William but is it safe to cross?’ Robert replied.
‘Why wouldn’t it be?’
‘I’m no sailor, William, but surely this is not the right time to lead an invasion force across the Channel. They say the storms can be terrible at this time of the year.’
‘Robert, it’s now or never.’ William had always thought Robert a little too cautious and dismissed his advice without consideration. ‘You know as well as I do, we’re almost out of provisions.’
Duke William looked at the south-facing wall of the tent blowing gently towards him.
‘The wind is from the south,’ said William, addressing Odo, who he knew was more inclined to his way of thinking. ‘We must sail before it changes, don’t you think?’
‘You’re right, William, we must go now. Go while the going’s good.’
‘Good. Give orders to your men. If the wind is still blowing from the south when we wake in the morning, we’ll be on our way.’
It was still dark in the Norman camp when, before the sun rose the next morning, the order went out to rise and pack. There was a hectic scramble as tents were taken down and loaded onto carts, ready to be transferred to their designated vessels later in the day. Horses were led, protesting, on to ships, tied secure and given enough hay and oats to last them the journey.
Racks of chainmail, barrels filled with wine and sheaves of arrows were ready and waiting, loaded the previous day. There were even all the parts required for the building of four wooden forts. Poles, pegs, hinges and bolts were there and all the equipment to assemble them. Finally the men boarded; everyone knew his assigned place on the ship that bore its individual recognition mark. Everything wa
s prepared, nothing left to chance.
The ships cast off and drifted down river with the current. The Normans, hopeful but apprehensive, were soon adrift on the sea.
All the ships headed for the Mora to be close to the Duke. Crews and passengers exchanged insults and curses as the boats careered this way and that, colliding here and there as novice steersmen struggled with the helms. There was confusion at first, as the faster ships passed the slower. The Duke gradually left them all behind.
Due north they headed, across the spume water; closer to England they crept, the sun and the southerly wind at their backs. Their hearts beating hard in their chests, the Duke’s warrior army was buoyant on the calm, calm sea. To many, the salt air was a new sensation, the chill of the ever-constant whipping wind a surprise to the landsmen, here in a new element. The sea rocked the boats as a mother rocks a baby, as if to comfort them. Still there were those who were sick. Further north they went, out of sight of land for the very first time; their lives in the hands of William’s helmsman. Would he sail a true course? No landmark, no place of recognition on the watery plain; just grey-blue water all around. The little ships bobbed about, each following the one in front. Anxious glances, hearty greetings, words of encouragement and jests were shouted from one to another. The Norman army was on the move, travelling without opposition from any foe. Their confidence grew as the ships headed closer to their destination. At the present rate, by nightfall they would be making camp in England. Then someone turned; a sailor it was, his expression giving away his thoughts. From one ship to another, now many a head turned back. The Norman army had company. Dark clouds were closing fast and the winds were veering in from the west. In the Mora, William looked grim. He had spent the first part of the journey emptying the contents of his stomach over the side of his ship. Now he felt famished, but the drone in his dizzy head warned him not to take anything to eat. This was for him the very worst way to travel, but he knew he had the Pope’s blessing, so he had God on his side. Surely he would complete the crossing safely.
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