London
Two days after William had landed, a messenger from Pevensey arrived at Westminster’s great hall. This was just an hour after a messenger had arrived from York with word of Sigurdsson’s defeat and the great victory for the English. A heavily pregnant Queen Aldytha sat on the throne presiding over victory celebrations, which were in full swing. Leofwine, whose responsibility it was to guard London while Harold was away, was a little the worse for wear, then, when he received the second message and had difficulty absorbing the facts. The Queen promptly fainted and was carried off to her chambers by her attendants. Ulf, the only one of the family present in a fit state to respond, volunteered to get word to his father. Ulf was a fine horseman and Leofwine had no reservations in sending him on his way. After two days’ hard riding, Ulf met his father on the Great North Road.
‘Ulf! You have news and I can tell it’s not good.’
‘It’s Duke William, father. He landed on the coast at Pevensey four days ago.’
‘What’s he doing now?’
‘I’ve no idea. As soon as we got the word I came up here to warn you.’
‘How many men does he have?’
‘Somewhere between ten and twenty thousand.’
‘Well, we’d better go and pay him a visit.’
Orders were passed down the line: proceed to London with all possible haste. The King would see his soldiers there. Word was sent to all the counties to warn them and to raise the fyrd. They were to meet in Sussex at the old grey apple tree on Caldbec Hill.
Harold’s arrival in London on the 6th of October was one of great jubilation. The city was welcoming the victor of Stamford Bridge and the king they saw as their saviour. If Harold could so easily defeat a Viking army, what chance did the Duke of Normandy have?
Edgar Atheling rode out to meet him, as did the Bishop of London and the burgesses. They were surprised to see how weary the victorious army appeared and how small it looked. Harold had led the English to a great victory but at a high cost. Now back in London, he did his best to show a cheery face. The comet had been a good omen after all and now Harald Sigurdsson had been dealt with, it was William’s turn. Tonight he would feast in Westminster; tomorrow he would make plans. Now he would acknowledge the cheers of the crowd who loved him so much it took two hours for him to get from the city gates to the great hall.
News of his arrival had spread through the city and when he finally arrived at Westminster, it was to find the great hall in chaos. Earl Leofwine, with the help of Archbishop Stigand, was doing his best to keep things in order. Harold took his place on his throne.
‘Christ Almighty, Harold, I thought you’d never get here!’ exclaimed Stigand in a fluster.
Ignoring the Archbishop, Harold asserted himself immediately. ‘Who are all these people and what do they want?’ he demanded of his brother.
‘Refugees from your estates and men who’ve answered the call to march with you. Oh, and finally there is a messenger from the Bastard.’
Harold barked his orders. ‘All you men who’ve come to join me, make your way to the soldiers’ quarters. I’ll talk to you later.
‘The emissary from Duke William, it’s not Sir William Malet, is it?’
‘No, my Lord, it is I,’ answered a priest who Harold had not noticed.
‘What’s the Duke’s message?’
‘Duke William would once again remind you that by right the throne of England is his and you swore an oath to …’
Something about the tone of the priest’s voice prompted Harold’s memory, ‘I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? At Bosham before I sailed to Normandy, or should I say Ponthieu? I’ve seen you in Rouen and Steyning. You’re Hugh Margot. I’m looking at the face of Judas. Get out!’
‘But the Duke’s message?’
‘You can tell Duke William that whatever either of us thought at the time, no one has the right to promise a crown, not even the King.’
‘I must deliver Duke William’s message. He pleads with you to have your rival claims assessed by an independent commission. Or failing that, trial by combat.’
‘Independent commission! What independent commission would that be?’ snapped Harold, rising to his feet. ‘When would it be held? He’s in England now. Where will he wait till this commission meets and if by some strange chance it found in my favour, would William simply pack up and go home, saying to his men as he went, ‘Well, I’m sorry, but I made a bit of a mistake. The promises I made of booty and rewards simply aren’t going to materialise?’
Harold approached the trembling Margot and stood within inches of him. ‘I’ll give you my answer,’ he seethed in his most forceful way. ‘You may return to Duke William with this message. Tell him that the oath I made has no value because it was extorted from me by force and trickery. As for any promise, real or otherwise, that has been cancelled by Edward’s deathbed nomination. This has been the unbroken custom of the English and has been recognised by law since the time St. Augustine was preaching the faith in this country hundreds of years ago.’
Harold took a breath and calmed himself before he continued. ‘However, as a concession, I offer Duke William my friendship. If he goes quietly back across the Channel, then our friendship will remain unbroken, but if he is bent on forcing a decision by battle, then England is ready.’
‘But the Crown of England is the Duke’s by hereditary right!’
‘Can’t you hear me?’ Harold shouted in the face of the priest. ‘Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?’
‘I have, sire but you are mistaken if …’
‘Mistaken! I am mistaken? You tell me, the King of England, I am mistaken. Do you think you understand English law better than I?’
‘But it is not just English law that is of consequence in these matters, is it, my Lord?’
‘What?’ roared Harold. ‘This is England, what other law prevails here?’
‘The Pope himself has already made his decision.’
The shock of this announcement produced a silence that spread through the court like the plague.
‘Didn’t you know,’ Margot continued sneeringly, ‘Duke William is fighting under the papal banner? His Holiness has pronounced his blessing on the Duke’s campaign and declared it a holy cause. On his finger, Duke William is wearing the holy relic of St. Peter and suspended round his neck are the very relics on which you, sire, swore the oath in Normandy. The Duke’s brother, Bishop Odo, is bearing a papal bull and his holiness the Pope is excommunicating you. A hearing has been held in Rome and you have been judged guilty.’
Hugh Margot leaned forward, smiling smugly at the dumbstruck king. ‘This being the case, you will not be fighting a mere man; you will be fighting the Church, the Pope and even the Lord God Almighty. If you fight William, you are damning yourself and what’s more, you’re damning all those who fight with you,’ he added, looking around the room in a self-satisfied way.
Harold stood white-faced, staring in disbelief before the contemptible little monk. Silence, like a lead weight, had dropped into the room.
‘What shall I say to the Duke now, Earl Harold?’
Addressed by his former title, Harold flew into a rage and grabbed the monk by the neck with both hands. Now it was Margot who was speechless. All he could do was cough and splutter. Gyrth and Leofwine hauled Harold off as he shouted at the monk, ‘Get out, you fool. God will decide who the rightful claimant to the Crown is and he will deal justly.’
As Margot was being dragged out of the room, he shouted back at Harold, ‘Repent! Repent! Repent before it is too late. The Duke is a merciful man, he might still forgive you.’ The court was still and silent; Margot’s voice grew quiet, lost in the still night air.
Stigand stepped forward. ‘You don’t really think the Pope has excommunicated you, do you?’
‘You know, I’ve honestly no idea.’
‘Of course he hasn’t. This is another Norman trick to undermine you. Duke William knows you have no time to verify wh
at Margot has told you. Whatever the Pope said, assuming he said anything at all, the Normans have exaggerated in order to strengthen their claim and to demoralise you. If you see them riding into battle under a papal banner, it’ll be one they knocked up themselves.’
Harold thought for a moment before replying. ‘May God decide between the Duke and me. Let Him pronounce to the world which of us shall be king. Summon the members of the war council!’
Even before he had time to see Aldytha, Harold was presiding over a council of war. With him were his brothers, Gyrth and Leofwine, his nephew, Haakon, and Earl Waltheof, who had accompanied him from York. Harold’s housecarls, Finn and Bondi, were present, as were Skalpi, Azur, Ansgar, Sheriff of Middlesex, and the gigantic Godric, the new Sheriff of Berkshire. Harold’s aging uncle, Aelfwig, brother of Earl Godwin and Abbot of the minster of Winchester, had also reported for duty, bringing twelve men of his order with him. Edgar Atheling was present, as was Ulf; the two young men were ostensibly there as observers but begged the King to take him with them.
‘No, I need you both here to guard London and to meet Edwin and Morcar when they arrive.’
The two were disappointed but reluctantly agreed.
Ansgar was also keen to go south with Harold but was ordered to stay in London and charged with organising the care for all the horses that came back from Stamford Bridge. Gauti, recovering from his wound, was also ordered to stay behind.
‘I would add, should I not survive, I’d like Edgar to be my successor. Is that agreed?’ Harold enquired of the council.
In a subdued atmosphere, the council gave its assent.
Harold had been keen to do battle with William. After talking with Margot he had another reason to engage William’s army at the first opportunity; he did not want any rumours of his excommunication, true or false, to spread through the country for fear of frightening off supporters.
Gyrth then made a suggestion. ‘Why don’t I lead the army? No one would be damned for following me. The threat of excommunication doesn’t hang over my head.’
‘For all we know, the Pope hasn’t excommunicated me, either,’ Harold replied.
‘Well, we just don’t know and there’s no time to find out but if your great sin is that you swore on holy relics to support William’s claim, then why don’t I oppose him? I’ve made no vow binding me to William.’
‘Neither have I,’ chipped in Leofwine.
‘Neither have any of the rest of us,’ added Godric.
Gyrth continued, ‘If I’m defeated, you’ll still be able to raise another army and engage William. On the way to Hastings, I could lay waste to the countryside. The locals could be compensated later but William and his troops, even if they won the initial battle, would starve. If we gamble everything on a single cast of the die and lose and worse still, you get killed, then England will fall into chaos. If I lead the army and get killed, England has only lost a general.’
There were murmurs of agreement from all around; there was no voice of opposition to his plan, save one - Harold’s.
‘Gyrth, I appreciate your thoughtfulness but I can’t stand by while English villages burn and I certainly can’t sanction the destruction of lands or property of Englishmen. How could I harm the people who I’m supposed to govern and protect? How could I impoverish those who I wish to see thrive under my rule? Besides, if William escapes from the Hastings peninsula he’s free to roam wherever he chooses and then what would we do? I’ve seen how the Normans operate.’
‘Very well,’ Gyrth said, with a sign of resignation. ‘When do you intend us to leave?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow? Surely that’s too soon. We’ve lost so many men and the survivors need a rest before another big battle. Why don’t we wait a week or two? By then Edwin and Morcar should be here with their men. There might even be a chance of using the fleet to blockade Hastings, so William can be neither supplied nor reinforced.’
‘But we have to move quickly.’
‘Do you think using the tactics that were so successful against Sigurdsson will work against William?’ Gyrth asked gently.
‘They worked well enough at Stamford Bridge.’
‘And haven’t you ever stopped to wonder whether Harald and Tostig simply let their attention wander and dropped their guard, handing us victory on a plate?’
‘Listen, William can’t keep his men there much longer; he’ll have to break out. When his men grow hungry, he’ll have to move. We must go down to Hastings soon.’
Harold looked at the grim faces of his council one by one before announcing, ‘Very well then, we leave not tomorrow but early Wednesday morning. Send riders out with the message for the fyrd to gather at the old grey apple tree on Caldbec Hill as soon as they can.’
Garth breathed a sigh of relief. At least he had brought some time to allow the army to form and the housecarls to rest.
Hastings
Under a slate-grey October sky, a building such as had never before been seen in England made its way heavenward, like a plant in search of the sun. The construction was built on a hill, totally dominated the town and the countryside and appeared to offer protection only to its defenders, not the townsfolk. It seemed foreboding and somehow unnatural to the locals but the Normans appeared to know what they were doing.
Duke William had appointed Sir Humphrey de Tilleul en Ague to take charge of building castles during the campaign. Sir Humphrey had brought partly-assembled wooden forts in sections eight feet wide. Each fortification would be of the motte and bailey type, consisting of a wooden structure sitting on top of an earth mound, surrounded by a ditch and a rampart topped by a solid fence. Using hundreds of soldiers as labour, he could complete the fortifications in two days. Now on the second day, with the earth mound and ditch finished, the fence was being erected.
Duke William had been in Sussex a week now and there was still no sign of Harold. Rumours were spreading through the lines. Some thought they had fallen into some deadly English trap; others that plague stalked the land, leaving the country beyond the horizon still and dead. Would they be next? William needed intelligence. He had sent Hugh Margot to offer terms to Harold, hoping he would be provoked into an early attack. Although he knew Sigurdsson had landed in the North, William still did not know if Harold had engaged him. But the answer soon presented itself when Father Hugh returned from his mission and was escorted to William’s quarters in the great hall at Hastings.
‘Well, Father Hugh, what news do you have for me?’
‘I gave Harold your message, my Lord’
‘He’s still alive then?’
‘The barbarian is still with us, my Lord, yes.’
‘What about Sigurdsson?’
‘Killed, my Lord, as was Earl Tostig. It was a decisive victory. ’
‘Well, it was hospitable of Harold to rid us of a hostile neighbour.’ Turning his attention back to Margot, the Duke asked him how Harold had received his offer.
‘The ingrate rejected it out of hand.’
‘Tell me, Father Hugh, what’s the condition of his troops?’
‘He has lost about a third of his housecarls, which leaves him with about two thousand but they’re mostly exhausted from the battle and the long journey back to London, my Lord. Their horses are in a sorry state too.’
‘Good,’ said the Duke, sitting back in his seat to take a sip of wine. ‘He’ll be even more tired when he’s marched his men down here.’
The Duke then tossed the cleric a small bag of gold coins before summarily dismissing him.
As he watched him depart, William became conscious that his brother was leaning over to him. He turned his head, the better to hear.
‘How should we best break this news to the troops?’ enquired the bishop.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, on the one hand this news will be a fillip to them but on the other they will know Harold has defeated, arguably, the greatest warrior king in the world. How will that m
ake them feel?’
‘We’ll say it was unnatural.’
‘In what way unnatural?’
‘We’ll say it was wicked. Harold sold his soul to get the throne and now it’s cost the life of his brother, a holy and pious man.’
‘What an excellent idea! We could say Harold killed him with his own two hands.’
‘Yes. Chopped off his head.’
‘And stuck it on a spear.’
‘Then cut his heart out.’
‘And ate it,’ added Odo, breaking into a raucous laugh.
‘That’s going a bit too far, don’t you think?’
‘Very well, we’ll stick to mere fratricide and decapitation.’
There was enough food left on the peninsula to last the Normans until the beginning of the third week of October. After that time they would have to move away from the fort and the sea, into an alien and hostile countryside. Until then they could afford to wait.
Waltham
While waiting for the fyrd to arrive in London, Harold made a pilgrimage to Waltham Holy Cross, accompanied only by Edmund. There they met Brother Thurkill and Harold requested a cell in which Edmund could spend the night. Thurkill walked with them into the abbey, where they placed gifts Harold had brought upon the high altar of the church. When he had finished making some final adjustments, Thurkill said to Harold, ‘Come, my King, let’s join the brothers in prayer. And let’s not just pray for victory in the coming battle. Let’s pray you rule justly and piously for years to come.’
‘Yes, let’s,’ the King replied.
In the eerie darkness of the church, Harold and Edmund joined Thurkill and the other monks; their prayers rose upwards with the smoke of incense and candles climbing up into the heavens. When they had finished praying, the holy men formed in procession before the still-kneeling Harold, then passed down the nave, leaving the King alone. Edmund, remaining in attendance, witnessed the most miraculous scene of his life.
Harold, thinking he was alone, bowed and lay prostrate before the Holy Cross; the same Holy Cross which all those years ago Tofi had dug up and transported across England and which Harold and his men called upon in battle.
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