‘Perhaps, but it’s not just my housecarls I worry about, it is the number of Norman knights. I suspect they outnumber our Saxon thegns almost four to one.’
‘That is probably so, my Lord King. But they fight weighed down with armour, which on their heavy destriers makes them awkward and cumbersome. If we choose our ground well, we should be able to unseat them. By waiting for you to call in the harvest, the Duke has left it late in the year. Autumn is a two-edged sword; soon the ground will be sodden with the October rains. His big horses will sink to their bellies.’
‘You are a good man, Hereward; you always have a strategic answer. Stay close to me in these coming weeks.’
In a gesture rare for a king, Harold embraced Hereward like a brother. England’s two greatest warriors had become the closest of friends.
Harold and his army were on the move again within thirty-six hours. He knew that Duke William was either still in transit in the Channel or had already landed on the south coast. Harold had 1,500 mounted housecarls with him, but to ensure that his baggage train could keep pace, he travelled south much more slowly than he had in his dash northwards. His baggage was laden with Norse armour, shields and weapons, a vital cache of materiel for the forthcoming battle with the Normans – an encounter that could be only a matter of days away.
Messengers were despatched to all parts of the realm. Harold had estimated that he needed at least 4,000 housecarls for the clash against William and possibly as many as 6,000 fyrdmen. He prayed that the annual harvesting had been completed and that such a force could be assembled. Most of his brothers’ housecarls – those of Gyrth, Earl of East Anglia, and of Leofwine, Earl of the South West Midlands – were still in reserve and were among England’s finest. His biggest concern was the availability of the men of Edwin, Earl of Mercia, and Morcar, Earl of Northumbria. Between them, they had well over 1,000 housecarls of the highest quality but, despite the fact that both men had promised Harold their support, he knew their commitment was questionable. Fiercely expressed separatism had always been a part of northern politics and Harold suspected that Edwin’s and Morcar’s real purpose was independence for the North.
At the end of the third day of the march south, the advanced party of the army was approaching the River Trent at Newark. News had reached the locals of the great victory at Stamford Bridge, and the King was greeted with loud cheers as he approached the walls of the burgh. He acknowledged the gifts of food from the local burghers, but passed straight through, hoping to camp further south on the road to London.
‘These Mercians seem genuine in their affection for you, sire.’
‘It is never the people who make life difficult for kings, Hereward. It is their leaders who plot and scheme; it is their ambitions that are at the root of mischief. All the people want is peace and food in their bellies.’
Hereward’s admiration for his king, a monarch not of royal blood but nevertheless a great leader, grew by the day. ‘Sire, do you think that a kingdom can ever be stronger than the tribal loyalties of its people?’
‘Yes, I hope so. As in Roman times, or under Alfred, people will readily lend their allegiance to something far greater than their tribe. If their leaders bring them peace and prosperity, they will follow them.’
‘Torfida and I often talk about the Greeks and the Romans and how they believed that people could govern themselves according to principles enshrined in laws and codes of honour.’
‘That is my dream for England, Hereward. We are a new people, mere infants compared to the civilizations of antiquity. But England is a rich land with strong people of many races; perhaps we can create a way of life that will be admired like those of Greece and Rome.’
‘That is a laudable ambition, my Lord, but it needs men like you to achieve it.’
‘But it also needs men like you, Hereward, and women like Torfida. Great civilizations are built by people of intelligence, wisdom and courage, not just by kings.’
Hereward longed to tell Torfida about the King’s leadership and how well he carried the Talisman. Soon he would have the opportunity he craved; the King had sent word to Glastonbury that their families should join them in London. He had also sent a messenger to Winchester to summon Edith Swan-Neck. Harold knew that it would be an opportunity for them to say farewell to those who would face the impending challenge from Duke William.
Dusk was fast approaching when Harold’s scouts returned with news that there was a suitable clearing ahead for a night camp. The scouts were not alone. A captain of the housecarls of Earl Gyrth, accompanied by two sergeants-at-arms, had met them on the road. Their horses had been ridden hard for many hours and Harold and his entourage guessed immediately what their news would be.
‘Sire… William, Duke of Normandy, landed a large invasion force at Pevensey two days ago. There was no resistance and they are already on the rampage, looting, burning and desecrating wherever they go. They are executing the priests; whole villages of menfolk are being murdered, the women raped, even boys as young as twelve are being cut down.’
The King visibly flinched at the news. ‘Thank you for your report, Captain. How many are there in William’s force?’
‘Sire, Lord Gyrth’s scouts are counting now, but an elderly local man, who served with King Edward’s housecarls, estimated about ten thousand: at least three thousand cavalry and six thousand infantry.’
There was a stunned silence at the size of the Duke’s invasion force. It confirmed the King’s most pessimistic prediction.
‘Captain, rest your horses and get some sleep. Hereward, send Martin Lightfoot to see what he can tell us of the Normans’ plans.’
Hereward gave Martin detailed instructions about what was needed. The King ordered fresh horses to be brought up so that he and his personal bodyguard of two squadrons could push on to London. He left instructions for his force from Stamford Bridge to come on as quickly as it could and for the entire army to assemble in London in five days’ time, six at the most.
Before Harold arrived in London, he went to Waltham Abbey to pray; it was a special place for the King. It contained the Holy Rood, a flint cross, found, it was rumoured, in an ancient ruin by a tenant of Harold’s in the Somerset village of Montacute. Two teams of oxen were sent to take the cross to Glastonbury Abbey but – again, according to local legend – the oxen refused to travel north and carried the cross eastwards across the whole of southern England to the ancient Saxon settlement of Waltham in Essex. Harold had built a fine church to house the relic and endowed an abbey and a community of monks. The church had been consecrated by Harold in 1060 and, since then, pilgrims had flocked from all over Europe to pray to the Holy Rood. Now, a king in a dire plight was one of them. He was accompanied by Edith Swan-Neck and spent most of the afternoon praying and listening to the plainchant of the assembled community. In the evening, Abbot Aethelsinge said a private mass for them at the high altar.
Harold thanked the Abbot and asked him to pray for him and for England.
Then, in the hoary light of a full moon, he headed for London at a gallop.
Harold and Edith were in Westminster early on the morning of 7 October 1066, where the King immediately called a Council of War.
Hereward, Alphonso and Einar were there with all the captains of the King’s housecarls – over fifty of England’s finest, bravest men. There were at least the same number of thegns and both Harold’s brothers, the Earls Gyrth and Leofwine. Hakon, the young son of Harold’s dead brother, Svein, was there, making the Godwinson family complete.
Harold had invited all opinions and viewpoints.
Leofric, Abbot of Peterborough, spoke first. ‘Sire, the situation is grave and news comes daily of the atrocities committed by the Normans. But I beg you to consider caution. Duke William has nowhere to go; his back is to the sea. If you take time to gather your forces, you could outnumber him on a substantial scale.’
Esegar, Sheriff of Middlesex, spoke next. ‘William the Bastard’s wickedness know
s no bounds. He carries the Pallium of Rome, but he is despoiling it with the blood of the Saxons. Word will soon filter back to Rome and he will lose all support in Europe. He is making a noose for his own neck.’
Godric, Sheriff of Fyfield in Berkshire, suggested a more subtle tactic. ‘Gather your forces on the North Downs, or at Penshurst on the Medway; send small units to harass his army and lay waste to the entire hinterland, forcing him to come north to meet you. In a month’s time you could have a fully armed and prepared force of eight thousand housecarls and twice that number of fyrdmen.’
Earl Gyrth was the last to speak. ‘Godric speaks well. The advice you have heard today, my noble brother and Lord King, is sound. Let me lead the raiding parties. Give me Hereward of Bourne as my second-in-command and we will make life miserable for the Normans and buy you a month to build the greatest army England has ever seen. Do not rush to battle, my brother.’
The King cast a glance at Hereward before he responded. Hereward’s nod in return indicated that he concurred with what had been said. Harold rose slowly and looked around the Great Hall of Westminster before speaking. He looked into the faces of the assembled men; there were over a hundred.
Finally, he spoke.
‘My lords, abbots, sheriffs, thegns of England, brothers in our common cause, I am grateful to you for your wisdom. I have been king for barely three seasons of a year, but already I am at a crossroads in our history. We have repelled Hardrada at Stamford Bridge, but now we are to confront an even greater threat. The people of England stand on a precipice between ignominy and glory. We have had a Roman Age in this land; we have had the Age of Alfred and the West Saxons; we have had the Age of the Danes. Now we have the chance to create an era that many of my predecessors have yearned for: an English Age for all the people of these islands, be they Saxon, Dane or Celt.
‘Hardrada tried to wrest that opportunity from us; but his daunting frame lies at rest in its shroud, soon to be consumed in a Viking funeral in his homeland. Now another stands in our way: William, Duke of Normandy. He wants this land, not to lead its people, not to protect them or cherish their culture and their traditions, but for himself, to feed his greed and lust for power. I have met this man and ridden into battle alongside him. This is not a man anyone would choose as their Lord. He is vain and capricious, ruthless and cruel. He will murder and maim our people, strip them of their lands, confiscate our abbeys and monasteries and abuse our women. He is an ungodly creature and every moment he spends on English soil is an abomination. We must not delay. This crossroads for our people is lit by a beacon and it lights the way to Pevensey. That is the road we must take. And we must take it without delay!’
Still heaving from the forceful delivery of his rhetoric, he looked into their eyes once more, hoping that his words had persuaded them. It was a stirring speech – his words so powerful, his conviction so firm. By its end, every man present was prepared to forego his doubts and support his King.
Loud cheers echoed around the hall, as the warriors raised their axes and beat their shields like drums of war.
The King raised his hands, appealing for a final word. ‘I am not deaf to the advice given here today. Your counsel is wise, but I am responsible for every man, woman and child who, at this very moment, is being put to the sword by the Norman butchers. I will wait until dawn on the morning of the eleventh, but no longer. All men who have made it to London by then will muster on Lambeth Fields at first light and we will leave for the coast as soon as the tally is done. Any forces not assembled by then must come on as soon as they can.’
Harold had bowed a little to those who had argued for caution and decided upon a delay of five days for preparation, consolidation and the arrival of fresh men. He had done some very agonizing arithmetic: every day meant more men for his army, but every day brought more death and suffering for the people of the south coast.
His solution to the ghastly equation was five days.
Harold raised his sword in one hand and his mace of kingship in the other. ‘God bless you all. For England!’
‘For Harold! For England!’ came the instant reply.
17. Slaughter on Senlac Ridge
At a tearful gathering on the north side of the old bridge at Westminster on the evening of 10 October, Hereward and his followers said their farewells. They had made elaborate plans for a rendezvous, whether in victory or in defeat, in Glastonbury on the eve of All Hallows, the last day of October. The following day, on the day of celebration for All Saints, they would decide their future and determine whether their destiny had been fulfilled.
Hereward took Torfida to one side to whisper his final thoughts. ‘The King has been very generous; make sure you keep the silver safely hidden. There is enough for all of you for the rest of your lives. If I don’t return, but the King is victorious, you will be able to live out your days here in England. If the King perishes, this land will not be worth living in. Go south; from what Alphonso tells me, Aquitaine, Castile and León are lands to explore. It will be warm there and the girls will grow strong and healthy.’
Torfida looked at Hereward as resolutely as she could, even though her eyes were full of tears. ‘I don’t need any more instructions; I’m not a child. Just return safely. Stay close to the King; he will need you. He is the rightful inheritor of the Talisman of Truth and a noble warrior. Everything he has done in the past nine months has had the sure touch of a wise and gracious monarch.’
The two embraced tightly.
Hereward spoke first. ‘Until All Hallows Eve, my darling.’
‘Until the Feast of the Dead, my brave Hereward – the feast of the Norman dead!’
Hereward, Einar and Alphonso crossed the bridge at Westminster. Martin was already in the midst of danger, scouting the Norman camps.
The other three were about to join him in a battle which would be a fight to the death for Harold and those close to him.
By nightfall on 13 October, the Saxon army had arrived at Caldbec Hill, a well-known landmark within a few miles of the south coast, which the King had specified as the ideal rendezvous point. Martin and the other scouts had made their reports and confirmed that William was well prepared, but that he had exhausted all local supplies and would soon venture beyond his bridgehead. Morale was still high in his army, despite some impatience about the delay in attacking the hinterland and in being denied the booty waiting to be seized.
William first became aware of Harold’s force as it moved from Caldbec Hill at first light the next morning. Realizing that Harold held the higher ground, the Duke despatched a contingent of horsemen and archers to try and prevent the Saxon army reaching Senlac Ridge, a point just beyond Caldbec Hill which would give Harold an ideal defensive position for his shield wall. Harold was alert to the move and immediately ordered a mass advance in battle order, a manoeuvre that was successful, despite some serious losses from the lethal crossbows of Richard of Evreux. The Saxons had never seen crossbows before and some of the fyrdmen were unnerved by them. Nevertheless, Harold had the ground he wanted and slowly, over the next two hours, the armies got themselves into position.
The English line was about 750 yards long, with housecarls at the centre and fyrdmen on the outlying flanks. The Wyvern Dragon of Wessex and his own personal standard, the Fighting Man, flew from the King’s command position. There were the standards of Leofwine and Gyrth, and banners and colours from burghs and shires throughout the land. Harold’s uncle, Aelfwig, the Abbot of Winchester, had arrived just before dawn. He was nearly sixty years of age and had not wielded a weapon in three decades, but he was determined to fight and had brought twelve monks and a score of men. As befitted their calling, the men of the cloth carried only maces, as the spilling of blood by the sharp edge of a sword was thought inappropriate for men of God. Aelfwig’s arrival meant that there were three generations of Godwins at the battle.
Horns were sounded to usher men into position; by mid-morning both sides had settled into a state of readiness
.
Harold went to squadron after squadron in the shield wall, beseeching his men to give everything for the people of England.
‘Remember the stories of Alfred, told by your fathers. This land has a spirit that could not be subdued by the Danes, was not broken by Hardrada and will not be humbled by this cut-throat, William the Bastard. You are gathered here from all over our land. You fight today for your families and your homes but, most of all, for your freedom. The man you face today is a cruel and vicious warlord. He will strip us of everything we live for, burn our crops, slaughter our livestock, rape our women and murder our children. We stand between him and his evil ambition. We stand together; our shield wall will never break. Men of England, stand with me until victory is ours!’
Great cheers ran along the English line as the King galloped along in front of his men. Hereward looked at the assembled army and then at the Normans massed on the lower ground below. Somehow, close to 8,000 men had made it to the English cause. Harold’s heroism, resolve and generalship had inspired them to rush to the King’s standard, and they would fight with the ferocity of men protecting their homes.
Over six centuries, since the end of Roman rule, the strength of the Anglo-Saxon army had been forged on the anvil of frequent battles against its ferocious Celtic and Scandinavian neighbours, building a military ethos of the highest calibre. Despite its losses at Stamford Bridge and the absence of housecarls yet to arrive, including those of the treacherous Earls Morcar and Edwin, standing with Harold on Senlac Ridge was the greater part of the finest army in northern Europe – one of the most awesome the world had ever seen.
When the King returned to his standard, Hereward offered him his own encouragement. ‘Only you could have achieved this. Here stand men of Saxon, Danish and Celtic blood, bound together by their belief in you and the England that you represent.’
‘Thank you, Hereward, I am proud to have you at my side. Stay close this day.’ As Harold surveyed the battlefield sweeping down before him from Senlac Ridge, the opposing cavalry and its heavily armed knights were his greatest concern.
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