By his side, Hereward counted almost 1,500 Norman knights in full armour with lances, axes, maces and swords. He thought of his many battles, hoping to find a key to the encounter. He looked at the ground and the formation of the army, probing to see a feature that had been overlooked, or a nuance that would offer a hidden advantage, but he could see none. Five hundred cavalry hidden in the woods would have been invaluable, but they were not there. Edwin and Morcar, the two northern earls, had remained in their earldoms; a self-seeking act that denied England over 1,000 of its finest men.
Martin, who had taken a brief rest after his reconnaissance mission, rode up and joined Hereward, Alphonso and Einar in a position just behind the King, whose hearthtroop of two squadrons was fanned out in front of him. The four loyal comrades dismounted and Alphonso secured their horses to the rear. It was unlikely that they would be needed; this fight would not be about rapid pursuit or hasty withdrawal, it would be a fight for the ground they stood on – England’s ground.
Hereward turned to his companions. ‘If the battle goes badly, I will stand my ground with the King. If he falls, I will fall with him. Stay for as long as you can be useful to the King, then make haste to your loved ones. Take this to Torfida.’ Hereward handed Einar a small purse of leather, which held a lock of his golden hair. ‘God be with you, my friends.’
‘God be with you, Hereward,’ all three replied in unison.
Preparations in the Norman ranks were equally well advanced.
They numbered over 9,000 and were organized into three army groups: Breton allies to the left on the western side, French and Flemish supporters and mercenaries to the right on the eastern side and the bulk of the force, the Normans, in the centre. William had adopted an unusual pattern of deployment. He sent his archers forward, just out of range of the English bowmen, his infantry arranged in deep columns behind them and his squadrons of cavalry drawn up in the rear. His own command position was central to the last squadron of cavalry, identified by the papal pallium, held aloft by Pope Alexander’s legate to Rouen.
Flying next to the pallium, stiffened by gusting winds from the English Channel to the south, were William’s standard, the Leopard of Normandy, and the standards of all the warlords of Normandy and surrounding territories: Eustace, Count of Boulogne, an opportunist with a brutal reputation; Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances, who led the prayers before the battle; Hugh de Grandmesnil, a warrior of great repute; Hugh de Montfort, a resolute soldier of fortune; William’s half-brother, the ruthless and ambitious Odo, Bishop of Bayeux; and William’s trusted henchmen who would go anywhere for a fight – Walter Gifford, William of Malet, William of Evreux, William Fitzsbern and William Warenne.
The Duke’s battle cry was short and to the point. He rode out in front of his infantry, in the space between them and the archers, and above the distant din of derision from the English, bellowed in his deep, coarse voice.
‘You have travelled with me on a great voyage to fight on a distant shore. You have done so in the noble tradition of our Viking ancestors. This fight was not of our making, nor was it born from the desire for naked conquest; this land was rightfully granted to me by King Edward of England, a wise and gentle king. We are here to claim what is rightfully ours. The Pope knows this and gives us his holy blessing; the rest of Europe knows this and lends its support. The richest land in northern Europe is before you. Fight to make it a Norman kingdom for your children and your grandchildren. You are the bravest of the brave.’
As the Norman roars echoed up the hill, the English hollered back, until the whole countryside was filled with the ear-splitting tumult of almost 20,000 indomitable men.
Now, there was nothing left for either army to do but fight.
On William’s signal, his archers and crossbowmen advanced within range and began their fusillade at the English shield wall. As they did so, his infantry launched its first assault, making slow progress towards Senlac Ridge. They sang the ‘Song of Roland’ as they went, but the melody soon faded, to be replaced by the shocking clash of sword against sword and the agonizing cries of foe against foe.
After almost an hour of fighting, neither the Norman archers nor their infantry had made much impact on the English shield wall. Every time there was a minor breach, it was filled by equally formidable housecarls from the King’s reinforcements. The circular shields of the English allowed them to close or open their wall at will, gave them much more freedom to brandish their battle-axes and meant that they could adopt the Roman ‘testudo’ – the turtle – to cover themselves against hails of arrows.
The Normans’ kite-shaped shield was much better suited to combat on horseback, where the narrow base could protect the legs of the mounted warrior. As the Normans withdrew, the ground was littered with their dead; hundreds of men had perished – almost five Normans to each Englishman.
It was time for William to launch his much-vaunted cavalry.
His powerful destriers, despite carrying 200 lbs of man and armour, managed a reasonable gallop, even up the significant gradient of Senlac Ridge. As their ground was less steep, the Bretons reached the shield wall first, but did not have enough momentum to dent it. They had to turn sideways to strike with their axes and swords, making them easy prey for the defenders. Much the same happened on the French-Flemish right. In the centre, the much more formidable elite Norman squadrons did make some breaches, but they were easily filled; Hereward and his companions rushed to any vulnerable points to reinforce the wall until replacements arrived from the rear.
Hereward was issuing vital commands in between close-quarter encounters with Norman knights who had breached the defensive line. He brought several down by scything their huge destriers from under them; others he hewed out of their saddle with a single sweep of his legendary axe. At crucial moments, Harold rode along the line, encouraging his men, but they hardly needed it. Their line was holding and the Normans were dying in droves.
William sat impassively on his destrier and waited. He knew the day was still young and that this would be a bloody battle of attrition at the cost of many lives. Eventually, in what appeared to be an English breakthrough, the Breton left reeled and retreated at a gallop. Naïvely thinking the battle won, large groups of fyrdmen on the English right broke ranks and hurried after them.
Hereward and his comrades were off at full pelt even before the King issued his urgent command: ‘Stop them! Hereward, get them back into the shield wall! Hurry!’
William had also seen the English fyrdmen break ranks and immediately galloped into the fray with his Matilda Squadron. English housecarls had followed the Fyrd to try and re-establish discipline. When Hereward and his companions arrived, they organized a redoubt on a small hillock. Martin sounded his horn to summon a recall and Hereward ripped the jerkin off a dead Norman archer and waved it above his head on a spear to signal a rallying point for the fyrdman, now scattered far and wide. Within minutes, a new wall was formed on the hillock and the fyrdmen had closed ranks behind the housecarls.
Harold ordered the English archers to put up a lethal volley of arrows above William’s advancing squadron just as it got within 100 yards of the redoubt. William’s horse took an arrow through its neck and collapsed under him, violently throwing him to the ground. A great cry of alarm went up from the Normans, who feared their leader was dead. But the Duke quickly regained his feet and was soon on a new mount, raising his helmet to show that he was still alive. He waved his Baculus furiously, berating the fleeing Bretons and demanding that they turn and fight. His dramatic intervention worked and the Breton cavalry formed up behind his Matilda Squadron to launch another assault.
Hereward tried to keep the fyrdmen in tight formation as he ordered the housecarls to make a disciplined withdrawal back up Senlac Ridge. But when William’s elite cavalry careened into the wall, many breaches were forced. Hereward had no choice but to order the shield wall to disengage and retreat en masse. Despite the valiant efforts of small groups of housecarls to defe
nd the escaping fyrdmen by using their spears to try and slow the Norman momentum, chaos and carnage were inevitable.
William recalled his cavalry. Fortune had smiled once more on one of Harold’s battles – but this time on his opponent. The headlong rush by the Fyrd was a folly which might prove to be decisive. There had been heavy casualties all along the English shield wall, so much so that when Harold ordered it to tighten its formation, a line of defence that had started at over 750 yards was now barely 500 yards long.
Hereward and his companions were among the last to get back into position, marshalling the final laggards and helping some of the wounded to get back to relative safety.
Both William and Harold looked at the sun as it moved towards the tall trees in the woods to the west. Morning had turned into afternoon. Reports were coming in that hundreds of housecarls were approaching from London and would soon reinforce Harold’s position.
With the battle hanging precariously in the balance, Harold turned to Hereward.
‘I need an hour less in the day, or five hundred more men. If William continues to throw his cavalry at the wall, it will break before the sun falls behind those trees.’
‘Sire, if we’re still holding at four hours past midday, William will have to retreat and we will have him in the morning.’
‘Yes, Hereward. But I don’t think we can hold for four hours; two and a half, three at the most. Let’s rally the men. Somehow, they will have to buy us that hour.’
William had also done his calculations. After twenty minutes of regrouping, he ordered attack after attack: first infantry, then cavalry. Then, after a brief respite for regrouping, the onslaughts were repeated again and again. Like the English housecarls, he was battling against the hourglass as well as a ferocious enemy. The fighting was savage, with both sides taking huge losses, as William sacrificed his men to shorten Harold’s shield wall.
Crucially, as it shrank to protect its own flanks, it began to turn into a crescent, allowing the Normans to reach the flat terrain of Senlac Ridge. From there, their cavalry could gain much more momentum and their infantry could fight on even ground. Nevertheless, Harold’s army was still holding firm after two hours of vicious fighting. Harold and Hereward led by example; first on the left flank, then on the right. Both men were in the thick of the relentless struggle, as wave after wave of Norman destriers broke against the barricade of Englishmen. The defenders, although diminished in number, had lost none of their redoubtable spirit nor their renowned discipline. The sun was now low in the sky. The scales were tipping towards Harold; the courage of his housecarls was buying him the time he needed.
Then the Duke pulled off a masterstroke. Throughout the day he had been disappointed that his archers had been far less effective than he had hoped, so he tried a new tactic. He summoned the captains of his elite cavalry squadrons and his master bowmen and described to them a complex synchronized attack, where precise timing would be critical. He had made an important mental calculation about the speed of his cavalry and the length of time his arrows would be in the air.
If he got his arithmetic right, it could strike a mortal blow to the heart of the English line.
He ordered his archers to form up 100 yards behind his crossbowmen and for both to deploy in small units so that his cavalry squadrons could make their charge between their ranks. Next he ordered his squadrons to charge at full gallop and, as they passed his archers, they were to loose off the first of two rapid volleys high into the air against the English shield wall. By the time the cavalry reached the crossbowmen, they would be at full tilt. At that moment, the crossbowmen would shoot a single volley of bolts at a low trajectory. This would coincide with the English raising their shields in the testudo to protect them against the first hail of arrows from overhead, catching them in a withering cross-shoot of arrows and bolts. Usually, the testudo would deal with such a two-pronged attack with ease. However, with the Norman cavalry descending on them in overwhelming numbers, the testudo would have to break to allow the housecarls to deploy their spears against the destriers. If, at that exact moment, the second volley of arrows arrived from above, there would be slaughter – especially when, within seconds, the cavalry fell upon them.
William’s calculations were murderously precise; the timing of the Norman archers, bowmen and cavalry was perfect and Harold’s shield wall was thrown into disarray. At the vital moment in the battle, William had produced a stroke of military genius.
English reinforcements rushed forward to try and seal the devastated shield wall, exhausting Harold’s reserves. For the first time, rather than reinforcing gaps, his personal hearthtroop was heavily engaged. Two Godwinsons fell within moments of one another: Earl Leofwine took an arrow in the eye and Earl Gyrth was cut down by a formidable Norman knight who caught him in open ground.
The tide had turned.
Hereward looked at the distant trees and saw that the sun had just fallen behind the tall branches of the canopy. It was perhaps four thirty in the afternoon, but dusk had not come soon enough for the English; neither would reinforcements. The King had been right: if the day had been perhaps an hour shorter, or if 500 more housecarls had arrived from London, the outcome would have been different. William’s ploy would still have been effective, but almost certainly not decisive. The English would have had the numbers to regroup, leaving the Normans with no alternative but to take flight to the coast in search of their ships.
As their position worsened to the point of desperation, the English Fyrd melted away. William’s strategy of attrition had taken all day, but it had worked. Many of Harold’s surviving housecarls began to form a final redoubt around their King. No more than 1,000 Englishmen stood between the Normans and the greatest prize in northern Europe.
In the ever-deepening gloom, the ensuing slaughter of the Anglo-Saxon military and aristocratic elite lasted over an hour. No quarter was offered, or sought, as the protective ring around the King became smaller and smaller and the pile of corpses grew higher and higher.
Eventually, the Norman destriers were encouraged to rake away the fallen English with their hooves, so that more could be killed. Squads were despatched by the Norman sergeants of infantry to clear the ground of dead to allow yet more carnage. Harold stood at the epicentre of it all, valiantly challenging his housecarls to even greater efforts and yet more courageous resistance. Around him were the strongest and bravest of his men, determined to make the Normans pay the highest possible price for their victory. Hereward stood beside his King, as he had promised he would, matching every blow of Harold’s with one of his own, inspiring his men and writing his name into legend.
Harold remained unharmed. Hereward had been less fortunate, having taken a crossbow bolt in his thigh and one in the shoulder. He had also taken a sword slash across his chest, from which blood was seeping through his hauberk. Despite Hereward’s insistence that they make their way to safety should the battle appear lost, Martin, Einar and Alphonso remained close by.
Alphonso spoke first as the circle became tighter and tighter around the King.
‘Hereward, the day is lost. The English are finished. You must leave. We can regroup in the North and fight another day.’
‘Not while the King stands, Alphonso. He won’t leave the field and if he is to perish, then I will die by his side –’
Martin interjected. ‘Let’s get the King away. We and his hearthtroop can fight our way out. If needs be, Einar can carry him out!’
Einar needed no second invitation and was already making for the King. He would have readily knocked him cold and thrown him over his shoulder to ensure his safety.
‘Hold!’ Hereward bellowed at his friend. ‘The King has chosen his ground. There is no retreat; I stand here with him.’
‘Then we stand with you.’
Duke William was circling the melee from a distance of about 100 yards, his Baculus dripping crimson from the punishment it had meted out. He had been heavily involved in the fighting and
was now on his third mount of the day. He summoned four of his most powerful knights: Eustace of Boulogne, Hugh of Ponthieu, Walter Gifford and Hugh de Montfort.
‘The English are finished. Bring me the body of Harold, then the rest will scatter.’
The four collected discarded lances from the battlefield, raised their maces and set off at a gallop into the boiling scrum of fighting men. They made straight for the King, who was trying to seal breaches in the ring of housecarls. As the knights’ destriers bludgeoned their way towards him, Hereward was alert to the danger and brought Eustace of Boulogne to the ground by scything away the front legs of his mount with the Great Axe of Göteborg. Horse and rider hit Hereward hard as they fell, pinning him to the ground. Walter Gifford grasped the opportunity and plunged his lance through the shoulder of Hereward’s hauberk, a blow that exited below his collarbone and stuck firmly into the ground beneath him. Hereward, still trapped under the horse, quickly lost consciousness.
The knights made for the King. He had become completely isolated from his bodyguards as the massed Norman cavalry engulfed the English defenders. Surrounded by four ferocious knights, three on horseback, he stood little chance.
Hereward’s companions had a simple choice: to attempt to protect the King or to save their friend and mentor. They did not hesitate and were at Hereward’s side in an instant. While Martin lifted and pulled Hereward’s shoulders, Einar and Alphonso used their shields and spears to lever the weight of the stricken destrier, freeing him from under the animal. Mercifully, he was unconscious, so they could act without regard for pain. Einar used his great strength to break off the head of the lance and pull out its shaft, while Alphonso dragged out the arrows, tearing flesh as he did so.
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