by G. A. Henty
In vain the Norman cavalry charged down upon it, in vain their duke plied his terrible mace. Occasionally men worn out by the long defensive battle sprang from the English ranks and engaged knight or baron hand to hand. All along the line such single-handed conflicts were going on, and the roar of battle was as loud and fierce as at the beginning of the day. So for three more hours the fight went on; with diminishing numbers, but with undiminished bravery the English still held their ground, and as twilight was now closing in, it seemed as if they would maintain it till nightfall. Then William ordered up his archers again, bade them shoot their arrows high into the air, so that they should fall among the king and his thanes grouped round the standard.
The effect was terrible. Through helm and shoulder-guard the arrows made their way; the soldiers held their shields above their heads, but the thanes had no such protection. Harold glanced up for a moment, and as if directed by the hand of fate an arrow struck him full in the eye, and he fell prostrate as if struck by a thunderbolt. A cry of horror and dismay burst from the thanes around him, but there was no time for the indulgence of grief. The Normans too had seen the king fall, and with shouts of triumph a body of knights tried to force their way in to take possession of his body. But so long as an Englishman could swing axe this was not to be, and the assault was repulsed as others had been before. Nor, when the news of Harold’s fall spread, did the brave housecarls lose heart, but sternly and obstinately as ever held together.
At last the Normans burst in at the centre, each baron and knight striving to be the first to pluck down the standards, the one the king’s own cognizance, the other the national banner, that waved side by side. One after another the thanes were smitten down. Not one asked for quarter, not one turned his back upon the foe.
Beorn and Wulf had, through the long fight, stood side by side, and the watchfulness with which they guarded each other had carried them so far unharmed through it.
“It is all over now, Beorn,” Wulf said. “But it is not hard to die, for with Harold the cause of England is lost.”
“At any rate we will sell our lives dearly,” Beorn said, as he struck a Norman knight from his horse. But they were the last defenders of the standards, and the end was at hand. Blows rained down upon them. Beorn was beaten on to one knee; Wulf was so exhausted by his exertions that he could scarce swing his axe, when a Norman baron pressed his horse through the throng, and springing to the ground held his sword aloft and shouted: “Stand back! stand back! these two men hold the duke’s solemn pledge for their lives!” Some of the others still pressed on, but he shouted again: “Whoever strikes at them strikes at me!”
There was still hesitation, so furious were the Normans at the resistance they had met with and the tremendous losses they had suffered. But another baron exclaimed, “De Burg is right! I heard the pledge given, and so did many of you. This is the young Saxon who saved the duke’s camp from the attack by the Bretons, and bore the brunt of their assault till we had time to arm. The other brought with him the news that Harold was wrecked.” The words were decisive, and the Normans turned aside their horses to attack other foes.
“Thank God I arrived in time, Wulf,” Baron de Burg said. “I knew you would be near the standard, but I was fighting elsewhere when the news reached me that the line was broken and the standard on the point of capture. Are you badly hurt, Beorn?”
“I am dizzy and faint,” Beorn, who had risen to his feet, replied unsteadily, “but I think not badly wounded.”
“Walk by me one on each side holding my stirrup-leathers. I would place you on my horse, but it were best that I myself should be seen.”
He removed his helmet, and bareheaded moved off with the young thanes walking beside him. Many Normans stopped as he made his way down the hill, but to their questions he replied, “The duke has himself guaranteed the safety of these thanes,” and as he was well known to stand high in the duke’s favour his word was at once accepted.
In the meantime Harold’s standard, whose emblem was a fighting man, and the golden dragon, the national banner, had been carried off in triumph. Four of the Normans whose names were long held in infamy by the English discovered the body of the dying king, for it is said that he still breathed. One of these was Eustace of Boulogne, the only man in the two armies who had during the engagement shown signs of craven fear. Another was the son of that Count of Ponthieu, who had once held Harold prisoner. The others were Gifford and Montfort. One ran his spear through Harold’s breast, another struck off his head with his sword, a third pierced the dead body, while the fourth further insulted the dead hero by cutting off one of his legs—an action, however, which William when he heard of it pronounced to be shameful, and expelled its perpetrator from the army.
But though the king was dead and the standard lost, the survivors of the housecarls still fought on until darkness fell. The levies had fled just before, hotly pursued by the Norman horse. Knowing the ground well the light-armed footmen fled across a bog, and in the fast-gathering darkness their pursuers did not notice the nature of the ground, but galloping on plunged into the morass, where great numbers of them perished miserably, either suffocated in the mud or slain by the English, who turned and fell upon them with axe and spear as soon as they saw their plight. So great was the slaughter, that those who had reined up their horses in time were stricken with horror even after all the carnage they had witnessed on the field of battle.
With darkness the battle came to an end. Few indeed of the housecarls drew off under cover of the darkness; their force being almost annihilated. With them had perished almost the whole of the thanes of the South of England and East Anglia. The Sheriff of London had been carried off desperately wounded by a few of his friends, but with this exception none of Harold’s companions and thanes left the field alive while daylight lasted. A few only the next morning were found breathing among the mass of dead, and some of these survived and returned at last to their homes: for William, satisfied with the complete victory he had gained, issued orders that all found alive on the field were to be well treated. He felt that he was now King of England, and that clemency was his best policy. Permission was given to the women who flocked in from the country round, to search for the bodies of their friends and to remove them for burial. He also commanded a search to be made for the body of Harold, but during the night, while the exhausted soldiers slept heavily after their labours, the camp-followers had been busy with the work of plunder, busiest round the spot where the standards had stood, for here were stores of gold bracelets and rings, the emblems of authority of the thanes, to be collected, and rich garments to be carried off. Thus then, the heaps of corpses that marked the spot where the fighting had all day been heaviest, were unrecognizable, so terrible had been the wounds dealt by sword, battle-axe, and mace.
De Burg had kept Wulf and Beorn with him all night, and they had lain down and slept together. In the morning he committed them to the charge of some of his personal followers, while he went to the duke to inform him of what he had done.
“Thank you, De Burg,” William said; “they are two brave young fellows. I marked them in the fight more than once when I was near the standard, and I should have grieved if ill had befallen them, for they did me loyal service. I had given my word that they should retain their estates in case I ever came to the throne here. I know not what to do with them. Were I to let them go now, they would assuredly take part in any further resistance that the English may offer to me. I will not ask them now to swear allegiance to me, for fresh from the battle where they have lost so many friends and the earl they loved so loyally, they would assuredly refuse.”
“If you will grant me a short leave I will take ship back to Normandy and place them in the care of my wife, where they can remain until matters have settled down here.”
“It is a good idea, De Burg; do so without delay. Methinks that after yesterday there will be no real resistance offered to me. Harold and his brothers and all the leading thanes lie
dead. There is no one left to lead the people or organize a resistance, therefore I can spare you for a time.”
Thanking the duke, De Burg returned to his captives and told them what had been arranged.
“We owe you our heartiest thanks, Lord de Burg, for your kindness,” Beorn said. “Assuredly so long as England resists we will not acknowledge William of Normandy as king, but when resistance ceases, we will of course take the oath to him if only for the sake of our people; partial risings could but bring down his vengeance and cause suffering and ruin to all concerned. Therefore, we gratefully accept your offer, but first of all we beg you to let us go to the spot where our housecarls fought. You remember Wulf’s man, Osgod?”
“That do I indeed,” De Burg replied. “The great fellow who fought by his side that night against the Bretons, and saved my son’s life. Was he there?”
“He was,” Wulf said, “though greatly against my wishes; for he had lost an arm in the fight at Stamford Bridge, and though it is little more than a fortnight since, he had himself carried down here, contrary to my orders, and insisted upon joining in the battle. I would fain search for his body and give him burial.”
“I will come with you at once,” the Norman said, “I too owe him a debt of gratitude.”
The housecarls of Steyning had fallen to a man where they stood, and among them after some searching they came upon the body of Osgod, distinguished alike by its bulk and the loss of an arm. His axe lay with a broken shaft by his side. His helmet was cleft asunder, and his face covered with blood.
“His body is yet warm,” Wulf said, as he lifted his arm. “I believe he still lives.”
De Burg called upon two Norman soldiers near to aid, and with their assistance Wulf and Beorn carried Osgod down to the stream, where they washed the blood from his face and bathed the wound in his head.
“He is certainly alive,” Beorn said. “Doubtless he was stunned by the blow, and has remained unconscious from the loss of blood.”
De Burg sent for a flask of wine, and a little of this was poured through Osgod’s lips. Presently there was a deep sigh and a slight motion of the figure, and then Osgod opened his eyes.
At first he seemed bewildered, but as his eyes fell on Wulf a look of pleasure came into them, and he smiled faintly.
“I am alive, Osgod, and glad indeed to find that you are also. Beorn has also escaped. Take a draught of wine; you have lost a lot of blood and had none to spare.”
They lifted him into a sitting position, and held the cup to his lips while he drank a long draught.
“That is better,” he murmured. “I can feel it going through my veins. I shall be able to wield an axe yet again. This comes of fighting with a weapon you don’t know. The shaft broke as I was guarding my head, and I don’t remember anything after.”
“It saved your life though, Osgod, for it broke the force of the blow which would otherwise have cleft your skull. As it is, it has not gone very deep, and the blood you have lost has run chiefly from a wound on your left shoulder.”
“How is it that you are here?” Osgod asked, looking round at the Normans.
“We are prisoners, though we have not surrendered,” Wulf replied. “We were saved by our good friend Lord de Burg, who has joined us in our search for you. We are to be taken to Normandy as prisoners, and to remain in charge of Lady de Burg.”
“You shall go too, Osgod,” De Burg said. “You will find it hard to be nursed here, and my wife will see that your wounds are well cared for. Your master will stay with you for the present, for I have matters to see about before we start for the coast.”
In half an hour he returned. “I have to ask you to perform a last service to your dead king,” he said. “The bodies of Gurth and Leofwin have been found and borne away by your people for burial, but none can find the body of Harold. All the dead that were near the standard were removed last night by the soldiers, and among the great pile of dead none can recognize that of your king.”
Well as they knew him, Wulf and Beorn were unable to recognize the body of Harold among the ghastly heap of mutilated corpses. After a time Wulf said:
“There is one who might recognize it when all others failed. It is Edith, whom he so long loved as his wife. She may recognize it by some mark or sign unknown to others. If you will give me leave I will ride to Lewes, where she is staying, and bring her hither.”
“Certainly, Wulf; I will obtain a safe conduct for you from the duke.”
Wulf had ridden, however, but a mile along the western road when he saw a litter approaching borne by four men. He reined in his horse by its side. An order was given from within, and as the bearers lowered it to the ground Edith stepped out. She was deadly pale. Her eyes were red with weeping, and she seemed to Wulf to have aged years since he saw her a week before.
“My presentiments have come true, Wulf,” she said. “It was no surprise to me when last night the news came that the battle was lost and Harold slain. I had looked and waited for it. You were coming to fetch me?”
“Yes, lady; Harold’s body has not been found. Early this morning two monks of Waltham, who had followed the army and seen the fight afar off, came into camp, and with them Gytha, Harold’s mother. She saw the duke, and begged for Harold’s body, offering its weight in gold if she might carry it for burial to the Abbey of Waltham. The duke refused, saying that an excommunicated man could not be buried in a holy place; she might remove the bodies of her other two sons, but Harold’s, when found, should be buried by the seacoast. The monks searched in vain for the body. Beorn and I have done the same, but have failed to recognize it in so vast a heap of slain.”
“I shall know it,” Edith said. “Among a thousand dead I should know Harold.”
“It is a terrible sight, lady, for a woman to look upon,” Wulf said gently.
“I shall see nothing but him,” she replied firmly.
He accompanied her back to the battle-ground, where the two monks joined her. Wulf, who was greatly shaken by the sight of her set and white face, left her with them.
What the eye of friendship had failed to accomplish, that of love detected unerringly. There were marks on Harold’s body by which Edith recognized it. One of the monks bore the news to the duke, who charged Sir William Malet to superintend the burial, and to do it with all honour. The remains were collected and reverently placed together. They were wrapped in a purple robe, and laid on a litter. Beorn and Wulf and the two monks lifted it; Edith walked behind, followed by Lord de Burg and several other Norman knights and barons who had known Harold in Normandy, and could admire and appreciate the valour of the dead hero. The little procession went down to the shore, where Norman soldiers had already dug a grave, and there by the coast he had defended so well Harold was laid to rest, and over his body a great cairn of stones was raised by order of the duke.
CHAPTER XXII
THE LORD OF BRAMBER
Edith stood by while the Norman soldiers piled the stones over the grave. No tear had fallen from her eyes from the time that she had reached the field of battle. Her face was as pale as marble, and looked almost as rigid. When the last stone was placed on the top of the cairn she turned to Wulf and Beorn:
“Farewell, Wulf! farewell, Beorn! I am glad you were here. I am glad that beside me stood two of his most trusted thanes, and two of the monks from the abbey he founded, and whose welfare was so dear to him. I go to Lewes, and when the doors of the convent close on me I shall be dead to the world. Would that I were lying beneath that cairn by the side of my dear lord. I cannot weep for him now, the springs of my heart seem frozen, but I have time for that. Farewell, thanes! I shall remember you in my prayers.” So saying she turned away, and walked back to the litter.
“Poor lady!” Beorn exclaimed as he watched the litter, escorted by the two monks, carried along the road.
“Poor lady indeed!” Wulf repeated; “and yet there are thousands in England and Normandy who were widowed yesterday, and maybe she is better off than ma
ny. She lost Harold the day she resigned him to another, and it was harder perhaps to be parted from him in that fashion than to know that he is dead now. She can think of him as his true widow, for assuredly the queen who never cared aught for him is a widow but in name. Before, Edith was tortured by the desire to see him and to comfort him, and yet his marriage stood as a gulf between them, a gulf that she would never have passed. Now she can think of him as her very own, as the man who had loved her even as she had loved him. It is a grief, a terrible grief, but one without bitterness. But see, Lord de Burg is coming this way, and as there is a litter behind him I suppose all is ready for our departure.”
“I am ready, young thanes,” De Burg said as he came up. “We ride at once for Pevensey, whither an order was sent some hours ago for a ship to be in readiness to sail for Normandy.”
Three horses were led up and mounted. They rode away, followed by an armed party and the litter on which Osgod was laid.
“You have done your last duty to your king,” the Norman said. “It is a fit grave for a hero, and assuredly Harold was one. Maybe that it is not his last resting-place. The duke at present doubtless felt constrained at first to refuse him Christian burial, for had he granted Gytha’s request, it would have been an acknowledgment that the charges brought against him were unfounded, and the excommunication of no avail; but I doubt not that in time he will allow his body to be taken to his abbey at Waltham. Now,” he said less gravely, in order to turn their thoughts from the sad scenes they had witnessed, “what think you of the future, will the Northern earls head a national movement against us?”
“They are foul traitors!” Beorn exclaimed passionately; “and I would that Wulf and I could meet them in fair lists and fight them.”
“They will do nothing,” Wulf said more quietly. “They will hasten to make the best terms they can for themselves, and will ask to be permitted to hold their earldoms as his vassals. But they will not long enjoy their treachery; they are ever intriguers, and as soon as they see their opportunity will conspire against William as they conspired against Harold. Thank heaven they will receive scantier mercy at his hands than they received at the king’s. As for the South and East, who is to lead them? There is no one left to whom they can look for guidance; doubtless in some places they will resist, but such resistance can only bring ruin upon those who attempt it. Maybe some will take to the forests or the great eastern marshes, and may perhaps hold out for months, or even years. But what can it avail in the end? Had Harold escaped alive there would have been many a battle as obstinate as that of yesterday to fight before England was conquered. Had any of the greater thanes escaped men would have flocked to them, but they are all gone, save the few that were found well-nigh lifeless this morning. Perhaps it is better as it is; for now that William is victorious he will soon receive large bodies of reinforcements, and as resistance would be vain, it were best that no resistance were made. Duke William has shown himself a wise and just ruler in Normandy, and will doubtless prove himself the same in England if he be not angered by revolts and risings. It is hard that Englishmen should be ruled by a foreigner, but it is no new thing for us. We Saxons conquered the Britons, and in turn Danish kings have ruled over us; but Saxon and Dane have become almost one, and the old grudges have died out. Maybe in time you Normans also may become English.”
