by Jean Plaidy
Trouble-maker Tostig was well received at his Court and the plan he had to lay before Harold Hardrada seemed a good one.
Tostig could testify that all was not well in England. Harold might be the choice of the south but it was another matter in the north. Why should not Harold Hardrada conquer the North and set himself up as King? It would be a short time before the whole of England was in his hands.
Harold Hardrada sat nodding his head and dreaming of battle and the rich spoils which were awaiting him.
He would accept Tostig’s challenge.
At the beginning of September while William was waiting on the coast for the wind to change, Harold Hardrada set out. With him came his family, his treasure and his warriors, all bent on plunder. Towards England the long ships sailed, their striped sails billowing in the wind and the shields that hung on the sides of the ships making the ocean gay with their colour.
Morcar of Northumbria, sighting the fleet, was filled with apprehension. He immediately sent an appeal for help to his brother Edwin of Mercia; and when the warriors landed they were waiting for them.
The very sight of the Norse giant was enough to strike terror into his enemies. There he was at the head of his army, brandishing his sword in his hand, his reputation as formidable as his size.
He ravaged the land, and Edwin and Morcar were soon in retreat. Hardrada and Tostig reached York which surrendered. With Edwin and Morcar defeated Hardrada was accepted as King. He was a Viking but there had been such kings before and one of the best of them King Canute himself.
The North would accept him. But there was still Harold to be defeated.
It was now the twenty-seventh of September.
The twenty-seventh of September! That day came in with a change of weather and while Hardrada was being proclaimed King in York, William’s fleet at last set sail for England.
William had never been so elated in his life. He told himself that he was on the brink of his greatest adventure. Hardened warrior that he was, he could feel such an uplifting of his spirits that he was young again. Young in spirit, old in experience. What an irresistible combination.
He surveyed his fleet. Never had there been such ships. And his Mora was the pride of them all. Matilda’s gift to him and Matilda was God’s gift to him. There she sat at home with her tapestry, praying for him and longing for the day when she would join him.
He prayed: ‘Oh God who has given me Matilda, give me England and with those two I will ask for nothing more.’
Night fell. The sea was eerie at night with the sound of the water dashing against the sides of the ships and the wind in the sails. How one listened to that kindly caress which could change suddenly to a roar of anger or drop to nothing at all – either of which could ruin his plans.
From the Mora shone a large lantern. He had decided that his ship should carry such a light so that none should lose sight of him.
That night he was sleepless, his thoughts all for the morrow; and when the dawn rose to his dismay he could see none of his fleet.
He stared at the empty sea and thought that God had indeed forsaken him. What had become of those grand ships which had filled him with pride? Where were his soldiers whom he was to lead to victory?
One of his knights came to him and said: ‘What has happened to the fleet, my lord? We are lost.’
‘Nay,’ said William, hiding his true feelings, ‘we are so much fleeter than the rest. Remember we sail in the finest ship afloat. It is natural that we outstrip the others. Go and tell the cooks to prepare a meal and to bring some of our best wine. We are going to eat and drink and by the time we have done this you will see the fleet appearing on the horizon.’
He watched the preparations of the meal, every now and then turning his eyes to the horizon. Men on the verge of a great exercise must never be allowed to imagine for one moment that it was unlucky. They must believe that God was on their side against the enemy. They must be occupied and well fortified with food and drink, and the best thing to do in the circumstances was to make sure that they were fed.
He sat down with them and partook with a heartiness he did not feel; and as he ate his last mouthful he called one of the sailors to him and bade him go to the masthead and report what he saw.
‘I see four ships,’ was the sailor’s reply.
Four out of hundreds! William feigned to look pleased.
He sat for a while and then sent the sailor again to climb to the top of the mast.
This time he returned jubilant. ‘My lord, I see a forest of masts.’
William looked triumphantly round.
‘The fleet is with us,’ he said. ‘God be thanked.’
And there they were sailing proudly towards him on a calm sea with the right amount of wind to carry the ships where they wished to go.
‘No sign of an English ship,’ said William. ‘No sign of anything! But . . . yes. There! Land!’
A cheer went up. They had made the journey safely.
It was nine o’clock on the twenty-eighth day of September of the year 1066. William of Normandy had arrived at Pevensey Bay.
He stood on the Mora and watched the unloading of his ships. It was done quietly and expeditiously; and no one came to stop them or even to look at them. They could not have landed at a better spot. There was no hindrance whatsoever. They would be ready to go into battle as though they had never crossed the sea.
First his soldiers – archers and crossbowmen – waded ashore. Then the cavalry without their horses, which would be landed later. He had planned the operation with the utmost skill. He was determined that they should be short of nothing they needed. Nor did he wish his men to plunder as they went. He was to be the King of these people and he did not wish to alienate them at the beginning. His army would come equipped with what it needed as far as was possible. Hence he had brought his carpenters and ostlers and other workmen who would serve in any capacity which might be needed.
It was difficult getting the horses ashore, for the poor creatures were startled at having to swim the short distance between the ships and the land, but eventually the difficult operation was completed and the last man to come ashore was William himself.
As he stumbled up the sandy shore he tripped and fell.
There was a hushed silence which conveyed horror. Those watching knew that they were on the most dangerous enterprise of their lives and they could not resist seeing signs and portents in everything that happened.
William himself had his share of superstition. He wore about his neck at that moment – for he had donned it before leaving Normandy – a bag in which were some of those bones of holy men, the very same over which Harold had sworn to help him to the crown of England. Superstitious he might be but at the same time he was a practical man. He realized in those seconds as he lay sprawling on the sand that this fall could have cost him his victory. Not for one moment must these men of his have a doubt in their minds that he was the unconquerable leader.
He took two handfuls of sand and let it trickle through his fingers.
‘Look ye,’ he cried in a voice of thunder. ‘I have taken England in both my hands. This is a sign from Heaven.’
A cheer went up.
He had turned their fear into elation.
William had planned to the smallest detail. On that morning at Pevensey he wished to make sure that in the event of having to retreat he would be able to save his ships and his men. He therefore hastily built a fortress which could be held while his men escaped to their ships if need be.
After a few days he decided to move to Hastings where his scouts had discovered he could more easily set up his base.
Ships, men and stores were conveyed to this spot; and William then commanded that one of the wooden fortresses which he had brought with him be assembled.
Here meals could be cooked and councils of war could take place. When this had been done William chose twenty of his most trusted captains – among them his half-brother Robert of Mortain and W
illiam Fitz-Osbern – and they rode off to reconnoitre the land.
There was very little hostility. The inhabitants of Hastings had wisely realized that there was nothing they could do to turn the invader away and they quietly accepted their fate.
Impatiently William awaited the coming of Harold.
A few days passed. Some of his men who had been filtering into the villages brought news of a mighty battle which had been raging in the north. It was for this reason that there had been no army to meet them by that time.
Harold Hardrada and Tostig had landed and were in control of the North and King Harold had marched up there to meet them.
‘We cannot know,’ said William to his friends, ‘whom we shall have to fight. It might be Harold of England or Harold of Norway.’
‘Harold Hardrada is said to be the finest fighter in the world,’ said Robert of Mortain. ‘Six feet seven high.’
‘Inches do not win battles,’ replied William tersely. ‘And I doubt not we can match his bravery. I would rather it were Harold of England. I wanted to settle my score with him.’
‘I hope the sight of Harold Hardrada does not snatch our men’s hearts from them. They say he is a fearsome spectacle at the head of an army.’
William smote the table with his fist. ‘Be it Harold of England or Harold of Norway make no mistake he will go down before us. Oh God,’ he cried, ‘how long must I wait to do battle?’
At Stamford Bridge Harold was preparing to drive the invader from the north not knowing that there was another in the south.
He had said good-bye to Edith a short while ago and she had kissed him in her calm and tender way and had said she would pray for him.
She would, he knew; but what happened to him and to her would be in God’s hands.
He had known no peace since the crown had been placed on his head. He wondered whether he ever would.
Even as he prepared to face the Norseman he was thinking of that other who came from Normandy – a Viking no less than Harold Hardrada – William, descendant of Rollo, who passionately wanted England and to whom he had vowed to relinquish it.
‘I was forced,’ he said, as he had said a hundred times to Edith. ‘A vow which is forced from a man is not a true vow.’
But he would always remember that his vow had been broken and he would wonder at times like this when danger was close and death could be imminent whether he would be asked to pay for his sin.
And now he was going into battle against his own brother. How sad his mother would be, for she loved her sons. She had already lost Sweyn and now he with Gurth and Leofwine were going into battle against Tostig.
It was unfitting that brother should fight brother.
He sent for a messenger and told him that he wished him to take a letter for him which must be delivered to Tostig. Safe conduct would be granted him.
Then he sat down and wrote to Tostig, reminding him of their boyhood days, begging him to break with Harold Hardrada. He would not ask him to come to his side and fight. That would be too quick a turnabout; but if he would retire from the battle and he, Harold, succeeded in driving out the invader, he would give Tostig the earldom of Northumbria and they could learn to be friends again.
Then he sat and waited for the reply.
It came.
There was only one thing Tostig wanted from Harold and that was that he should give up the crown. And what, he wanted to know, would Harold give to Harold Hardrada for all the trouble he had taken to come to England?
Harold’s reply was terse. He would give him seven feet of England. For some men he would have offered six but because the Norseman was a big man he should be granted seven.
There was no help. Brother must fight brother.
So Harold rode out to the battle of Stamford Bridge.
Harold was an experienced general. He had learned his trade through experience even as William of Normandy had, and surveying the selected battlefield he realized at once that his great chance of winning would be to get control of the bridge before Hardrada and Tostig could. If he could do this and get his army across they could take their stand on the top of an incline which meant that the enemy would have to come to them uphill.
The sun had risen; it glinted on the shields of the Norsemen, rows and rows of them.
Harold and his men must break down the defence of these shields with sword and axe. Harold could not rid his mind of the fact that in the lines of the enemy was his brother Tostig.
All the day the battle raged. The enormous figure of Hardrada beneath the standard was an inspiration to his men and a fear to the enemy. But Harold’s taking the bridge had been a major piece of strategy and in securing the advantageous position he was half-way to winning the day. The sun was hot and the Norsemen in their heavy armour suffered more from it than the lighter-clad Saxons.
By afternoon wedges had been driven through the rows of shields; and there was a cry of dismay as an arrow from a Saxon bow pierced Hardrada’s throat.
Their leader dead – and because of his great height it was seen by many that he was no longer at his post – the Norsemen knew the day was lost. A Saxon axe had been driven through Tostig’s head. By the time the sun went down the battle was over.
Harold of England was the victor.
It was quiet now. The camp-fire threw a flickering light over the grim scene. Harold stared into the embers and thought: So I have lived through another day.
His brothers Gurth and Leofwine came to him and he grasped their hands.
‘Thank God you came through safely,’ he said. ‘But we have lost a brother this day.’
‘Let us not mourn,’ replied Gurth. ‘Had he lived there would have been more slaughter.’
‘Poor Tostig. He dies on a battlefield as he would have wished – but fighting his own brother.’
‘He always envied you, Harold. He would have gone on doing so had he lived. You would never have been safe from him. It had to be you or him. Come, you are a victor. This is a time for rejoicing.’
But Harold shook his head.
He lay sleepless through the night and in the morning sent men out to find Tostig’s body and bring it to him that he might give it decent burial. ‘Bring, too, the King of Norway,’ he said. ‘I promised him seven feet of English soil and he shall have it.’
So they went out and although they could easily find the body of Hardrada they could not find that of Tostig.
‘I shall go myself and search for him,’ said Harold. ‘I shall know my own brother.’
A battlefield was a terrible sight in the light of day. Among the mutilated bodies Harold searched for Tostig. It was not surprising that others had not been able to find him. Harold himself would not have been able to but for one small thing.
As he looked in vain among that mass of corpses he was thinking of Tostig as a boy, when they had played together, fighting their mock battles. They had not dreamed then that the day would come when they fought against each other in earnest and one should be killed.
Harold pictured Tostig clearly as he had been one day when they were in a forest together and came upon a stream. Tostig had thrown off his jerkin and plunged into the stream. A vivid picture came into Harold’s mind. The laughing boy looking over his shoulder. ‘Come on, Harold. Are you afraid of cold water?’ And he had plunged in and they scuffled with each other in the water. Would he ever get out of his mind the memory of Tostig standing naked in the sun. Every detail seemed suddenly clear – the hair that curled about the nape of his neck, the odd-shaped wart between his shoulders.
The wart! There was no other such wart in such a place on any other body.
Frantically he searched and found it. There it was as it had looked that day in the forest stream.
He could not bear to look at that head which had been split by the axe of one of his own men.
He ordered that Tostig’s body should be carried away and given decent burial.
As he stood by his brother’s grave, remembering
so much from their boyhood, a messenger arrived with urgent news.
William of Normandy had landed at Pevensey Bay and was now encamped at Hastings.
Harold conferred with his brothers Gurth and Leofwine.
‘If I had not been at Stamford Bridge,’ he said, ‘I could have prevented the landing.’
‘If Tostig had been with us instead of against us . . .’ said Gurth angrily.
‘He was never with me,’ said Harold. ‘He is dead now. Let us not speak of him. It is usual to say if this and if that. The situation is that William has landed and is now doubtless erecting his fortifications. What we have to decide is what we shall do.’
‘The Army is depleted,’ pointed out Gurth.
‘It needs rest and reforming,’ added Leofwine.
‘The point is,’ said Harold, ‘should we stay here or march south?’
‘If we stayed here, the Norman would be forced to march north to us,’ said Gurth. ‘An army which has had a long march to a battlefield is never as fresh as one which has rested there.’
‘If I could stay here and muster an army, I would do so,’ explained Harold. ‘But could I? If I called men from all over England to arms, they would not heed me. All I could hope for is to march south and attempt to muster men to my banner as I go. I will send messages to Edwin and Morcar but I don’t trust them. They may not want the Norman but they don’t want me either. I must think of this. On it could depend the outcome of the battle.’
After a great deal of deliberation he came to the conclusion that his greatest hope of success was to march south.
Senlac
IN HIS NORMAN camp William heard the news that Harold was coming.
The battle would not now be long delayed.
Harold, it was said, had defeated Harold Hardrada. a giant whom many had believed to be unbeatable. Harold was flushed with victory; he had slain his own brother Tostig, and now nothing could hold him back. He was coming to deal with the Norman who had dared invade his shores.