by Jean Plaidy
William pointed out to his captains, ‘He and his army will be weary. He has fought a great battle at Stamford Bridge. Have no doubt he is a fine general. We shall not have an easy victory. But we are the stronger and we have right on our side. He will remember that he vowed on the bones of the saints and that memory will be with him throughout the day of battle.’
He decided that he would give Harold a last chance. He called one of the monks who had accompanied him on the voyage to England and said: ‘Go to Harold. Tell him that my right to the throne of England is the true one. Edward the Confessor promised me the crown and he, Harold, vowed to help me to it.’
The reply came back. The oath had been forced from Harold and no oath taken in such circumstances could be regarded as valid.
‘Go back to Normandy,’ warned Harold. ‘I will compensate you for the expense you have incurred and we will form an alliance of friendship. But if you insist on a battle, I am ready.’
He knew of course what William’s reply would be.
In his tent William was preparing for the battle.
‘Bring me my hauberk,’ he said; and his servant brought it but in putting it on William turned it the wrong way round.
There was a hushed silence in the tent, for this was indeed an evil omen.
The Duke hastily turned the hauberk round and looked at the watching faces.
‘Ha,’ he said, ‘so you will tell me now that this is a sign that I shall die in battle and this makes you fearful. Let me tell you this. I know that many among you – and brave men – would not dare go into battle on a day that had happened. But I never believed in omens and never will. I trust in God, for He does in all things to His pleasure and I commend myself to our Lady. The hauberk turned wrong and was righted by me. Well, if you want signs you can see one in this. The Duke has been turned even as the hauberk – turned from a Duke to a King.’
‘He has no fear,’ said those about him. ‘He welcomes the battle.’
William mounted his horse, a present from the King of Spain, and never had a finer been seen. It served only one master and whither the Duke went there his horse would go with him, without fear while the Duke was on its back.
He surveyed his soldiers. A goodly band. Fresh and ready for the fight – the cavalry first and the foot-soldiers behind with their bows and arrows.
His confidence grew as the hour for battle drew near.
Friday, the 13th October, and Harold with his army had encamped about the heights of Senlac. William had left his camp at Hastings and was on the march.
The battle, said William, should take place the next day; and the night before should be spent in prayers for Divine help.
At the end of that day he had reached the field and sighted the English. Harold would be there close to the spot where his banner fluttered.
‘Oh God,’ prayed William, ‘give me the victory and I will build an abbey on that very place.’
He knew that he faced a general as skilled – or almost – as himself; and it was generals who won battles. A good general with an inferior force could wring victory from a great army, ill-directed. But he had a great army; he was a great general; his men were not wearied by a battle so recently won, by a long march south. At his neck he wore the bag of relics. His men knew it; and they knew too that Harold had sworn away his kingdom on those very bones.
God must be on their side together with those saints whose bones had been treated so disrespectfully by Harold.
‘We shall win,’ declared William, and added: ‘If it be God’s will.’
It was nine o’clock of the next morning when the battle began.
It did not go as William had thought. The spears and javelins of the English were formidable and from their catapults they hurled sharp flints into the enemy’s ranks.
William gave the order for the cavalry to charge but this did not achieve the success he had planned and the English wielding their axes clove many of the horsemen through the head. The rain of flinty stones had wounded many and as they were flung from some distance there was no immediate way of stopping them.
The first phase of the battle went to the English.
As the morning wore on, William was unhorsed when his beautiful steed was killed beneath him. He went down but one of his men sprang forward to kill his would-be assassin.
The cry went up: ‘The Duke is dead.’
The effect was immediate. The Normans believed they were beaten. Into their minds rushed the memory of William’s fall as he had stepped ashore and the story of his putting on his hauberk back to front had been repeated throughout the camp.
With the English roar of triumph in their ears they began to retreat.
William however had found a new horse and was up again.
‘You fools!’ he cried. ‘Do you want to be mown down? What will happen to you if you run? Where will you go? You face death if you retreat. Turn back and fight.’
He took off his helmet that they all might see him.
It was dangerous and an arrow could pierce his eye but it was better to risk that danger and to have the men know that he was alive, as vital as ever, and that they dared not turn and run while he was there to lead them.
The retreat was a blessing in disguise, for the English, believing they had won, had come down from the heights in pursuit. William realized his advantage at once. He gave the order to turn, and there were the English before them, vulnerable, called sharply to a halt in their rush to victory.
Savagely William led his men to mow them down. They were convinced now of the invincibility of their Duke. He could turn defeat into victory. They had to fight or face his wrath, and what could there be for them now, on foreign soil, if they did not fight?
The afternoon wore on; the position had been reversed. The English were becoming exhausted.
William called a halt to the battle and ordered his archers to shoot their arrows straight into the air. He could see that these would fall directly among the troops who were now holding the hilltop under the standard.
They obeyed, and it was one of these arrows which pierced the eye of Harold.
Gurth seeing his brother fall and knowing that Leofwine was dead also, galloped out with a little band into the heart of the Norman troops. He was going to kill William of Normandy, the usurper who had come here and had killed two of his brothers.
So determined was he that he found the Duke – a not very difficult task because William was bareheaded. The onslaught was sudden and William’s horse was killed under him.
William lifted his lance and ran it through Gurth’s body.
Thus died the last of the Godwin brothers.
Evening had come. Forays continued and outbreaks of fighting continued on the hill of Senlac and in the forest beyond; but the tragic battleground was covered with the bodies of the dead and the battle of Hastings had been won by William of Normandy.
With dawn came the sorrowing women to search among the dead for their own that they might take them away for burial.
Among them was the beautiful Edith of the swan-like neck. Quietly, with her despair clear in every gesture, she moved among the dead.
Others had tried to discover the body of the dead king without avail, but Edith found him.
She knelt down beside a body and unfastened the mail. Even as Harold had recognized Tostig by the wart between his shoulders, so did Edith by a birthmark on Harold’s chest.
She laid her face against it and stayed there until monks who had been sent by Harold’s mother to claim his body begged her to come away.
She rose and stood straight and stately among the dead; then she said to one of the soldiers whom she knew to be Norman: ‘Take me to your master.’
He shook his head but she cried out: ‘Take me to him or I will curse you in the name of the man you have slain.’
William received her in his tent. He had removed his armour and just risen from his knees when he had thanked God for the victory.
He looked i
mperiously at the beautiful woman so stricken in her grief, so careless of what happened to her. For what could it matter now that Harold was dead?
She hated this man, this Norman usurper who had come and taken Harold’s life as well as his crown.
She said: ‘I have come to demand the body of Harold.’
He looked at her intently. He sensed her sorrow and respected it, for he knew who she was. He had rarely seen such beauty and her long neck was remarkable. So this was the woman whom Harold had loved!
‘None make demands of me,’ he said. ‘They may make requests.’
‘I request you, then, to give me Harold’s body that I may take it from this field of carnage and give it honourable burial.’
‘Harold is a perjurer,’ he said. ‘He does not merit honourable burial.’
She looked at him with burning hatred in her eyes. Many will look at me thus, he thought, when I go about my new kingdom. I must be harsh with them, or they will think me weak and rise against me.
What if he gave this woman her lover’s body? She would bury it with pomp; she would make a saint of him. Nay, he would bury Harold where he deserved, in an obscure grave. There must be no shrine, no pilgrimages.
He had no illusions about the task before him. He had won merely the first battle; he had opened the door as it were. The great war was before him and he had an idea that he would go on fighting it for a very long time.
So, no weakness, no giving way.
‘Have you no pity?’ she asked.
‘I am a just man,’ he replied. ‘I see no reason why a perjurer should be given an honourable burial.’ He turned to the man who had been standing at the door of the tent. ‘Take this woman away,’ he said.
She went but before doing so gave him such a look of hatred that he was to remember for a long time. He respected her courage for he could have ordered her to her death. He understood her grief for she loved Harold and he thought that Harold had been fortunate to win the love of such a woman. He bore her no malice. This was an example of how he must rule this land. There would be no sentiment; nor did he want revenge. He would give harsh justice and if any failed to recognize him as their master they would be met with punishment and death. Yes, they should be robbed of their lands, their limbs and if need be their lives.
He would be a harsh master but a just one, he hoped.
There was another request. This time it came from Gytha, who was Harold’s mother.
This woman, weeping bitterly, threw herself at his feet. The wife of Earl Godwin, a Danish Princess no less, and the mother of brave sons.
‘This day,’ she said, ‘I have lost three sons. Harold the King and his brother Gurth and Leofwine. My nephew Haakon whom you knew well is also dead. My son Tostig died but a short while ago. Have pity on me. Give me the bodies of my sons that I may bury them. It is all I ask of you.’
‘You ask too much,’ said William.
‘I beg of you. Have you no feelings? Have you no pity?’
‘I have no pity for perjurers.’
She wept; she entreated. But he was unmoved.
He is a hard man, thought those who looked on.
‘I will give the weight of my son Harold’s body in gold if you give me my sons.’
‘All that you have could belong to me if I wished to take it,’ William reminded her.
She lifted her face to his and he saw the hatred there.
I shall see it often in this land, thought William, so I must needs grow used to it.
‘Take the woman away,’ he said.
She cursed him as she went. Another brave woman! he thought. When I am crowned King of England, when I have subdued these people, Harold shall have a decent burial, but it shall be in my good time.
These people would learn fast enough what manner of man he was. They would learn that more than a new reign had begun. He had a kingdom to govern; he had long had plans for it. He would give good government but it might seem stern and often harsh.
He cared nothing for that. He was going to build a great country as he could not in Normandy. This country should be his and he and his sons would beget a royal race to rule it. So that in years to come people would look back on that October day in the year 1066 and say: That was the day when England was born. There was the beginning of a new great age, and the father and creator of it all was William, bastard yes, and conqueror too.
Matilda’s Revenge
IT WAS EASTER. Six months had passed since William had sailed for England; and his family now awaited his return to Normandy.
He had written to Matilda. ‘These are a stubborn people. I am determined to subdue them. I am leaving them to my most trusted supporters for I must see you. I have been too long away.’
Matilda, delighted that he should feel the need of her, as she had of him, prepared a great welcome. She knew what had been happening in England for he had kept her well informed. She had heard of the difficulties he had had to encounter, the intransigence of the Saxon people, of his coronation at Westminster which had taken place on Christmas Day; and how he had ordered that there should be great celebrations and rejoicing in the cities of London and Westminster to celebrate the coronation of the new King on the birthday of Christ.
‘We gave them such a spectacle as they had never seen before,’ he wrote, ‘and there is nothing the people like better than spectacles. We were acclaimed as we rode to Westminster, but alas, there was a rising of certain Saxons and I ordered the burning down of a number of houses to reward them. I must show a stern hand with these people. Well, I am coming to you, Matilda, for I have much to tell you, and I shall not be content until I have seen you crowned with me as sovereign of England.’
So they waited his coming.
‘We must be at the shore to greet him,’ Matilda told her family, ‘so we will go to the coast.’
The family were excited. Robert now fourteen, impatiently waiting to be of age that he might take his inheritance. Richard handsome, tall and restrained in contrast to his brothers, for Rufus had never grown as tall as William would have liked. Adelisa had not lost her listlessness; she still mourned for Harold. The little girls were obedient and now showed signs of mingled pleasure and apprehension, for William had always inspired a certain admiration as well as fear in his children.
And how proud was Matilda to see the Mora approach the shore. Her ship! There never had been such a one. A true vessel for a conqueror.
He was the first to leap ashore, wading in to land where his children, standing a few paces behind Matilda, waited.
He seized his wife in his arms and kissed her.
‘Matilda, my love! It has seemed such a long time.’
‘I have followed your actions whenever possible. I have been there with you in my thoughts.’
‘I shouldn’t have left those rebels . . . but I had to come back to you.’
She laughed triumphantly. What an admission from such a man.
‘The children are here . . . eager to greet you.’
He looked at them. Young Curthose had not grown at all, he noticed, nor had Rufus. Richard! There was a Norman if ever there was, a true descendant of Rollo!
Richard, by God’s Splendour, should be King of England to follow him. Robert could have Normandy, the lesser prize.
And Rufus . . . well, he would see about Rufus, but he was a younger brother.
What was wrong with Adelisa? The child was like a wraith.
‘Here, daughter, what ails you? You are nothing but skin and bone.’
She lowered her eyes and did not answer.
Brooding for that traitor still! They would get a husband for her quickly.
And the little girls. He embraced them, but they were too young to interest him. Later he would make marriages for them. Marriageable daughters of kings made good bargaining counters.
But it was Matilda who claimed his interest.
‘Come, let us leave here. There is much we have to speak of.’
He had much to
show them too – rich treasure which he had brought with him. The spoils of war.
‘These Saxons have some skills, Matilda. Look at this gold and silver plate. They surpass our workmen. They have a delicate touch which we lack. Look at these embroidered garments. You will be interested in those. Are they not fine?’
She agreed that they were.
‘I shall make a great country of England, Matilda. But first I must subdue the rebels. They are not a meek people. They will not accept the fact that they were conquered. We shall have uprisings here, there . . . everywhere, and we have to be prepared. I intend to show them with fire and sword who is their master. It’s the only way. They are stubborn and proud and they will rebel against me. How good it is to be in Normandy . . . with you and my family and the forest and good hunting.’
‘Is there not hunting in England?’
‘The forests are magnificent there, but this is my native land. I shall make England like it. I am going to insist that they speak Norman instead of Saxon.’
‘Will that be easy?’
‘For the young ones, yes, for the older ones more difficult. But there is much Danish in their tongue and you know ours is a mixture of Danish and French. There are words which are similar and our Normans do not find it difficult to make themselves understood. Now I want our people here to understand what a great victory this is, and I plan that you and I shall ride through Normandy to let them know that we are here, and although I am King of England I am still their Duke.’
Matilda, who had always enjoyed excitement, was pleased at the prospect. They discussed it at length.
A less satisfactory subject was the children.
‘Robin Curthose was a little sullen I thought,’ William remarked. ‘He looked at me as though he were hoping I might not long delay my departure from this life.’
‘You are hard on Robert.’
‘As hard as you are soft.’
‘He is your first-born. Remember how proud you were when you first saw him.’
‘I did not know then how he would turn out.’
‘But he is a brave boy.’