by G. A. Henty
The slaughter was terrible, and at nightfall the Norsemen who survived broke and fled to the shelter of their ships. Never in the history of England was there a harder fought battle; never were English valour and endurance more splendidly shown. Terrible, too, had been the losses on their side. Many of the king’s bravest thanes had fallen, and the ranks of the housecarls were fearfully thinned. Complete as had been the victory, absolute as had been the destruction of their foes, there was but little rejoicing in the English camp that night. So exhausted were the troops by their long march and the desperate struggle of the day that they threw themselves down to sleep on the ground they had won, thickly covered as it was with the bodies of friend and foe.
Wulf throughout the day had fought close to Harold. Osgod had kept close beside him, and had warded off many a sweeping blow and cut down many a pressing enemy. At the end of the day his left arm hung useless by his side, well-nigh cleft off by the blow of a Norseman’s sword. Wulf himself had escaped without a scratch, thanks in a large measure to his follower’s watchfulness. When the battle was over he was one of the few thanes who gathered round Harold. The latter felt no exultation at this victory. It had cost him the flower of his army and numbers of his most valued thanes. It had cost him, too, the life of a brother, to whom in spite of his faults he had been deeply attached. He knew that there was before him a struggle even more serious than that from which he had just emerged a victor, and there was no saying how that struggle might end.
“I thank God that you are spared to me, Wulf,” he said as the young thane came up. “I marked you near me all through the battle, and none fought more bravely. It has been a terrible day, and our victory is dearly purchased indeed. I have sent a messenger to York, praying that every monk skilled in surgery will at once hasten hither, that all men and boys shall come and help to collect the wounded, and that such women as can aid will accompany them. I cannot ask the men who have marched well-nigh night and day since we left London, and borne the brunt of the day’s battle, to do more. England has need of their strength. The messenger was to stop at Helmsley, and bid every soul left there to hurry to the field. It is but two miles away, and in half an hour they will be here. The first thing for them to do is to carry water to the wounded; there are no lack of vessels in the Norsemen’s camp.”
“I will go to the bridge, my lord, and take them in charge when they arrive, and set them at the work.”
“You need rest as much as any, Wulf.”
“I can rest tomorrow,” Wulf said; “and at any rate could not sleep tonight, for I must see to Osgod, who will, I fear, lose an arm.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” Harold said, “for one could ill spare so brave a fellow. I saw the Norsemen going down under his axe, and assuredly no man did more than he today.”
“I will tell him what you say, my lord; it will do him good. I left him sitting down on a bank bemoaning himself that he might not be cured in time to fight the Normans.”
Harold shook his head. “I would give half my estates, Wulf, that he should be well enough to fight by your side in our first battle with the Normans. That would mean that they would not land before two months have passed, and by that time I would have all the force of England gathered to receive them. As you are willing that it should be so, I will leave you in charge of the camp tonight. It will be three hours before help can arrive from York. Till then there is nought to do but to carry water to the wounded. When they arrive the monks will dress the wounds, and the men and women carry such as can be moved down by the river, where they can be treated more easily than lying in the fields. Have a strict search made for the body of my brother, and place a guard over it. Sweyn is in charge of the Norse camp. There is great treasure there, which shall tomorrow be partly divided among the troops.”
Wulf went at once down to the bridge, while Harold and his thanes lay down like the soldiers on the field of battle. In a short time men, women, and children came in from Helmsley. Having been told what they were required for, they had brought with them jugs and drinking cups, and also a supply of torches. The first search was made over the ground west of the river. Here few English had fallen, but the Norsemen lay thickly. Wulf ordered that water should be given to all, foe as well as friend. The number of living was small, for the heavy two handed axes had done their work thoroughly. When such as survived had been seen to, Wulf led the villagers over the bridge.
“Scatter right and left,” he said, “and then move forward. You cannot go wrong.” Having seen them all at work, he hurried away to the spot where he had left Osgod sitting. He had before leaving him staunched the flow of blood by winding a bow string round the arm above the wound and then twisting it tightly.
“How fares it with you, Osgod? Here is a ewer of water.”
“That is good,” Osgod said, after taking a mighty draught. “Truly I felt as if the moisture of my body had all dried up, and not only my mouth but my whole frame was parched.”
“Why, Osgod,” Wulf exclaimed, as he held the torch he carried close to him, “your arm has gone!”
“That is so, master, an arm after the bone has been cleft through is of no use to anyone, so I thought the sooner I got rid of it the better, and having my knife handy I just cut through the flesh that remained. That was the end of it. Would that we could get rid of all our evils as readily. Tomorrow I will walk to York and get the wound seared.”
“The king sent to York for aid directly the battle was over, and we shall have all the townsfolk here soon, among them monks and others skilled in the dressing of wounds. I told the king of your misfortune.” And he then repeated what Harold had said.
“It does me good to hear that Harold is satisfied with me. I hope to strike many a good blow for him yet.”
“How still it is here, Osgod! There is scarce a sound to be heard from all those lying round.”
“There are but few with life in them, I reckon,” Osgod said. “A Norse sword and an English axe let out the life quickly when they strike fair. This blow fell on my arm as my axe was raised to strike, and it were well it did so, or it would have taken me in the neck, and then neither monk nor leech could have brought me back to life. Had it been my right arm I would as lief have been killed at once, for what good is a man without his right arm?”
“You would have learned to use your left in time, Osgod. Now if you can walk, come down to the river, and I will see that you are among the first attended to.”
“I will lie down here,” Osgod said, “for in truth I feel as if I need sleep. For the last two days I have been scarce able to keep my eyes open, and now that I have had a drink I feel that a few hours’ rest will do me more good than any monk.”
Osgod’s words came slowly and heavily, and as he ended he lay down on his back. Wulf saw that it was best that he should sleep, and so left him. In two hours a great number of lights were seen along the road, and soon a crowd of men and women from York appeared and scattered themselves over the battlefield, the monks pouring balm into wounds and bandaging them up, while the men and women carried the wounded, as fast as they were attended to, down to the river. The bodies of Tostig and of the King of Norway were both found, and a guard placed over them, and in the morning that of Tostig was carried to York for burial in the cathedral, while Harold Hardrada was buried where he fell.
Harold sent messengers to the Norsemen’s fleet offering mercy to them if they would surrender, and their chiefs come to York and swear never again to raise their swords against England—an offer which was thankfully accepted, for the English fleet had entered the Humber, and their retreat was cut off.
The next day the Norse chiefs went to York and took the required oath, and were then escorted back to their ships. So terrible had been the slaughter, so complete the destruction of the invading army, that, even including the guard that remained at the fleet, twenty-four ships sufficed to carry away home the survivors of the mighty host. The task of burying the slain was too great to be undertaken, and for man
y years afterwards the field of battle was whitened with the bones of the invaders who had fallen there.
On the day after the battle Harold returned with his army to York. Here all who had fallen away from the cause of England were pardoned. Measures were taken for making the fighting strength of the North available for the general defence of the country. The wounded were cared for in the houses of the citizens, and for five days the troops rested after their prodigious exertions.
Early in the morning after the battle Osgod’s wound had been seared with red-hot irons. He had borne the pain unflinchingly, saying that he had suffered as much from burns more than once while learning his trade as an armourer. Wulf was not present, as he had thrown himself down to sleep as soon as he had been relieved at daylight, but he saw him before he started with the king for York.
“Yes, it hurts a bit, master,” Osgod replied in answer to his inquiries. “I could not expect otherwise. You will have to do without me for a few days. I have made friends with some peasants at Helmsley. I shall stay with them till the army marches south. If I were at York I should never keep quiet; and the monks tell me the quieter I am the sooner my wounds will heal. They are poor creatures, these monks; they wanted to make out that it might be two or three months before I was fit for service again. I told them it would be a shame to my manhood if in a fortnight I could not wield an axe again. It is not as if I had been brought up softly. I have burnt myself with hot irons many a time, and know that a few days suffices to heal a sore.”
“It is not the sore, Osgod; it is the veins that might burst out bleeding again.”
“That is what they said, master; but at present there is not much blood left in me, I think, and by the time it comes again my veins ought to have healed themselves. This plaguey bowstring hurts me well-nigh as much as the smart of the irons; but the monks say I must bear it for a couple of days, when they will put on some tight bandages in its place, but if I can bear the pain it were better that it should be kept there for a week or two.”
Five days passed. The king laboured incessantly at making a settlement of the affairs of the North. The thanes came in from all Northumbria. They were full of thankfulness at the deliverance that had been wrought for them, and the victor of Stamford Bridge was far more to them than the King of England had ever been. All were received with kindness and courtesy, and Harold felt that at Stamford Bridge he had conquered not only the host of Norway but the Northern earldoms. On the evening of the fifth day after the battle they held a great banquet at York. The feasting was at its height when Harold was told that a messenger had arrived with urgent news, and the man was at once brought in. He had ridden in two days from the South, and brought the momentous news that on the third day after the victory of Stamford Bridge the Norman host had landed in Sussex.
CHAPTER XX
THE LANDING OF THE FOE
While Harold with his army had been anxiously and impatiently watching the sea on the southern coast of England, the mixed host of the Duke of Normandy had been no less anxiously awaiting a favourable breeze at the port where the whole of the expedition was gathered. William had, however, one great advantage. While Harold’s army and navy were composed of levies, bound by feudal obligations to remain but a certain time under arms, and eager to return to their harvest operations, their wives and families, William’s was made up to a great extent of seasoned troops and professional soldiers, gathered not only from his own dominions but from all parts of Europe.
These were far more amenable to orders than were the English militia. Tempted by the thought of the plunder of England, they had enlisted under the duke’s banner for the expedition. They had no thought of returning home, and as long as they were well supplied with food, the delay in starting mattered comparatively little to them; and thus while at length the fleet and army of Harold scattered to their homes the Normans remained in their camp, ready to embark on board the ships as soon as a favourable wind blew. They were kept in good temper by receiving regular pay and provisions, and as all plundering was strictly forbidden the country people freely brought in supplies, and for a month the great army was fed without difficulty; but as the resources of the country became exhausted the duke grew more and more anxious to move to another port, and taking advantage of a change of wind to the west he embarked his army and sailed north along the coast of Normandy to the mouth of the Somme, and the troops disembarked and encamped round the town of St. Valery.
Here there was another long delay, and while Harold was marching north to meet the King of Norway the Normans were praying for a favourable wind at the holy shrine at the Abbey of St. Valery. Two days after the host of Harold Hardrada had been destroyed the wind suddenly shifted to the south. There had on the previous day been a great religious ceremony; the holy relics had been brought by the priests into the camp; the whole army had joined in a solemn service; precious gifts had been offered at the shrine, and as the change of wind was naturally ascribed to the influence of the saint, the army was filled with enthusiasm, and believed that heaven had declared in their favour.
From morning till night the scene of bustle and preparation went on, and when darkness fell the whole host had embarked. Every ship was ordered to bear a light, and a huge lantern was hoisted at the masthead of the Mora, the duke’s own ship, and orders were issued that all vessels should follow the light. The Mora, however, was a quick sailer, and was not, like the other vessels, deeply laden down with horses and men. When daylight broke, therefore, she had so far outstripped the rest that no other sail was in sight, and she anchored until the fleet came up, when the voyage was continued, and at nine on the morning of Thursday the 28th of September the Normans landed on English soil, near the village of Pevensey.
The landing was unopposed; the housecarls were away north with their king, the levies were scattered to their homes. To the surprise of the Normans who landed in battle array no armed man was to be seen. Parties of mounted men at once examined the country for miles round, but without finding signs of the defending army they expected to meet. On the following morning a small force was left in the Roman fortifications near Pevensey to guard the ships, hauled up on the beach, from attack, and the duke with his army marched away along the Roman road to Hastings, where William established his headquarters and resolved to await the approach of the army of England. A wooden castle was raised on the height, and the country for miles round was harried by the Norman horse. Every house was given to the flames; men were slain, women and children taken as slaves, and the destruction was so complete that it seemed as if it had been done with the deliberate purpose of forcing Harold to come down and give battle.
No sooner did Harold hear the news that the Normans had landed and were harrying the land than he ordered the hall to be cleared and issued a summons for the assembly of a Gemot, and in an hour an assemblage of all the thanes gathered at York was held in the hall that had so shortly before been the scene of peaceful feasting. Harold proclaimed to them the news he had heard, and called upon them to arm and call together their levies for the defence of England. An enthusiastic reply was given. As the men of the South had crushed the invaders of the North, so would the men of the North assist to repel the invasion of the South. Morcar and Edwin promised solemnly to lead the forces of Northumbria and Mercia to London without a day’s delay, and though Harold trusted his brothers-in-law but little, he hoped they would have to yield to the patriotic spirit of the thanes and to play their part as Englishmen.
An hour later messengers started on horseback for the South, bidding all men to assemble at London to fight for home and freedom against the foreign invader, and orders were issued that the troops who had fought at Stamford Bridge should march at daybreak. As soon as the council was over Wulf mounted his horse and rode at full speed to Helmsley. He had each day ridden over to see Osgod, who in his anxiety for a rapid cure was proving himself a most amenable patient, and was strictly carrying out the prescriptions of the monk who had taken charge of him and of
other wounded who were lying in the village. He was asleep on a rough pallet when Wulf entered.
“A pest upon the Norman!” he exclaimed angrily when he heard Wulf’s news. “He might have given me a week longer at any rate. I am feeling mightily better already, for today the monk has bandaged my arm, and that so tight as almost to numb it. But that I care little for, as he has now taken off that bow-string which was cutting its way into the flesh. He told me that everything depended upon my keeping absolutely quiet for another week, for the slightest exertion might make the wound break out afresh, and that if it burst there would be but a poor chance for me. Well, I must travel in a waggon instead of on horseback.”
“You will do nothing of the sort, Osgod; I absolutely forbid it. It would be an act of sheer madness. Besides, you would be useless at present even if you went south, while if you rest here for three or four weeks you may be able to take part in some of the battles; and, moreover, it may be weeks before Harold moves against the Normans. At any rate, it is out of the question that you should move at present. I am not going to have you risk your life by such folly.”
Osgod was silent for a minute or two and then said, “Well, master, I must obey your orders, but never before did I feel it so hard a thing to do.”
“It is for your own good and mine, Osgod. I am not going to lose so faithful a follower, and would rather do without you for two months than for all my life. But now I must be going, for I shall ride on ahead so as to go down to Steyning and fetch our men. I was before sorry that, owing to my being here, they did not come down with the king; now I am glad, for I might have lost half of them, while as it is I shall have a hundred men as good as his own to help to fill up the ranks of Harold’s housecarls, besides the general levy of my tenants.”