“What’s troubling you, Edwin?” Edgar grinned at him. “We are now prepared to make full use of the resources behind us. I even hired the Flemish mercenaries like I wanted. William will surely be unable to stand against us once we come.”
“Harold Godwinson’s sons and brothers were deeply angered by this betrayal, Edgar. They know better than the story they have been fed, even if the general nobility have accepted the falsified will,” Edwin muttered under his breath.
“Hm, did you say ‘nothing, your Majesty’?” Edgar’s grin widened.
“Nothing, your Majesty,” Edwin parroted. There was a hint of sarcasm to the words, but Edgar either didn’t notice or didn’t mind.
“Cheer up Edwin, together we are about to rescue the Kingdom and our peers from the domination of an outsider. It’s only a few days further until we reach London, and there we will be the greatest heroes of England since Alfred the Great drove the Danes from these shores.”
Edwin wondered just how true that bold claim was. Harald Sigurdsson’s undoing at Stamford Bridge had been his arrogance and underestimation of the Saxon defenders – Edgar Aetheling was now showing the same kind of arrogance and underestimation of his foe. He seemed to believe his hold upon the throne was strong, but Edwin was not fooled. Even Stigand, who was as good a speaker and statesman as any, clearly held some reluctance at the prospect of crowning Edgar Aetheling as King of England. They had been convinced it was necessary, a superior option compared to the foolish son of Harold Godwinson, but he was still just an arrogant young boy. What respect he had earned from Edwin had vanished in the light of his actions.
“What about Tostig? Was he not innocent?”
“We have his confession, Edwin.” Edgar rolled his eyes. “Why would he sign the confession if he was not guilty?”
That much seemed true, Edwin was certain that he would never sign a confession for something he did not do, even under torture. Then again, Tostig’s mind seemed to be broken in many ways and he was no longer the man that Edwin had known in the years prior to his exile. The King’s brother seemed convicted of the idea that the late Harold had betrayed him; perhaps, he mused, he truly was mad enough to do it.
“Have we considered any other candidates for the poisoning? If there is still a traitor amongst our midst we need to find him,” Edwin said.
“They will reveal themselves sooner or later, I am sure, and then they will be slain for their deception and their treachery. But I do not think we need to worry, I am convinced that Tostig’s confession is the truth.”
* * *
“There’s not much time left, hurry!” someone shouted.
Normans scurried throughout London, swarming like ants as they desperately prepared to flee the city. The King’s army was just a day’s march from the English capital and they still had not finished loading the wagons. At Odo’s command, they had picked the city clean of every valuable, every trinket and as much food as they could lay their hands on. The city might face deprivation or even starvation should the war continue to plague them, but this was no longer the Bishop’s concern. ‘Sustain yourself with prayer’ he had told the desperate crowds even as he robbed them of their wealth. Two thousand Norman spear points waited for any dissident peasant who wanted to argue with him and his plan.
At first, Odo had pleaded with William to give up Winchester, which had thus far frustrated him with a determined defence. Then he had all but demanded it, dangerous as that prospect was. William acknowledged that the defenders were being more stubborn than he had originally planned, but reckoned that the city would fall. He had granted Odo and Robert permission to leave London and return to him, on the condition that they brought tribute and supplies for his host. This was why Odo now sought to haul off every piece of treasure and every relic in Westminster and London. Occasionally insults would be slung at them from the crowds, always so sparsely that the precise perpetrator could not be identified. Their welcome in the city had become long overdue.
The Bishop rode west from the city’s gates until he reached the impressive palace of Westminster. There, the bulk of the army was making the final preparations for march, checking that wagons were secured and everything was in working order. They had two options: to march south across London Bridge and head towards Sussex, or to march west into Oxfordshire and maintain a presence on the far side of the Thames. Odo had opted to march for Oxfordshire, and hoped that his brother would meet him before the Saxons caught up.
Near the steps of Westminster Abbey, Robert de Normandie seemed to be busying himself with the Saxon girl he had befriended. Odo made a note of her and immediately decided that he did not like her – not only because she was a distraction to the young master’s mind, but also because there was something unpleasantly familiar about her that he could not place. He may have been Bishop of Bayeux, but sinister thoughts came to mind when he considered her future and where he wanted it to lie.
“Robert!” he called to the young lord. “Prepare your horse, we march within the hour!”
Robert looked surprised that it was so soon already, but called back. “Yes uncle!”
Gunhild looked at him curiously. “We’re going?”
“Yes, Gunhild.” He smiled at her. “We’re going west, away from London, to meet with my father the Duke. Have you ever met a Duke before?”
She thought of the word and tried to figure out the closest equivalent. “For us it would be...Earl...I have met an Earl before.”
“Good! Then you know some sort of etiquette for how to behave?”
“Yes...” she looked down nervously.
“Don’t be nervous, my father is a tough man, but he’s chivalrous to girls like you. You won’t be in any danger as long as you are with us.”
Whatever was bothering her, his words did not seem to cure it. Poking at the dirt with a stick, she wasn’t paying any attention to him and that was annoying. He slowly raised his hand and snapped his fingers, but she didn’t seem to break out of her distant state of mind.
“Hey, Gunhild!” He waved at her. “Don’t ignore me, it’s rude. What has you so down, hm? Would you rather have been on the streets, alone and unprotected?”
“No...” She bowed her head. “Sorry Robert, I’ll try to be happy.”
“Good!” He folded his arms resolutely. “I didn’t rescue you so that you could spend all this time in such a grim mood. I’ve been very patient, but you just insist on feeling bad it seems; why don’t you just, you know, try to be happier?”
Gunhild looked up at him with a face as solemn as ever, and he peered back into her eyes, trying to figure out what she was thinking. It was like there was a great wall around her, making it impossible to read her face. For once, she stood up and looked him in the eye. He realised after a moment that the cold impassiveness was not a sign of sadness, but of anger barely restrained, and he took an involuntary step back in surprise.
“Gunhild?”
“Your people...” She choked. “They killed my brother, Robert. They killed my brother and now he is gone, dead in their pillaging and looting. When I look at you, all I can see is death. You...you’re all death.”
His mind flashed back to the sight of the dead boy, the Prince who had commanded the defence of London. His pale face was locked into Robert’s mind and he was not sure if he would ever forget it. Strange as it was, she somewhat reminded him of that boy, with a similar jaw and the same sandy hair colour. It was improbable, but could that possibly be her brother?
“I’m sorry...” he muttered. “How...how did he die? Did you see who did it?”
“No...I didn’t. He went to the walls, he wanted to help. They all...they all just killed him...” She sniffled and fought back tears. “Soldiers, I don’t know who, just soldiers...”
Robert sighed deeply. “I don’t know...that I can do much to avenge your brother. I’m sorry, Gunhild, I truly am.”
“Can’t you make them all go home? Please?” she begged, tugging on his sleeve.
/> “No, Gunhild.” He wrapped his arms around her in a hug, smiling a little as she did not resist. “Just trust me, I will take care of you. I cannot make my father stop this war, but I will see to it that you are protected from the worst of it. No one will hurt you as long as you stay with me.”
Then he noticed the eyes watching him, and suddenly pulled away, blushing a little. “Uh...why don’t you get ready to go, I need to...I need to get my horse.”
She stared at him oddly, confused by the reaction and unsure what to think. He turned and ran off towards the Westminster stables, leaving her alone in a camp full of strangers. There were more eyes on her than she was comfortable with, and she could sense that they were talking about her – a fact which made her even more nervous. Thankfully their attention soon passed and left her to her own devices. Looking towards London now, a slow sigh escaped her.
‘Gunhild, you fool...’ she berated herself. ‘You should have never ditched Gytha like that, now look at yourself. You couldn’t save Magnus and now they’re hauling you off...’
The tears began to well up again. All she wanted now was to go home, to escape this nightmare and these murderous people she was trapped with. Robert had shown her kindness but she still felt like a prisoner, trapped in his grasp. Not knowing what else to do, she sat upon the floor, burying her head into her knees to cry silently.
Chapter 18 – Battle for the Crown
17th of October, 1066
Across the great fields of Oxfordshire, thousands of men stared one another down in great rows ready for battle. From the North came the host of the uncrowned King Edgar, freshly reinforced by Flemish mercenaries and additional fyrd from Mercia. The red banners of the King fluttered high and proud, defying the Frenchmen to come and take the crown from them.
Robert looked to his father, but William was not impressed. Oxford may have been the battlefield of his choosing, but still the Saxons clung to the high ground, attempting to lure him into an assault. “They are a disorganized bunch, unprepared for the mighty hammerblow we bring. Our Knights will smash their shields and reclaim the crown that is rightfully mine.”
Odo was not so certain, but had long ago learned not to speak up against his William’s whims. The Duke was a good warrior and understood politics as well as any man he’d met, but his temper was fierce and he did not like to be questioned. The Normans slightly outnumbered the English, but Godwinson’s army had the high ground and did not seem eager to budge. “As you say brother, Rome is waiting eagerly to hear of your success after backing you. I hope we do not disappoint God.”
Across the way, Edgar Aetheling was doing his best to inspire the men. It was a lukewarm performance, full of half-hearted hurrahs and tired grumblings. Much of the south had fallen to the Normans on their long march and the eagerness to avenge King Harold had faded and been replaced with exhaustion. Still, they had formed the spearwall and calmly awaited the coming of the Normans. Edgar had been eager to attack, but for once he was prepared to listen to the advice of Edwin and Morcar.
“William is impetuous, he will not be content to sit and wait for us to come to him,” Edwin explained.
“It’s true, your majesty. He would rather die in disgrace than look like a coward afraid to attack us. We can undo him with his own hubris!” Morcar had thankfully agreed.
But now an hour had passed and the Normans had yet to come. Edgar was clearly growing impatient. He understood the wisdom of his Earls’ words, but still yearned to face the most dangerous foe to his new throne in battle. He paced back and forth before the line, occasionally inspecting the alertness of men on the shield wall, checking his nails or taking a few experimental swings with his sword. Edwin had observed that since Edgar had been made King, he had seemed like a boy once more, showing less of his previous cunning and maturity; this was deeply worrying, but hopefully he only needed time to adjust to his new role.
“I wonder if this was the right decision, Morcar...” he muttered to his brother.
“You think we stand a better chance attacking the Normans ourselves?”
“I meant supporting this...boy...as king over Godwine. Would Harold’s eldest son have done so much worse than him? I fear we have been played for fools, with Stigand at the heart of it.”
Morcar grunted. “It is in the past, and I feel he will mature in time. He is likely impatient because he believes after our recent victories that we cannot lose. I wish that I shared his level of optimism. I don’t trust the boy either, nor Stigand, but I sensed the wind shifting. As did you, I imagine.”
“I suppose so. We’ll just have to find a way to profit from this as we have always done. I just hope that Edgar does not meet a premature end or forget the great favour he owes us for supporting his rise, or we might be the ones who feel the wrath of House Godwin in his absence.”
The silent standoff continued. Finally, after what seemed like an age, a group of Norman horse detached from the main army, riding out with a banner of truce held aloft.
“They want to talk,” Edwin smirked. “Looks like the Duke’s patience broke first after all.”
Edgar gestured wildly, demanding a horse. “Edwin, Morcar, come with me. Perhaps the Duke comes to surrender!”
“Unlikely,” Morcar growled. “He’s come for our surrender, I’d wager.”
“Well he won’t have it!” Edgar scoffed. “But I shall entertain him nonetheless.”
It did not take the Saxons long to mount their horses and ride out to meet the Normans. As expected, Duke William had come himself, along with a clergyman Edwin suspected was his brother Odo. There were a few young boys, and a handful of grizzled looking nobles who regarded the group of Englishmen with smug disdain.
William was displeased. “Harold does not come out to meet me himself? What insult is this?”
Edgar stiffened and seemed to bristle at the strong words. “King Harold Godwinson has tragically passed away, I’m sure you know nothing of that, of course.”
This was something Edwin had eagerly waited to see, and the look of shock was as genuine as any he had seen. “Dead you say? Don’t tell me that old dog succumbed to the Norwegian’s men; that would be a disappointing end to our grand story.”
“Poisoned, actually, by one of your agents.” Edgar’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think we would not notice or learn of this treachery?”
William’s eyes narrowed and his cheeks reddened in anger. Edwin thought he might pop, but the Duke seemed to visibly calm himself. “Such an accusation! You have no honour, for though he betrayed me, I would never stoop to the indecency of such a black murder. We were to meet in glorious battle, to resolve this rivalry once and for all. I suppose I shall have to settle my score with you instead, boy...”
“King, not boy! King Edgar of England!”
The Duke scoffed, “I see no crown upon you, Edgar Aetheling. Nor do I intend to – I will smash your army here and take the throne for myself.”
“Do not expect anything less than a great battle, Bastard, for England shall not fall this day to the likes of you!”
Edgar was doing his best to seem intimidating, but all he did was anger the Norman Duke further. The two stared each other down, and to Edgar’s credit he did not flinch or shirk from the confrontation. Finally, William turned his horse away, signalling his retinue to return to the force. “Do not fret, boy ‘King’, my men will take you alive, so that you can watch as I am crowned King of England.”
The Normans rode in departure, leaving Edgar seething with frustration. “That man...he has no respect for me, or for any of us. He must be stopped, or I fear he’ll destroy England as we know it. He’s too dangerous.”
“Perhaps so...” Edwin grimaced. “Yet I think he was honest when he said he had no knowledge of the King’s death. In fact he seemed regretful of the fact that he wouldn’t get to see him again; they were once friends, after all.”
“This again, Edwin? Do you never give up? We have more important things to worry about than the King�
�s murderer.”
He was loathe to admit it, but Edgar was right. Turning their horses, they began the ride up the gently sloping hills. Although they had met at a roughly equal distance between the two armies, William returned to his banners first and the Norman army was quick to move. Rumbling into life, the Norman hosts marched forth in tight ranks, slowly closing the distance towards the Saxon lines.
Only once they had returned to the shieldwall did Edwin allow himself to turn and observe the approaching army. It seemed that William had opted for a head-on charge, exactly the kind of attack the English needed to achieve a victory here. The fyrdsmen were growing nervous now, but the veteran housecarls and thegns formed up on their right flank, facing the substantial bulk of the Norman cavalry. They set their long spears deep into the earth and waited patiently for the foe. Unit leaders bellowed orders and reassuring words to the fyrdsmen, many of whom were now praying as the Normans approached.
Edwin moved to his command position behind the front line of the army’s centre whilst Edgar led the royal host on the right and Morcar commanded a mixed force of fyrdsmen and the Flemish mercenaries on the left flank. The Norman army’s composition was less clear, but seemed to consist largely of blocks of infantry arranged in no clear tactical formation. A large array of cavalry had formed up opposite Edgar’s own banner, fluttering the personal colours of William the Bastard himself.
“Ready yourselves!”
The Normans closed in on the Anglo-Saxon line, until the rumbling of their footsteps shook and clattered the shields together. Gritting their teeth, they locked their protective shields together tighter, refusing to give into fear. As they ascended the hill, Edwin judged that they were finally in range and gave the signal to fire. Seconds later, a fierce volley of arrows howled down from the sky onto the advancing Normans. Moments later another volley came from Edgar’s flank, followed shortly by one from Morcar. Arrows scattered amongst the Normans, who were forced to endure the punishing volleys twice more before their own archers were close enough. They returned fire, but although there were many more of them than Saxon archers, the shield wall did its work and absorbed the damage with few losses.
Crusader Kings II - [Champions of Anglia 01] - A Fall of Kings Page 10