AFTER TINCHEBRAY:--William Clito--Louis of France attempts to
place Clito on the throne of Normandy--Death of
Clito--Beauclerc's reputation not so good--The Queen Maude's
popularity--Death of Henry's son--Geoffrey of Anjou--His
marriage to the daughter of Henry--Stephen of Bouillon seizes
the crown of England--The treaty of Wallingford--Henry
II.--Conclusion
INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS.
ALTAR
ANDIRON
APPEAL TO HAROLD HARFAGHER, HILDA'S
ARCHERS, ENGLISH
ARMS
BARBACAN
BATTLE ABBEY, HASTINGS
BATTLE-FIELD, THE
BAYEUX TAPESTRY, FROM THE
BODY OF RUFUS, BRINGING HOME THE
BONDMAN, SAXON (FROM STRUTT)
BOOKS, THE DOOM'S-DAY
BOSS
BOSTON, FEN COUNTRY NEAR
BOUILLON, GODFREY DE, ELECTED KING OF JERUSALEM
BOWS
BRACKET
BRINGING HOME THE BODY OF RUFUS
BROTHER HAROLD, TOSTIG'S PARTING SPEECH TO HIS
BRUGES, BELFRY AT
BUTTRESS
CHARLES THE SIMPLE, ROLFGANGER PAYING HOMAGE TO, 6
CHURCH OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE, JERUSALEM
CHURCH PORCH
CLOISTERS
COMMOTION DURING THE CROWNING OF WILLIAM
CONQUEROR, EDWIN, EARL OF MERCIA, AND THE DAUGHTERS
OF THE
COOKS--FROM BAYEUX TAPESTRY
CROSSBOW
CROZIER
CRUSADE, PETER THE HERMIT PREACHING THE
CURTHOSE AND THE SARACEN
DEATH OF MALCOLM CANMORE
DEATH OF SIWARD WITH HARNESS ON HIS BACK
DEATH, SWEYN STRUCK BY THE HAND OF
DELIVERANCE FROM HIS EASTERN DUNGEON, HARDRADA'S
DISTAFF, WOMAN WITH
DOOM'S-DAY BOOKS, THE
DOOR OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY
DOVER, SHAKESPEARE'S CLIFF
EDWIN, EARL OF MERCIA, AND THE DAUGHTERS OF THE CONQUEROR
ENGLISH ARCHERS
FEN COUNTRY NEAR BOSTON
FERN ISLANDS, OFF THE COAST OF NORTHUMBERLAND
FLINT CASTLE, ON THE ESTUARY OF THE DEE
FOREST LAWS, OLD
FOREST, THE
FORUM AT ROME, RUINS OF THE
GIRDLE AND PURSE
GODFREY DE BOUILLON ELECTED KING OF JERUSALEM
GODWIN, THE JUDGMENT OF GOD ON
GOOD SHIP MOIRA, THE, WILLIAM OF NORMANDY, OWNER
HAND OF DEATH, SWEYN STRUCK BY THE
HARDRADA'S DELIVERANCE FROM HIS EASTERN DUNGEON
HARFAGHER, HILDA'S APPEAL TO HAROLD
HAROLD HAS NEWS OF WILLIAM'S LANDING
HAROLD, TOSTIG'S PARTING SPEECH TO HIS BROTHER
HAROLD, WILLIAM EXTORTING A PROMISE FROM
HART, THE
HASTINGS, BATTLE ABBEY
HAWK
HAWKING
HAWK STRIKING THE QUARRY
HENRY BEAUCLERC AND LOUIS LE GROS, THE QUARREL OF
HERALDIC VANE
HERDSMAN (FROM STRUTT)
HERMIT, PETER THE, PREACHING THE FIRST CRUSADE
HEXHAM, WILLIAM'S MARCH ON
HILDA'S APPEAL TO HAROLD HARFAGHER
HOLY SEPULCHRE, JERUSALEM, CHURCH OF THE
HOMAGE TO CHARLES THE SIMPLE, ROLFGANGER PAYING
HUNTING
INITIAL LETTER A
INITIAL LETTER I
INITIAL LETTER O
ISLANDS, FERN, OFF THE COAST OF NORTHUMBERLAND
JERUSALEM, CHURCH OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE
JERUSALEM, GODFREY DE BOUILLON ELECTED KING OF
JERUSALEM, PILGRIMS IN SIGHT OF
JUDGMENT OF GOD ON GODWIN, THE
KNIGHTS JOUSTING (FROM STRUTT)
LAWS, OLD FOREST
LINCOLNSHIRE, TATTERSHALL CASTLE
LOCH LOMOND
LONG BOW
LOUIS LE GROS, THE QUARREL OF HENRY BEAUCLERC AND
LOVE-MAKING, WILLIAM'S
MALCOLM CANMORE, DEATH OF
MINERVA
MOIRA, THE GOOD SHIP, WILLIAM OF NORMANDY, OWNER
MUNDANE TREE OF THE SCANDINAVIANS, YGGDRASILL
NORMAN PRELATES BLESSING THE TROOPS
NORMAN RUSTIC (FROM STRUTT)
NORMAN RUSTIC, ELEVENTH CENTURY
NORWEGIAN CHAMPION AT THE BATTLE OF STAMFORD BRIDGE,
THE
OLD FOREST LAWS
PARTING SPEECH TO HIS BROTHER HAROLD, TOSTIG'S
PEASANT, WILLIAM AND THE
PETER THE HERMIT PREACHING THE FIRST CRUSADE
PILGRIMS IN SIGHT OF JERUSALEM
PROMISE, WILLIAM EXHORTING A, FROM HAROLD
PURSE AND GIRDLE
QUARREL OF HENRY BEAUCLERC AND LOUIS LE GROS, THE
QUARRY, HAWK STRIKING THE
"RAVEN OF EARTHLY TERROR," THE
ROCHESTER
ROLFGANGER PAYING HOMAGE TO CHARLES THE SIMPLE
RUINS OF THE FORUM AT ROME
RUFUS, BRINGING HOME THE BODY OF
RUSTIC, NORMAN (FROM STRUTT)
RUSTIC, NORMAN, ELEVENTH CENTURY
SARACEN, CURTHOSE AND THE
SAXON BONDMAN (FROM STRUTT)
SCANDINAVIANS, YGGDRASILL, THE MUNDANE TREE OF THE
SEPULCHRE, CHURCH OF THE HOLY, JERUSALEM
SHAKESPEARE'S CLIFF, DOVER
SHIELDS
SIWARD, DEATH OF, WITH HARNESS ON HIS BACK
STAMFORD BRIDGE, THE NORWEGIAN CHAMPION AT THE BATTLE
OF
SWEYN STRUCK BY THE HAND OF DEATH
TAILPIECE TO CHAPTER I.
TAILPIECE TO CHAPTER V.
TAILPIECE TO CHAPTER VIII.
TAILPIECE TO CHAPTER XV.
TAILPIECE TO CHAPTER XXXV.
TAILPIECE TO CHAPTER XLI.
TAILPIECE TO CHAPTER XLIV.
TAILPIECE TO CHAPTER LI.
TAILPIECE TO CHAPTER LIV.
TAPESTRY, FROM THE BAYEUX
TATTERSHALL CASTLE, LINCOLNSHIRE
THOR
TOSTIG'S PARTING SPEECH TO HIS BROTHER HAROLD
TRIESTE
TROOPS, THE NORMAN PRELATES BLESSING THE
TYNEMOUTH
VANE, HERALDIC
WESTMINSTER ABBEY, DOOR OF
WILLIAM AND THE PEASANT
WILLIAM, COMMOTION DURING THE CROWNING OF
WILLIAM EXTORTING A PROMISE FROM HAROLD
WILLIAM'S LANDING, HAROLD HAS NEWS OF
WILLIAM'S LOVE-MAKING
WILLIAM'S MARCH ON HEXHAM
WOMAN WITH DISTAFF
YGGDRASILL, THE MUNDANE TREE OF THE SCANDINAVIANS
DANES, SAXONS, AND NORMANS;
OR,
Stories of our Ancestors.
I.
[Illustration: Hilda's appeal to Harold Harfagher.]
ROLFGANGER AND HIS COMRADES.
One day towards the close of the ninth century, Harold, King of
Norway, exasperated at the insubordination and contumacy of the chiefs
among whom that land of mountain, and forest, and fiord was divided,
vowed not to cut his fair hair till he had reduced the whole country
to his sovereign authority. The process proved, as he doubtless
foresaw, somewhat difficult and slow. Indeed, the chiefs of Norway,
who were, in fact, petty kings, disputed the ground inch by inch, and
Harold was occupied for so many years ere consummating his victories,
that his hair, growing ridiculously long and thick, led to his
receiving the surname of "Hirsute."
Even after having sustained numerous defeats on the land, the fierce
chiefs--all Vikings, and, like their adversaries, worshippers of
Odin--taking to the sea, ravaged the coasts and islands, and excited
the Norwegians to rebellion. Harold, however, resolved to do his work
thoroughly, went on board his war-fleet, sailed in pursuit of his
foes, and, having sunk several of their vessels, forced the others to
seek refuge in the Hebrides, where the exiled war-chiefs--many of them
ancestors of the Anglo-Norman nobles--consoled themselves with horns
of potent drink, with schemes for conquering kingdoms, and with the
hope of better fortune and brighter days.
It appears that in the long and arduous struggle which gave him the
sole and undisputed sovereignty of Norway, Harold had been faithfully
served by a Jarl named Rognvald; and it was to this Jarl's
timber-palace, in Möre, that the victorious King repaired to celebrate
the performance of his vow. Elate with triumphs, perhaps more signal
than he had anticipated, Harold made himself quite at home; and
having, before indulging in the Jarl's good cheer, refreshed himself
with a bath and combed his hair, he requested Rognvald to cut off his
superfluous locks.
"Now, Jarl," exclaimed Harold, when this operation was over, "methinks
I should no longer be called 'Hirsute.'"
"No, King," replied Rognvald, struck with surprise and pleasure at the
improvement in Harold's appearance; "your hair is now so beautiful
that, instead of being surnamed 'Hirsute,' you must be surnamed
'Harfagher.'"
It happened that Rognvald, by his spouse Hilda, had a son named Rolf,
or Roll, who was regarded as the foremost among the noble men of
Norway. He was as remarkable for his sagacity in peace, and for his
courage in war as for his bulk and stature, which were such that his
feet touched the ground when he bestrode the horses of the country.
From this peculiarity the son of Rognvald found himself under the
necessity of walking when engaged in any enterprise on the land; and
this circumstance led to his becoming generally known among his
countrymen as Rolfganger.
But the sea appears to have been Rolfganger's favourite element. From
his youth he had delighted in maritime adventures, and in such
exploits as made the men of the north celebrated as sea-kings; and one
day, when returning from a cruise in the Baltic, he, while off the
coast of Wighen, shortened sail, and ventured on the exercise of a
privilege of impressing provisions, long enjoyed by sea-kings, and
known as "strandhug." But he found that, with Harold Harfagher on the
throne, and stringent laws against piracy in force, the rights of
property were not thus to be set at defiance. In fact, the peasants
whose flocks had been carried away complained to the King; and the
King, without regard to the offender's rank, ordered him to be tried
by a Council of Justice.
Notwithstanding Rognvald's services to the King and his personal
influence with Harold Harfagher, Rolfganger's chance of escaping
sentence of banishment appeared slight. Moved, however, by maternal
tenderness, Hilda, the spouse of Rognvald, made an effort to save her
son. Presenting herself at the rude court of Norway, she endeavoured
to soften the King's heart.
"King," said she, "I ask you, for my husband's sake, to pardon my
son."
"Hilda," replied Harold, "it is impossible."
"What!" exclaimed Hilda, rearing herself to her full height; "am I to
understand that the very name of our race has become hateful to you?
Beware," continued she, speaking in accents of menace, "how you expel
from the country and treat as an enemy a man of noble race. Listen,
King, to what I tell you. It is dangerous to attack the wolf. When
once he is angered, let the herd in the forest beware!"
But Harold Harfagher was determined to make the laws respected, and,
notwithstanding Hilda's vague threats, a sentence of perpetual exile
was passed against her tall son. Rolfganger, however, was not a man
to give way to despair. Fitting out his ships in some rocky coves,
still pointed out, he embarked at an island off the mouth of
Stor-fiord, took a last look at his native country, with its rugged
scenery, its rapids, cataracts, and fiords, forests of dark pine and
mountains of white snow, herds of reindeer and clouds of birds, and,
sailing for the Hebrides, placed himself at the head of the banished
Norwegians, who speedily, under his auspices, resolved on a grand
piratical enterprise, which they did not doubt would result in
conquest and plunder.
Having cut their cable and given the reins to the great
sea-horses--such was their expression--the Normans made an attempt to
land in England, where Alfred the Great then reigned. Defeated in this
attempt by the war-ships with which the Saxon King guarded the coast,
they turned their prows towards France, and, entering the mouth of the
Seine, sailed up the river, pillaging the banks as they proceeded,
and, with little delay, found themselves admitted into Rouen, on which
they fixed as their future capital.
It was the year 876 when Rolfganger and his comrades sailed up the
Seine; and on becoming aware of their presence in France, Charles the
Simple, who then, as heir of Charlemagne, wielded the French sceptre
with feeble hand, summoned the warriors of his kingdom to stop the
progress of the Normans. An army, accordingly, was mustered and sent,
under the command of the Duke of France, to encounter the grim
invaders. Before fighting, however, the French deemed it prudent to
tempt the Normans with offers of lands and honours, on condition of
their submitting to King Charles, and sent messengers to hold a
parley. But the Normans treated the proposals with lofty disdain.
"Go back to your King," cried they, "and say that we will submit to no
man, and that we will assert dominion over all we acquire by force of
arms."
With this answer the ambassadors returned to the French camp, and ere
long the Normans were attacked in their entrenchments. But Rolfganger
and his comrades rushed to arms, and fought with such courage that the
French suffered a complete defeat, and the Duke of France fell by the
hand of a fisherman of Rouen.
The Normans, after vanquishing the host of King Charles, found
themselves at liberty to pursue their voyage; and Rolfganger, availing
himself of the advantage, sailed up the Seine, and laid siege to
Paris. Baffled in his attempt to enter the city, the Norman hero
consoled himself by taking Bayeux, Evreux, and other places, and
gradually found himself ruling as a conqueror over the greater part of
Neustria. At Evreux, he seized as his prey a lady named Popa, the
daughter of Count Beranger, whom he espoused; and, becoming gradually
more civilized, he rendered himself wonderfully popular with the
inhabitants of the district subject to his sway.
Meanwhile the French suffered so severely from the hostility of the
Normans, that Charles the Simple recognised the expediency of securing
the friendship of warriors so formidable. With this object he sent the
Archbishop of Rouen to negotiate with Rolfganger, and the result was
that the Sea-King consented to become a Christian, to wed Gisla, the
daughter of Charles, and to live at peace with France, on condition
that the French monarch ceded to him the province of Neustria.
Matters having reached this stage, preparations were made to ratify
the treaty in a solemn manner, and for that purpose Charles the Simple
and Rolfganger agreed to hold a conference at the village at St.
Clair, on the green-margined Epte. Each was accompanied by a numerous
train, and, while the French pitched their tents on one side of the
river, the Normans pitched theirs on the other. At the appointed hour,
however, Rolfganger crossed the Epte, approached the chair of state,
placed his hand between those of the King, took, without kneeling, the
oath of fealty, and then, supposing the ceremony was over, turned to
depart.
"But," said the Frenchmen, "it is fitting that he who receives such a
gift of territory should kneel before the King and kiss his foot."
"Nay," exclaimed Rolfganger; "never will I kneel before a mortal;
never will I kiss the foot of any man."
The French counts, however, insisted on this ceremony, and Rolfganger,
with an affectation of simplicity, made a sign to one of his comrades.
The Norman, obeying his chief's gesture, immediately stepped forward
and seized upon Charles's foot. Neglecting, however, to bend his own
knee, he lifted the King's foot so high in the effort to bring it to
his lips, that the chair of state was overturned, and the heir of
Charlemagne lay sprawling on his back.
[Illustration: Rolfganger paying homage to Charles the Simple.]
At this ludicrous incident the Normans raised shouts of derisive
laughter, and the French held up their hands in horror. For a few
moments all was confusion, but fortunately no serious quarrel
resulted; and soon after, Rolfganger was received into the Christian
Church, and married to Gisla, the King's daughter, at Rouen.
Rolfganger, having begun life anew as a Christian and a Count, divided
the territory of Neustria among his comrades, and changed its name to
Normandy. Maintaining internal order by severe laws, and administering
affairs with vigour, he soon became famous as the most successful
justiciary of the age. Such was the security felt under his
government, that mechanics and labourers flocked to establish
themselves in the newly-founded state, and the Normans applied
themselves to the arts of peace with as much ardour as they had
previously exhibited in their predatory enterprises.
Gradually adopting the French tongue, and refining their manners,
Rolfganger's comrades and their heirs were metamorphosed from a band
of pagan sea-kings and pirates into the most refined, the most
chivalrous, and the most religious race in Christendom--orators from
their cradle; warriors charging in chain mail, with resistless
courage, at the head of fighting men; and munificent benefactors to
religious houses, where holy monks kept alive the flame of ancient
learning, and dispensed befitting charities to the indigent and poor.
[Illustration]
II.
WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR.
One glorious afternoon in the autumn of the year 1023, some damsels of
humble rank were making merry and dancing joyously under the shade of
trees in the neighbourhood of Falaise, when, homeward from the chase,
accompanied by knights, squires, and grooms, with his bugle at his
girdle, his hawk on his wrist, and his hounds running at his horse's
feet, came, riding with feudal pride, that Duke of Normandy whom some,
in consideration, perhaps, of substantial favours, called Robert the
Magnificent, and whom others, in allusion to his violent temper,
characterized as Robert the Devil.
Not being quite indifferent to female charms, Duke Robert reined up,
and, as he did so, with an eye wandering from face to form and from
form to face, the grace and beauty of one of the dancers arrested his
attention and touched his heart. After expressing his admiration, and
learning that she was the daughter of a tanner, the duke pursued his
way. But he was more silent and meditative than usual; and, soon
after reaching the Castle of Falaise, he deputed the most discreet of
his knights to go to the father of the damsel to reveal his passion
and to plead his cause.
It appears that the negotiation was attended with considerable
difficulty. At first, the tanner, who had to be consulted, treated the
duke's proposals with scorn; but, after a pause, he agreed to take the
advice of his brother, who, as a hermit in the neighbouring forest,
enjoyed a high reputation for sanctity. The oracle's response was not
quite consistent with his religious pretensions. Though dead,
according to his own account, to the vanities of the world, the hermit
would seem to have cherished a lingering sympathy with human frailty.
At all events, he declared that subjects ought, in all things, to
conform to the will of their prince; and the tanner, without further
scruple, allowed his daughter to be conducted to the castle of Robert
the Devil. In due time Arlette gave birth to a son, destined, as
"William the Conqueror," to enrol his name in the annals of fame.
It was the 14th of October, 1024, when William the Norman drew his
first breath in the Castle of Falaise. Arlette had previously been
startled with a dream, portending that her son should reign over
Normandy and England; and no sooner did William see the light than he
gave a pledge of that energy which he was in after years to exhibit.
Being laid upon the floor, he seized the rushes in his hands, and
grasped them with such determination, that the matrons who were
present expressed their astonishment, and congratulated Arlette on
being the mother of such a boy.
"Be of good cheer," cried one of them, with prophetic enthusiasm; "for
verily your son will prove a king!"
At first Robert the Devil did not deign to notice the existence of the
boy who was so soon to wear the chaplet of golden roses that formed
the ducal diadem of Normandy; but William, when a year old, was
presented to the duke, and immediately won the feudal magnate's heart.
"Verily," said he, "this is a boy to be proud of. He is wonderfully
like my ancestors, the old dukes of the Normans, and he must be
nurtured with care."
From that time the mother and the child were dear to Duke Robert.
Arlette was treated with as much state as if a nuptial benediction had
been pronounced by the Archbishop of Rouen: and William was educated
with more than the care generally bestowed, at that time, on the
princes of Christendom. At eight he could read the "Commentaries of
Cæsar;" and in after life he was in the habit of repeating a saying of
one of the old counts of Anjou, "that a king without letters is a
crowned ass."
It happened that, about the year 1033, Robert the Devil, reflecting on
his manifold transgressions, and eager to make atonement, resolved on
a penitential pilgrimage to Jerusalem. A serious obstacle, however,
presented itself. The Norman nobles, with whom the descendant of
Rolfganger was in high favour, on being convened, protested loudly
against his departure.
"The state," they with one voice exclaimed, "will be in great peril if
we are left without a chief."
"By my faith!" said Robert, "I will not leave you without a chief. I
have a little bastard--I know he is my son; and he will grow a gallant
man, if it please God. Take him, then, as your liege lord; for I
declare him my heir, and bestow upon him the whole Duchy of Normandy."
No objections were raised to the Duke's proposal. In fact, everything
seems to have gone more smoothly than could have been anticipated.
William was formally presented to the assembly, and each feudal lord,
placing his hand within those of the boy, took the oath of allegiance
with such formalities as were customary.
Having arranged matters to his satisfaction, and placed his son under
the protection of the court of France, Duke Robert took the pilgrim's
scrip and staff, and, attended by a band of knights, set out for the
Holy Sepulchre. On reaching Asia Minor he fell sick, and, dispensing
with the company of his knights, hired four Saracens to carry him in a
litter onward to Jerusalem. When approaching the Holy City, he was met
by a palmer from Normandy, and waved his hand in token of recognition.
"Palmer," cried the duke, "tell my valiant lords that you have seen me
carried towards Paradise on the backs of fiends."
The fate of Duke Robert was never clearly ascertained; but from his
pilgrimage to Jerusalem it is certain that he did not return to
Normandy. Within a year of his departure, indeed, news reached Rouen
that the pilgrim-duke had breathed his last at Nice; and the Normans,
though without implicitly believing the report, gradually came to
think of him as one who had gone to his long home.
With news of the death of Robert the Magnificent came the crisis of
the fate of "William the Bastard." Notwithstanding the oath taken with
so much ceremony, the Norman barons were in no humour to submit to a
boy--and to a boy, especially, who was illegitimate.
It was in vain that the guardians of young William exerted all their
energies to establish his power. One pretender after another was put
down by the strong hand. But the old Norman seigneurs, who had
submitted with reluctance to the rule of legitimate princes, steeled
their hearts against the humiliation of bending their knees to a
bastard.
Among the nobles of Normandy, by far the haughtiest and most turbulent
were the seigneurs of Bessi and Cotentin. These men were proud to
excess of their Norwegian descent, and very tenacious of their
Scandinavian traditions and customs. Indeed, they treated with
something like contempt the conversion of the Normans to Christianity,
carried pagan devices on their shields, and rode into battle with the
old Scandinavian war-cry of "Thor aide!" Rejoicing, above all things,
in the purity of their blood, these ancient seigneurs not only talked
with ridicule of the idea of submitting to the son of Arlette, but
formed a strong league, marshalled their fighting men, and prepared to
display their banners and seize William's person.
When this conspiracy was formed, William had attained his seventeenth
year, and, utterly unconscious of his danger, was residing in a castle
unprepared for defence. The Counts of Bessi and Cotentin were making
ready to mount their war-steeds and secure their prey, when one of
their household fools stole away during the night, reached the castle
where William was, clamoured for admittance in a loud voice, and would
not be silenced till led to the young duke's presence. On getting
audience of William, the fool hastily told him of his peril, and
warned him to fly instantly.
"What say you?" asked William in surprise.
"I tell you," answered the fool, "that your enemies are coming, and,
if you don't fly without delay, you'll be slain."
After some further questioning, William resolved to take the fool's
advice, and mounting, spurred rapidly towards the Castle of Falaise.
But he was imperfectly acquainted with the country; and he had not
ridden far when he missed his way. William reined up his steed, and
halted in perplexity and dismay; and his alarm was increased by
hearing sounds as of enemies following at no great distance.
Fortunately, at that moment, however, he met a peasant, who, by
pointing out the way to the fugitive, and setting the pursuers off in
a wrong direction, enabled the duke to reach Falaise in safety.
At that time, Henry, grandson of Hugh Capet, figured as King of
France, and wore the diadem which his grandsire had torn from the head
of the heirs of Charlemagne. In other days, Henry had been protected
against the enmity of an imperious mother and a turbulent brother by
Robert the Magnificent; and when William hastened to the French court,
Henry, moved by the young duke's tale of distress, and remembering
Robert's services, promised to give all the aid in his power. Ere long
he redeemed his pledge by leading a French army against the
insurgents. The result was the defeat of the rebel lords in a pitched
battle at the "Val des Dunes," near Caen, and a victory which, for a
time, gave security to Arlette's son on the ducal throne of Rollo.
William's youth was so far fortunate. His friends regarded him with
idolatry; and his enemies, forced to admit that he seemed not unworthy
of his position, became quiescent. The day on which he mounted his
horse without placing foot in stirrup was hailed with joy; and the day
on which he received knighthood was kept as a holiday throughout
Normandy.
As time passed on, William showed himself very ambitious, and somewhat
vindictive. He made war on his neighbours in Maine and Britanny on
slender provocations, and resented without mercy any offensive
allusion to his maternal parentage. One day, when he was besieging the
town of Alençon, the inhabitants, to annoy him, beat leather skins on
the walls, in allusion to the occupation of his grandfather, and
shouted, "Hides, hides!" William, in bitter rage, revenged himself by
causing the hands and feet of all his prisoners to be cut off, and
thrown by the slingers over the walls into the town.
But, whatever William's faults, he was loved and respected by his
friends. Nor could the duke's worst enemy deny that he looked a prince
of whom any people might well have been proud. In person he was scarce
above the ordinary height; but so grand was his air, and so majestic
his bearing, that he seemed to tower above ordinary mortals. His
strength of arm was prodigious; and few were the warriors in that age
who could even bend his bow. His face was sufficiently handsome to
command the admiration of women, and his aspect sufficiently stern to
awe men into submission to his will. No prince in Europe was more
capable of producing an impression on a beholder than, at the age of
twenty-five, was the warrior destined to attempt and accomplish that
mighty exploit since celebrated as the Norman Conquest of England.
[Illustration]
III.
[Illustration: Sweyn struck by the hand of death.]
THE DANES IN ENGLAND.
At the time when William the Norman was making good his claim to the
Dukedom won by Rolfganger, the Saxons had been settled in England for
nearly six centuries. During that long period, however, the country
had frequently been exposed to the horrors of civil war and to the
inroads of those ruthless Northmen, who "replunged into barbarism the
nations over which they swept."
It was about the year 451 that the Saxons, with huge axes on their
shoulders, set foot on the shores of Britain. At that period--when the
ancient Britons, left by the Roman conquerors at the mercy of the
Picts and Scots, were complaining that the barbarians drove them to
the sea, and that the sea drove them back to the barbarians--there
anchored off the coast of Kent three bulky ships, commanded by Hengist
and Horsa, two Saxon chiefs, who claimed descent from Woden, their god
of war, and boasted of some military skill acquired when fighting in
the ranks of Rome. From Hengist and Horsa, still worshippers of Thor
and Woden, the Britons implored aid against the Picts and Scots; and
the Saxon chiefs, calling over a band of their countrymen, speedily
drove the painted Caledonians to their mountains and fastnesses.
After having rescued the Britons from their northern neighbours, the
Saxons did not exhibit any haste to leave the country which they had
delivered. Indeed, these mighty sons of Woden rather seemed ambitious
of making Britain their own; and Hengist, having settled in
Lincolnshire, gave a great feast. Among other guests who on this
occasion came to the Saxon's stronghold was Vortigern, a King among
the Britons, and, his eye being arrested and his heart inflamed by the
grace and beauty of Rowena, the daughter of Hengist, while she
presented the wassail-cup on bended knee, he became so desperately
enamoured that he never rested till the fair and fascinating Saxon was
his wife. After the marriage of Vortigern and Rowena, the Saxons
plainly intimated their intention of being masters of Britain, and,
the sword having been drawn, the two races--the Saxons and the
Celts--commenced that struggle which lasted for more than a hundred
and fifty years, during which King Arthur and the Knights of his Round
Table are said to have wrought those marvellous exploits which have
been celebrated by chroniclers and bards.
At length, however, the Saxons, in spite of prolonged resistance,
established their supremacy, and, during the existence of the Saxon
Heptarchy, which included the whole country, subject to seven
Princes, the conquerors of Britain became converts to Christianity,
and members of the Catholic Church; and, abandoning the worship of
Thor and Woden, they endeavoured to show their zeal by erecting
churches and monasteries.
As time passed on, Egbert, King of Wessex, in 827 prevailed over all
rivals, formed the separate provinces into a single state, and reigned
as King of England. But while the Saxons were still engaged in putting
down the Celts and cutting each other to pieces, a band of grim
adventurers one morning sailed into the port of Teignmouth. In the
discharge of his duty, a Saxon magistrate proceeded to the shore to
learn whence they came and what they wanted. Without deigning an
answer, the strangers slew the magistrate and his attendants,
plundered the town, carried the booty to their ships, and then,
hoisting their sails, took their departure. This was the first
appearance in England of those Danes who were, ere long, to rend the
Anglo-Saxon empire in pieces, and place their King on the English
throne.
In fact, from the time of this their first visit to the English coast,
the Danes were constantly finding their way to England, and
signalising their inroads by every kind of barbarity. They were the
most reckless of pirates and pagans, calling the ocean their home and
the tempest their servant, and delighting to shed the blood of
Christian priests, to desecrate churches, and to stable their steeds
in chapels. In their cruel inroads, they tossed infants on the points
of their spears, and mocked the idea of tears and mourning. For them,
indeed, death had no terrors, for they believed themselves secure,
especially if they fell in battle, of being conveyed to Valhalla; and
gloried in the prospect of feasting in the halls of Odin, waited on by
lovely damsels, and quaffing beer out of huge cups of horn. Settling
gradually in Northumberland, East Anglia, and Mercia, the Danes
occupied the whole country north of the Thames. Only one province
remained to the Saxons, that of Wessex, which then extended from the
mouth of the Thames to the Bristol Channel.
Such was the state of affairs when, in 871, a Saxon King, named
Ethelred, was slain in a conflict with the Danes, and was succeeded by
his son, Alfred, afterwards Alfred the Great, but then a youth of
twenty-two. At first, the courage and ability of the young King
inspired the Saxons with high hopes. But Alfred, puffed up with
conceit of his superior knowledge, despised those whom he governed,
and his contemptuous indifference to their opinions and wishes
rendered him ere long so very unpopular that when, after having
reigned seven years, he was under the necessity of preparing against
an inroad of the Danes, he found himself, to his mortification, almost
unsupported. In vain the King, after the fashion of his ancestors,
sent messengers of war to town and hamlet, bearing the arrow and naked
sword, and proclaiming, "Let each man that is not a nothing leave his
house and come!" So few obeyed the summons that Alfred, deeply
mortified, abandoned his throne, and sought refuge in Cornwall.
It was at this dismal period that Alfred found shelter in the hut of a
swineherd, and, while examining his arrows, allowed the cakes to burn.
"Stupid man!" cried the swineherd's wife, unaware of his quality, "you
will not take the trouble to prevent my bread from burning, though
you're always so glad to eat it."
But, ere long, Alfred emerged from his obscure lurking-place, visited
the Danish camp disguised as a harper, and, while entertaining the
rude Northmen with music and song, became so well acquainted with the
situation of affairs that he took immediate steps to restore the old
Saxon nationality. Summoning fighting men of the Saxon race from every
quarter, Alfred met the Danes in the field, vanquished them in eight
battles, and finally reduced them to submission and obedience.
After the death of Alfred the Great, who had, after his restoration,
reigned with lustre and glory, Ethelstane, pursuing Alfred's
conquests, recovered York, crossed the Tweed, defeated the Danes and
Cambrians at Bamborough, and brought the whole island under his
dominion. For some time after Ethelstane's triumphs, the Saxons were
allowed unmolestedly to sow and reap, to buy and sell, to marry and
give in marriage.
In 994, however, Sweyn, King of Denmark, turned his eyes covetously
towards England, where Ethelred the Unready then reigned; and
forthwith, in company with Olaf, King of Norway, undertook an
expedition. Despairing of opposing the invaders with success,
Ethelred bribed them with a large sum of money to retire, and both of
them withdrew, after having sworn not again to trouble England.
Nevertheless, in 1001, Sweyn, in whom the spirit of the pirate was
strong, reappeared; and the Saxon King, seeing no way of getting rid
of such a foe except by bribery, agreed to pay an annual tribute, to
be levied throughout England under the name of "Dane-gold."
Sweyn, to whom an arrangement that was every year to replenish his
treasury seemed satisfactory, returned to Denmark. Many Danes,
however, remained in England, and conducted themselves with such
intolerable insolence that the Saxons projected a general massacre of
their unwelcome guests, and fixed on St. Brice's Day, 1002, for the
execution of their hoarded vengeance. Ethelred, who, having lost his
first wife, Elgira, the mother of Edmund Ironsides, had espoused Emma,
sister of the Duke of Normandy, and who deemed himself secure in the
alliance of the heir of Rolfganger, unhappily consented to the
massacre, and, on the appointed day, the Saxons applied themselves to
the work of extermination, little dreaming what would be the
consequences.
No sooner did Sweyn hear of the massacre of St. Brice, than he vowed
revenge, and, embarking with a mighty force, landed in England, and
commenced a work of bloodshed, carnage, sacrilege, destruction, and
every kind of enormity. Ethelred, after a vain attempt at resistance,
fled to Normandy, with Emma his wife, and their two sons, Alfred and
Edward; while Sweyn, left a victor, caused himself to be proclaimed
King of England. But he did not live long to enjoy his conquests. One
day, while feasting at Thetford, drinking to excess, and threatening
to spoil the monastery of St. Edmund, he suddenly felt as if he had
been violently struck, and the chiefs, who sat around in a circle,
observed that his face underwent a rapid change.
"Oh!" exclaimed Sweyn, gasping for breath, "I have been struck by this
St. Edmund with a sword!"
"Nay," said the Danish chiefs, who did not share their King's
superstitious feeling, "there is no St. Edmund here."
Death, however, seemed written on Sweyn's face, and horror took
possession of his soul. After suffering terrible tortures for three
days, he breathed his last, and left his claims and pretensions to his
son Canute, who, coming victoriously out of that struggle with Edmund
Ironsides, in which the royal Saxon, after repeatedly defeating the
Danes, perished by the hand of an assassin, succeeded to the English
throne, where he was destined to render his name memorable and his
memory illustrious as Canute the Great.
It appears that, during these unfortunate struggles with the Danes,
Ethelred and his son Edmund Ironsides relied much on the services of a
man whom the Saxon King delighted to honour, and whom English
historians have since branded as one of the most infamous traitors
that ever breathed English air. This was Edric Streone, who had
obtained from Ethelred the Earldom of Mercia, and who evinced his
gratitude for that and countless favours by betraying his benefactor
and suborning a ruffian to stab his benefactor's son.
After Ironsides' murder, Edric hastened to Canute and claimed a
reward. Not unwilling, perhaps, to profit by the treachery, but
abhorring the traitor, the Danish conqueror had recourse to
dissimulation, and spoke to Edric in language which raised the
villain's hopes.
"Depend upon it," said Canute, "I will set your head higher than any
man's in the realm;" and, by way of redeeming his promise, he soon
after ordered the traitor to be beheaded.
"King," cried Edric, in amazement, "remember you not your promise?"
"I do," answered Canute, with grim humour. "I promised to set your
head higher than other men's, and I will keep my word." And having
ordered Edric to be executed, he caused the body to be flung into the
Thames, and the head to be placed high over the highest of the gates
of London.
After having won considerable popularity among the Saxons by the
execution of Edric Streone, Canute, who figured as King of Denmark and
Norway, as well as England, endeavoured to strengthen his position by
a matrimonial alliance. With this view the royal Dane wedded Emma of
Normandy, the widow of Ethelred; and it was supposed that, at his
death, Hardicanute, the son whom he had by this fair descendant of
Rolfganger, was to succeed to the English throne.
In 1035, however, when Canute the Great went the way of all flesh, and
when his remains were laid in the Cathedral of Winchester, there was
living in London one of his illegitimate sons, named Harold, who, from
his swiftness in running, was surnamed Harefoot. Immediately, Harold
Harefoot claimed the crown, and a contest took place between his
adherents and those of Hardicanute, who was then in Denmark. Harold
Harefoot, however, being favoured by the Danes of London, carried the
day; and finding that the Archbishop refused to perform the ceremony
of coronation, he placed the crown on his head with his own hand,
became an avowed enemy of the Church, lived as one "who had abjured
Christianity," and displayed his contempt for religious rites by
having his table served and sending out his dogs to hunt at the hour
when people were assembling for worship.
After reigning four years, however, he breathed his last, and was
buried at Westminster.
When Harold Harefoot died, Hardicanute was at Bruges with his mother,
the Norman Emma, and he immediately sailed for England. No attempt
seems to have been made to restore the Saxon line. Indeed, Hardicanute
found himself received with general joy, and commenced his career as
King of England by causing the body of his half-brother to be dug out
of his tomb at Westminster and thrown into the Thames. Hardicanute
then abandoned himself to gluttony and drunkenness, and scandalously
oppressed the nation over which he swayed the sceptre. His career,
however, was brief, and his end was so sudden, that some have ascribed
it to foul play.
It was the 8th of June, 1041, and Hardicanute was celebrating the
wedding of a Danish chief at Lambeth. Nobody expected a catastrophe,
for he was still little more than twenty, and his constitution was
remarkably strong. While revelling and carousing, however, he suddenly
tossed up his arms and dropped on the floor a corpse. Some ascribed
the death of Hardicanute to poison, but none lamented his fate; and,
by the Saxons, the event was rather hailed as a sign for the
restoration of the Saxon line and the heirs of Alfred.
IV.
EARL GODWIN.
One morning, at the time when Edmund Ironside and Canute were
struggling desperately for the kingdom of England, and when the son of
Ethelred had just defeated the son of Sweyn in a great battle in
Warwickshire, a Danish captain--Ulf by name--separated from his men,
and, flying to save his life, entered a wood with the paths of which
he was quite unacquainted. Halting in one of the glades, and looking
round in extreme perplexity, he felt relieved by the approach of a
young Saxon, in the garb of a herdsman, driving his father's oxen to
the pastures.
"Thy name, youth," said Ulf to the herdsman, saluting him after the
fashion of his country.
"I," answered the herdsman, "am Godwin, son of Wolwoth; and thou, if I
mistake not, art one of the Danes."
"It is true," said Ulf. "I have wandered about all night, and now I
beg you tell me how far I am from the Danish camp, or from the ships
stationed in the Severn, and by what road I can reach them."
"Mad," exclaimed Godwin, "must be the Dane who looks for safety at the
hands of a Saxon."
"Nevertheless," said Ulf, "I entreat thee to leave thy herd and guide
me to the camp, and I promise that thou shalt be richly rewarded."
"The way is long," said Godwin, shaking his head, "and perilous would
be the attempt. The peasants, emboldened by victory, are everywhere up
in arms, and little mercy would they show either to thee or thy
guide."
"Accept this, youth," said the Dane, coaxingly, as he drew a gold ring
from his finger.
"No," answered Godwin, after examining the jewel with curiosity, "I
will not take the ring, but I will give you what aid I can."
Having thus promised his assistance to Ulf, Godwin took the Danish
captain under his guidance, and led him to Wolwoth's cottage hard by,
and, when night came, prepared to conduct him, by bye-paths, to the
camp. They were about to depart when Wolwoth, with a tear in his eye,
laid his hand in that of the Dane.
"Stranger," said the old man, "know that it is my only son who trusts
to your good faith. For him there will be no safety among his
countrymen from the moment he has served you as a guide. Present him,
therefore, to Canute, that he may be taken into your king's service."
"Fear not, Saxon," said Ulf, "I will do more than you ask for your
son. I will treat him as my own."
The Dane and Godwin then left Wolwoth's cottage, and, under the
guidance of the young herdsman, the Dane reached the camp in safety.
Nor was his promise forgotten. On entering his tent, Ulf seated Godwin
on a seat as highly-raised as his own, and, from that hour, treated
him with paternal kindness.
It was under such romantic circumstances, if we may credit ancient
chroniclers and modern historians, that Godwin entered on that
marvellous career which was destined to conduct him to more than regal
power in England. Presented by Ulf to Canute, the son of Wolwoth soon
won the favour of the Danish king; nor was he of a family whose
members ever allowed any scrupulous adherence to honour to stand in
the way of ambitious aspirations. Indeed, he was nephew of that Edric
Streone who had betrayed Ethelred the Unready, and whom Canute had
found it necessary to sacrifice to the national indignation; and it
has been observed that, "even as kinsman to Edric, who, whatever his
crimes, must have retained a party it was wise to conciliate, Godwin's
favour with Canute, whose policy would lead him to show marked
distinction to any able Saxon follower, ceases to be surprising."
But, however that may have been, Godwin, protected by the king and
inspired by ambition, rose rapidly to fame and fortune. Having
accompanied Canute to Denmark, and afterwards signalized his military
skill by a great victory over the Norwegians, he returned to England
with the reputation of being, of all others, the man whom the Danish
King delighted to honour. No distinction now appeared too high to be
conferred on the son of Wolwoth. Ere long he began to figure as Earl
of Wessex, and husband of Thyra, one of Canute's daughters.
Godwin's marriage with the daughter of Canute did not increase the
Saxon Earl's popularity. Indeed, Thyra was accused of sending young
Saxons as slaves to Denmark, and regarded with much antipathy. One
day, however, Thyra was killed by lightning; soon after, her only son
was drowned in the Thames; and Godwin lost no time in supplying the
places of his lady and his heir.
Again at liberty to gratify his ambition by a royal alliance, he
wedded Githa, daughter of Sweyne, Canute's successor on the throne of
Denmark; and the Danish princess, as time passed on, made her husband
father of six sons--Sweyne, Harold, Tostig, Gurth, Leofwine, and
Wolwoth--besides two daughters--Edith and Thyra--all destined to have
their names associated in history with that memorable event known as
the Norman Conquest.
Meanwhile, Godwin was taking that part in national events which he
hoped would raise him to still higher power among his countrymen, when
Canute the Great breathed his last, and was laid at rest in the
cathedral at Winchester. Then there arose a dispute about the
sovereignty of England between Hardicanute and Harold Harefoot. The
South declared for Hardicanute, the North for Harefoot. Both had their
chances; but Harold Harefoot being in England at the time, as we have
seen, while Hardicanute was in Denmark, had decidedly the advantage
over his rival.
Godwin, however, favouring Hardicanute, invited Queen Emma to England.
He assumed the office of Protector, and received the oaths of the men
of the South. But for once the son of Wolwoth found fortune adverse to
his policy; and, having waited till Emma made peace with Harold
Harefoot, the potent Earl also swore obedience, and allowed the claims
of Hardicanute to rest.
But when time passed over, and affairs took a turn, when Harold
Harefoot died, and Hardicanute, having come to England, ascended the
throne, excited the national discontent by imposing excessive taxes,
and was perpetually alarmed, in the midst of his debaucheries, with
intelligence of tax-gatherers murdered and cities in insurrection, it
became pretty clear that the Danish domination must, ere long, come to
an end. Then Godwin, who had ever a keen eye to his interest,
doubtless watched the signs of the times with all the vigilance
demanded by the occasion, and marked well the course of events which
were occurring to place the game in his hands. Accordingly, when, in
the summer of 1041, Hardicanute expired so suddenly at Lambeth, while
taking part in the wedding festivities of one of his Danish chiefs,
Godwin perceived that the time had arrived for the restoration of
Saxon royalty. With his characteristic energy, he raised his standard,
and applied himself to the business. His success was even more signal
than he anticipated. Indeed, if he had chosen, he might have ascended
the throne of Alfred and of Canute. But his policy was to increase his
own power without exciting the envy of others. With this view he
assembled a great council at Gillingham. Acting by his advice, the
assembled chiefs resolved on calling to the throne, not the true heir
of England--the son of Edmund Ironsides, who resided in Hungary, and
probably had a will of his own--but an Anglo-Saxon prince who had been
long absent from England--an exile known to be inoffensive in
character as well as interesting from misfortune, and with whom Godwin
doubtless believed he could do whatever he pleased. At all events, it
was as King-maker, and not as King, that the ennobled son of Wolwoth
aspired, at this crisis, to influence the destinies of England.
V.
EDWARD THE CONFESSOR.
While Duke William was overcoming his enemies in Normandy, and Earl
Godwin was putting an end to the domination of the Danes in England,
there might have been observed about the Court of Rouen a man of mild
aspect and saintly habits, who had reached the age of forty. He was an
exile, a Saxon prince, and one of the heirs of Alfred.
It was about the opening of the eleventh century that King Ethelred,
then a widower, and father of Edmund Ironsides, espoused Emma, sister
of Richard, Duke of Normandy. From this marriage sprung two sons and a
daughter. The sons were named Edward and Alfred; the name of the
daughter was Goda.
Edward was a native of England, and drew his first breath, in the year
1002, at Islip, near Oxford. At an early age, however, when the
massacre of the Danes on the day of St. Brice resulted in the exile of
Ethelred, Edward, with the other children of Ethelred and Emma, found
refuge at the Court of Normandy. It was there that the youth of Edward
was passed; it was there that his tastes were formed; and it was there
that, brooding over the misfortunes of his country and his race, he
sought consolation in those saintly theories and romantic practices
which distinguished him so widely from the princes of that fierce and
adventurous period which preceded the first Crusade.
When Ethelred the Unready breathed his last, in 1016, and Canute the
Great demanded the widowed queen in marriage, and Emma, delighted at
the prospect of still sharing the throne of England, threw herself
into the arms of the royal Dane, her two sons, Edward and Alfred,
remained for a time securely in Normandy. Indeed, they do not appear
to have been by any means pleased at the idea of their mother uniting
her fate with a man whom they had regarded as their father's mortal
foe. However, as years passed over, the sons of Ethelred received an
invitation from Harold Harefoot to visit their native country, and
they did not think fit to decline. At all events, it appears that
Alfred proceeded to England, and that he went attended by a train of
six hundred Normans.
On arriving in England, Alfred was immediately invited by Harold
Harefoot to come to London, and, not suspecting any snare, he hastened
to present himself at court. No sooner, however, had the Saxon prince
reached Guildford than he was met by Earl Godwin, conducted under some
pretence into the Castle, separated from his attendants--who were
massacred by hundreds--and then put in chains, to be conveyed to the
Isle of Ely, where he was deprived of his sight, and so severely
treated that he died of misery and pain.
Edward, who had remained in Normandy, soon learned with horror that
his brother had been murdered; and when Hardicanute succeeded Harold
Harefoot, he hastened to England to demand justice on Godwin.
Hardicanute received his half-brother with kindness, promised that he
should have satisfaction, and summoned the Earl of Wessex to answer
for the murder of Prince Alfred. But Godwin's experience was great,
and his craft was equal to his experience. Without scruple, he offered
to swear that he was entirely guiltless of young Alfred's death, and
at the same time presented Hardicanute with a magnificent galley,
ornamented with gilded metal, and manned by eighty warriors, every one
of whom had a gilded axe on his left shoulder, a javelin in his right
hand, and bracelets on each arm. The young Danish king looked upon
this gift as a most conclusive argument in favour of Godwin's
innocence--and the son of Wolwoth was saved.
Edward returned to Normandy, and passed the next five years of his
life in monkish austerities. But when the Danish domination came to an
end, and the Grand Council was held at Gillingham, Godwin, as if to
atone for consigning one of the sons of Ethelred to a tomb, hastened
to place the other on a throne. Edward, then in his fortieth year, was
accordingly elected king, and, on reaching England, was crowned at
Winchester, in that sacred edifice where his illustrious ancestors
and their Danish foes reposed in peace together.
It is related by the chroniclers of this period, that when Edward,
arrayed in royal robes, and accompanied by bishops and nobles, was on
the point of entering the church to be crowned, a man afflicted with
leprosy sat by the gate.
"What do you there?" cried the king's friends. "Move out of the way."
"Nay," said Edward, meekly, "suffer him to remain."
"King!" cried the leper, in a loud voice, "I conjure you, by the
living God, to have me carried into the church, that I may pray to be
made whole!"
"Unworthy should I be of heaven if I did not," Edward replied; and,
stooping forward, he raised the leprous man on his back, bore him into
the church, and prayed earnestly, and not in vain, for his
restoration. Roger Hoveden even asserts that the king's prayers were
heard, and that the leper was made whole from that hour. But, in any
case, there can be no doubt that on the fierce nobles and people of
his realm such a scene as this must have produced a strange
impression. It was believed that Edward's sanctity gave him the power
to heal; and belief in the influence which his hand was in this way
supposed to have, led to the custom of English sovereigns touching for
the king's evil.
In fact, however, people soon discovered that Edward was more of a
monk than a monarch; and far happier would he have been if he had
remained in Normandy, and sought refuge from the rude and wicked world
in the quiet of a cloister. It soon appeared, moreover, that the son
of Ethelred was intended to be king but in name; and that the son of
Wolwoth was to be virtually sovereign of England. The plan was not
unlikely to succeed. Indeed, Edward was so saintly and so simple, that
Godwin might, to the hour of his death, have exercised all real power,
had he not, with the vulgar ambition natural to such a man, risked
everything for the chance of his posterity occupying the English
throne.
It appears that Godwin, by his marriage with Githa, the Danish
princess, had, besides six sons, two daughters, Edith and Thyra.
Edith, at the time of the restoration of the Saxon monarchy, is
described as having been young, beautiful, and remarkable for her
learning. It can hardly be doubted that her character and disposition
contrasted favourably with the other members of the family that then
domineered in England; and she was praised for not resembling them.
"As the thorn produces the rose," people said, "so Godwin produced
Edith."
The idea of making his daughter the wife of a king, and perhaps living
to see his grandson wear a crown, fired Godwin's imagination; and it
is even said that Edward, before leaving Normandy, was forced to
swear, in the most solemn manner, that, if elected, he would marry
Edith. But however that may have been, the imperious Earl insisted on
the meek king becoming his son-in-law; and a man who, even in the days
of his youth, had been much too saintly to think of matrimony, was
compelled, when turned of forty, to espouse a woman on the hands of
whose father was his brother's blood, and to whose family he had,
naturally enough, a thorough aversion.
[Illustration]
VI.
[Illustration: The judgment of God on Godwin.]
THE KING AND THE KING-MAKER.
It was 1042 when Edward--afterwards celebrated as the Confessor--found
himself placed by the hand of Godwin on the throne of his ancestors,
and provided with a wife and queen in the person of Edith, Godwin's
daughter. At first, matters went pleasantly enough, and, indeed,
appeared promising. But no real friendship could exist between the
Anglo-Saxon king and the man whom he regarded as his brother's
murderer. Ere six years passed, Godwin and the king were foes, and
England was the scene of discord and disorder.
At that time the prejudice of the Anglo-Saxons against foreigners was
peculiarly strong. Before returning to the land of his birth,
therefore, Edward was under the necessity of promising that he should
bring with him no considerable number of Normans. The condition was
observed in so far that few Normans did accompany Edward to England.
But no sooner was he seated on the throne, and in a position to grant
favours, than his palace was open to all comers; and guests from the
court of Rouen flocked to the court of Westminster.
When Edward's Norman friends presented themselves, they met with the
most cordial welcome; and being, for the most part, men of adventurous
talents, they soon began to look upon the country as their property,
and grasped at every office which the king had to bestow. Ere long,
Norman priests found themselves bishops in England; Norman warriors
figured as governors of English castles; and the court became so
thoroughly Normanized, that the national dress, language, and manners,
went wholly out of fashion.
The Anglo-Saxon nobles do not appear to have manifested any jealousy
of the king's friends. In fact, their inclination was quite the
reverse. The polish and refinement of their new associates excited
their admiration, and they hastened to adopt the Norman fashions.
Throwing aside their long cloaks, they assumed the short Norman
mantle, with its wide sleeves; they neglected their native tongue to
imitate, as well as they could, the language spoken by Norman prelates
and warriors; and, instead of signing their names, as of old, they
began to affix seals to their deeds. The Anglo-Saxon dress, manners,
and language were no longer accounted worthy of men who pretended to
rank and breeding.
Meanwhile, Godwin not only steadily abstained from adopting the Norman
fashions, but looked upon the king's foreign friends as mortal foes,
and regarded everything about them with hatred. He felt, with pain,
that they kept alive the memory of Prince Alfred and their murdered
countrymen, and he perceived with uneasiness that each new arrival had
the effect of weakening his influence with the king. It was under such
circumstances that he set his face against foreigners, and found means
of exciting the popular prejudices against the man whom, for selfish
purposes, he had, to the exclusion of the true heir, placed on the
English throne. The multitude, ever ready to be deluded, took
precisely the view Godwin wished, and began to speak of the pampered
and overgrown adventurer as a neglected and long-suffering patriot.
"Is it astonishing," said one, "that the author and support of
Edward's reign should be indignant at seeing new men from a foreign
nation raised above him?"
"And yet," observed another, "never does he utter a harsh word to the
man whom he himself created king."
"Curse all Norman favourites!" exclaimed a third.
"And," cried a fourth, "long life to the great chief--to the chief
magnanimous by sea and land!"
While such was the situation of affairs, Eustace, Count of Boulogne,
happened, in the year 1048, to come as a guest to England. Eustace was
husband of Edward's sister, Goda; and the king naturally strove to
make the visit of his brother-in-law as pleasant as possible. After
remaining for some time at the English court, however, Eustace
prepared to return home; but on reaching Dover, where he intended to
embark, an awkward quarrel took place between his attendants and the
townsmen. A fray was the consequence; and in a conflict which took
place, twenty of the count's men were unfortunately slain. Angry and
indignant at the slaughter of his followers, Eustace, instead of
embarking, turned back to demand redress, and hastened to lay his
complaint before the king, who was then keeping his court in the
castle of Gloucester.
Edward, ashamed of the riot, and horrified at the bloodshed, promised
that condign punishment should be inflicted on the perpetrators of the
outrage, and deputed the duty to Godwin, in whose earldom the town of
Dover was included.
"Go without delay," said Edward, "and chastise by a military
execution, those who have attacked my relative with arms in their
hands, and who have disturbed the peace of the country."
"Nay," said Godwin, "it is not right to condemn, without hearing, men
whom it is your duty to protect."
Nettled by the tone of Godwin's refusal, and aware of the refractory
spirit by which the earl was animated, Edward gave way to anger, and
convoked a great council at Gloucester. Before this assembly Godwin
was summoned to answer for his conduct. Instead of appearing, the Earl
of Wessex mustered an army with the object of setting Edward at
defiance. England seemed on the verge of a civil war, but a peace was
patched up by the mediation of Siward, Earl of Northumberland, and
Leofric, Earl of Mercia, husband of that Godiva whose equestrian feat
at Coventry the grateful citizens have since so often commemorated.
But the efforts of Siward and Leofric proved vain. The king and Godwin
indeed pretended to be reconciled. But neither was sincere. Ere long,
the quarrel broke out afresh with great bitterness; and the earl,
finding the king much more resolute than could have been expected,
consulted his safety by escaping with his wife and family to Flanders.
Freed from the presence of his imperious father-in-law, and feeling
himself at length a king in reality, Edward passed sentence of
outlawry on Godwin and his sons, seized on their earldoms, and
confiscated their property. Even Edith, the queen, did not escape her
share of the adversity of her house. After being deprived of her lands
and money she was sent to a convent in Hampshire, and condemned in a
cloister to sigh with regret over the ambition that had united her
fate with that of a man who had regarded her with a sentiment akin to
horror.
"It is not meet," said Edward's Norman friends, ironically, "that
while this woman's family undergo all the evils of exile, she herself
should sleep upon down."
"But the King's wife!" remonstrated the Anglo-Saxon nobles.
"Tush!" answered the Normans, significantly; "she is his wife only in
name."
While Godwin was an exile in Flanders, William, Duke of Normandy, paid
a visit to the King of England. Edward received his kinsman with
great affection, entertained him magnificently, and treated him with
such distinction as encouraged the Norman Duke's most ambitious hopes.
Indeed, it has been said that "William appeared in England more a king
than Edward himself, and that his ambitious mind was not slow in
conceiving the hope of becoming such in reality." Nor did William
return to Normandy without tokens of Edward's good will. Magnificent
presents of armour, horses, dogs, and falcons were the substantial
pledges with which the monk-king accompanied his assurances of
friendship for the warrior-duke.
But, meantime, Godwin grew weary of exile and eager for revenge.
Impatient to return to England, and to wreak his fury on the Norman
favourites, the banished earl resolved, at all hazards, on leaving
Flanders. Having obtained ships from Count Baldwin, he sailed from
Bruges; and, soon after Edward had witnessed the departure of his
martial kinsman for Normandy, the fleet of his outlawed father-in-law
sailed up the Thames and anchored at Southwark.
Edward was in London when Godwin's fleet appeared in this menacing
attitude; and, assembling his council, the king, with a flash of
ancestral spirit, evinced a strong desire to oppose force to force.
But, though the Norman courtiers were anxious to come to blows with
their mortal foe, the king was the only Englishman who participated in
their sentiments. Not only were the citizens of London all ready to
take up arms for the outlawed earl; but even Siward and Leofric, the
chiefs who had ever stood in opposition to Godwin, were in favour of
his restoration; and the soldiers who formed the royal army were
animated by such an antipathy to the foreign favourites, that it was
felt they could not be depended on in the event of matters being
pushed to extremity. In these circumstances, the king reluctantly
consented to refer the question to a council of nobles; and this
council, presided over by Robert Stigand, Bishop of East Anglia,
decided that the whole case should be submitted for judgment to the
Witenagemote, the National Council of the Anglo-Saxons.
On learning what had occurred, the Norman courtiers perceived that
there was no hope for them but in escape. Without hesitation,
therefore, they mounted their horses, and spurred from the palace of
Westminster. Headed by Robert, Archbishop of Canterbury, and William,
Bishop of London, a troop of Norman knights and gentlemen dashed
eastward, fought their way through the city, and, making for the
coast, embarked in fishing-boats; others fled to northern castles,
held by Hugh the Norman, and Osbert, surnamed Pentecost; and thence,
with Hugh and Osbert, made for the north, crossed the Tweed, and
sought security on Scottish soil. No mercy, they well knew, could be
expected at the hands of Godwin, and quite as little at the hands of a
multitude believing in his patriotism and exasperated against his
foes.
Meanwhile, the Witenagemote having been convoked, and all the best men
in the country having assembled to take part in the deliberations,
Godwin spoke in his own defence. The proceedings, as had been foreseen
from the beginning, resulted in the revocation of the sentence of
outlawry against the earl and his sons, and restoration to their lands
and honours. An exception was, indeed, made in the case of Godwin's
eldest son, Sweyn, who, having debauched the abbess of Leominster, and
murdered his kinsman, Earl Beorn, was deemed unworthy of the company
of Christians and warriors. But Sweyn relieved his family from all
awkwardness on this point by voluntarily undertaking a penitential
pilgrimage on foot to the Holy Sepulchre.
Matters having been thus arranged, the king accepted from Godwin the
oath of peace; and Godwin, as hostages for his good faith, placed his
youngest son, Wolnoth, and Haco, the son of Sweyn, in the hands of the
king, who sent them to the court of Rouen. At the same time, William,
the Norman Bishop of London, was, by the king's wish, recalled to
England; but Robert, the Norman Archbishop of Canterbury, was not so
fortunate. Stigand, instituted as Robert's successor, took possession
of the pallium which the Norman prelate had left behind in his sudden
flight.
When her kinsmen were restored to England, Edith, the queen, brought
from her convent in Hampshire, once more appeared at the palace of
Westminster; and the house of Godwin seemed more firmly established
than ever. The king, ceasing to struggle against the earl's influence,
occupied his attention with completing the abbey which he had been
building at Westminster, and Leofric and Siward seemed to bow to their
great rival's power and popularity. But the days of Godwin were
numbered.
It was the spring of 1054; Edward was holding his court in the castle
of Winchester; and Godwin and his sons were among the guests. One day,
when the feast was spread, and the king and the earl were seated at
the board, an attendant, who was stepping forward to pour wine into a
cup, happened to stumble with one foot, and quickly recovered himself
with the other. Edward smiled; and Godwin, willing to give a hint to
his sons, who were perpetually brawling with each other, turned
towards them.
"Well," remarked the earl, "you see how the brother has come to the
support of the brother."
"Ay," said the king, in a significant tone; "brother needs the aid of
brother; and would to God my brother Alfred yet lived to aid me!"
"Oh, king!" exclaimed Godwin, startled and irritated, "why is it that,
on the slightest recollection of your brother, you ever look so
angrily on me?"
Edward deigned no reply; but his pale brow grew stern, and his
withered cheek flushed with resentment.
"If," continued the earl, taking a piece of bread in his hand--"if I
contributed, even indirectly, to your brother's death, may the God of
Heaven grant this may choke me!"
With these words Godwin put the bread into his mouth; and, as he did
so, and as the eyes of the king were bent intently on his countenance,
the earl fell from his seat.
"It is the judgment of God!" muttered the courtiers with a shudder.
Tostig and Gurth, two of Godwin's sons, rushed forward, raised him in
their arms, and bore him from the hall; and, five days later, the Earl
of Wessex was a corpse.
VII.
[Illustration: William's love-making]
MATILDA OF FLANDERS.
On the memorable day on which William the Norman, during the exile of
Earl Godwin, appeared as an honoured guest in the halls of
Westminster, and speculated on the probability of figuring, at no
distant period, as King of England, the crown worn by Edward the
Confessor was not the only prize on which the young duke had set his
mind. In fact, love was blended with ambition in William's heart. He
had determined, somewhat in defiance of canon and precedent, to
espouse Matilda of Flanders; and no one who visited Bruges and looked
upon the fair and intelligent face of that graceful Flemish princess
could have wondered that a warrior-duke, not yet thirty, should
meditate the indiscretion of defying popes and prelates to enjoy the
privilege of calling her his own.
Matilda's pedigree was such as to make her a desirable bride for the
struggling son of Duke Robert. She was one of the daughters of
Baldwin, Count of Flanders, by Adele, daughter of Robert, King of
France; and, through an Anglo-Saxon ancestress, she had in her veins
the blood of Alfred the Great. But even with a much less illustrious
descent, Matilda would have been highly distinguished among the
princesses of the eleventh century. Nature had gifted the daughter of
Count Baldwin with beauty and talent, and careful education had
rendered her one of the most attractive and captivating among the
high-born maidens of whom Christendom could boast. William's ambition
and his heart were naturally enough fascinated with the idea of
wedding a princess of such rank and beauty; and while yet he found the
coronal of Normandy sitting somewhat uneasily on his brow, he sent
ambassadors to the Court of Flanders to demand Matilda's hand.
Notwithstanding William's illegitimate birth and disputed title, Count
Baldwin expressed no objection to accept him as a son-in-law. Indeed,
the count, feeling that William could prove a valuable friend or a
formidable foe, hailed the proposal with gratification. But two
obstacles immediately presented themselves--one difficulty was the
repugnance of Matilda, the other was the laws of the Church.
Matilda had no stronger objections to being led to the altar than
other ladies of her age. In fact, she is understood to have already
dreamed of the bridal veil and the marriage vow, and to have been
eager to become the spouse of a Saxon nobleman named Brihtrik, who had
appeared at her father's court. Perhaps Matilda's thoughts had dwelt
on Brihtrik longer than prudence warranted. In any case, when the
ambassadors from Rouen presented themselves at Bruges, she set
herself decidedly against the proposal of which they were the bearers.
"Why," said Baldwin, "do you object to the Count of the Normans?"
"Mention him not!" exclaimed Matilda, with a disdainful toss of her
finely-shaped head. "I will not have a bastard for my husband!"
But William, who feared not man's wrath, was not to be daunted by
woman's scorn. Every day he became more convinced of the necessity of
uniting himself with some princess capable, by her rank and lineage,
of giving dignity to his position. It appears, moreover, that the
warrior-duke really entertained a strong affection for Matilda; and he
seized an opportunity of manifesting the excess of his attachment by a
violent kind of love-making, which has long been out of fashion.
It is related that one day, when Matilda had been at mass, and was
quietly walking with her ladies of honour along the streets of Bruges
on her way to the palace, to employ her hands with the embroidery work
for which she was destined to become famous, and perhaps to occupy her
thoughts with the fair Saxon noble who had won her young heart without
giving his in return, William, arrayed as if for battle and mounted on
horseback, suddenly and unexpectedly made his appearance. Alighting
with a bound, he seized the princess in his strong arms, shook her,
beat her, rolled her on the ground, and fearfully damaged her rich
garments. After this extraordinary exhibition, he sprang into his
saddle, set spurs to his horse, and rode away at full speed.
It might have been supposed that William's violent conduct would have
increased Matilda's aversion to the match. The reverse, however, was
the case. The princess, in fact, appears to have been overwhelmed by
such a proof of affection.
"I am now convinced of the sincerity of his love," she said, "and I
will offer no further objections to taking him as a husband."
Ere Matilda began to conquer the repugnance she had expressed to a
union with the son of Duke Robert, William found, to his annoyance,
that the Church opposed his marriage with the fair Flemish princess,
on the ground of their being within the prohibited degrees of
relationship. It would seem, in fact, that Adele, Countess of
Flanders, had, in early youth, been betrothed to William's uncle,
Richard, Duke of Normandy; so that the mother of Matilda stood in the
relationship of aunt to the Norman duke, "an affinity," as has been
observed, "quite near enough to account for, if not to justify the
interference of the Church."
Nevertheless, William did not despair. Indeed, he had thoroughly made
up his mind to be Matilda's husband and Baldwin's son-in-law, and to
permit no priest to baffle him in a matrimonial scheme which ambition
and love alike rendered dear to his heart. It was in vain that Pope
Nicholas set himself in opposition to the marriage, and that the
legitimate heirs of Rolfganger prepared to take advantage of a rupture
between the son of Arlette and the See of Rome. William's perseverance
and policy overcame all obstacles, and at length, with a dispensation
in his hand, he claimed and received the bride he had so long wooed.
It was after his visit to the Court of Westminster, in 1052, and after
the restoration of Godwin and his sons to their country, that William
the Norman led Matilda of Flanders to the altar, and flattered himself
that, by espousing a descendant of Alfred, he had smoothed his way to
the throne from which Alfred had ruled England.
[Illustration]
VIII.
[Illustration: Death of Siward with harness on his back.]
SIWARD THE DANE.
At the time when Godwin and Edward were at feud, and when the earl was
browbeating the saintly prince whom he had placed on the English
throne--among the Saxons and Normans who assembled around the king to
discuss a grave question, or strike a great blow, might have been
observed an aged warrior of gigantic stature, leaning on a two-handed
sword, and regarding Saxon thane and Norman count with an expression
indicative of some degree of calm contempt. His dress recalled the
days of Canute and Hardicanute; his hair was white with years; his
frame was bowed with time; but his spirit was such as time could
neither bend nor break; and his eye still glanced at the sight of
battle-axe and shield. "Gray and vast, as some image of a gone and
mightier age, towered over all Siward, the son of Beorn, the great
Earl of Northumberland."
Siward was one of the most remarkable men who figured in the reign of
Edward the Confessor, and he had a history still more remarkable than
himself. A Dane, and of noble birth, he had, at an early age, left his
native shores, with an idea, perhaps, of emulating the feats of
Hasting or Haveloke. Landing in the Orcades, he engaged in single
combat, and put to the rout a large dragon, which had long been the
terror of the rude islanders. After performing this exploit, Siward
put to sea, left the Orcades behind, and, guiding his ship as a
horseman does a steed, reached the northern coast of England. Having
sprung ashore, and wandered into the forest in quest of adventures, he
met a venerable old man, with a long white beard, who entered into
conversation with him, presented him with a mystic banner, and gave
him some sage advice.
"This banner," said the venerable man, "is called 'the raven of
earthly terror;' take it as thy standard; direct thy voyage southward
to the mouth of a river called the Thames, which will lead thee to a
city called London, where reigns the son of Canute, who will bid thee
welcome, and aid thee to become great in this land."
Siward does not appear to have disdained the idea of exchanging the
pine plank for the rush-strewed hall. At all events, he took the
mystic banner and the advice of the venerable man, steered his course
towards the Thames, and, reaching London, presented himself to the
king. It was an age when men of huge proportions and fearless hearts
were in great request; and Siward's reception was all that could have
been wished.
The favour shown by the Danish king to Siward naturally made him the
object of envy. Many absurd stories were consequently circulated
about his origin and parentage. He was described as the grandson of a
bear; and Tostig, Earl of Huntingdon, took occasion to affront him
before the whole court. But the adventurous Dane gave his enemies a
lesson which they never forgot. Defying Tostig to mortal combat, he
signalized his prowess beyond all dispute, and terminated the duel by
cutting off his antagonist's head. More convinced than ever of
Siward's value as an adherent, Hardicanute bestowed on him the earldom
which Tostig had enjoyed.
After being installed as Earl of Huntingdon, Siward played his part
with energy and wisdom. The ability he displayed seemed fully to
justify his sudden rise to importance, and a circumstance ere long
occurred which gave him an opportunity of still further advancing his
fortunes.
It happened that Uchtred, the great Saxon Earl of Northumberland,
having been gathered to his fathers, Eadulph, the son of Uchtred,
ruled from the Humber to the Tweed. Not content, however, with this
territory, Eadulph undertook an expedition against the Welsh, and
committed fearful depredations. Enraged at the northern earl making
war without his consent, Hardicanute resolved on a severe
chastisement, and entrusted Siward with the duty of inflicting it.
Aware of his danger, Eadulph mounted, and hastened towards London to
implore the king's clemency. But it was too late. While Eadulph was on
his way south, Siward, going north, met him face to face. A conflict
ensued. Eadulph fell, and Siward carried his head to Hardicanute.
It was shortly after the encounter which terminated in the death of
Eadulph, that Edward the Confessor ascended the throne of his
ancestors. At that time the fortunes of Siward, as foreigner and Dane,
were probably in great peril. The event, however, proved to his
advantage. There was some dread of a Danish fleet appearing on the
Northumbrian coast; and the new king, in considerable alarm, took
counsel with his great men.
"What is to be done?" asked the king.
"It is best," answered the thanes, "that the little devil should be
first opposed to the great devil. Let Siward the Dane be sent to rule
that part of your realm likely to be invaded by the Danes."
The king listened, and, as he was advised, nominated Siward Earl of
Northumberland. Siward, repairing to York, the capital of the North,
won the favour of the province by espousing Alfleda, granddaughter of
Uchtred, and then governed the inhabitants with an ability and a
vigour that excited the admiration of Leofric, and roused the jealousy
of Godwin. The Danes, considering, perhaps, that their gigantic
countryman would be a formidable antagonist to encounter, refrained
from any attempt at invasion, and, moreover, sent messages of peace
and friendship to Edward. "We will," said they, "allow you to reign
unmolested over your country, and content ourselves with the lands
which God has given us."
Years passed over, and Siward was keeping his court at York, and
ruling Northumberland with complete success, when the unfortunate
conflict between the townsmen of Dover and the train of Eustace of
Boulogne brought the quarrel of Edward and Godwin to a crisis. Siward
and Leofric were then summoned to the king's aid, and commanded to
lead their fighting men against the forces of the refractory earl.
Both obeyed, and, at their call, the inhabitants of Northumberland and
Mercia took up arms. Hostile, however, as Siward and Leofric were to
Godwin, they could not help perceiving that the country was wholly on
his side. Indeed, the murmurs of their own soldiers convinced the
Earls of Northumberland and Mercia of the utter impolicy of pushing
matters to extremity. Generously sacrificing resentment to patriotism,
they raised their voices in favour of Godwin's restoration and against
Godwin's foes.
Scarcely had Godwin gone to his account, when Siward became aware that
his own end was drawing nigh. The Danish earl had just returned from
that expedition into Scotland which resulted in the overthrow of
Macbeth, when he was prostrated with sickness at York. Feeling that
the great destroyer was upon him, Siward became horrified at the
prospect of dying in bed, and in night-gear.
"Raise me," he said to those who watched his uneasy couch. "Let me die
like a warrior, and not huddled up together like a cow!"
"What wouldest thou, great earl?" asked the attendants.
"Put my coat of mail on my back," said Siward; "place my helmet on my
head, my shield on my left arm, and my gilt axe in my right hand, that
I may expire as a warrior should."
The command of the dying earl was obeyed. Clad, by his own desire, in
all the habiliments of war, and sitting up in his bed, Siward, with
calm courage, awaited the last enemy, and died with the same martial
dignity which had characterized his life. His remains were laid in the
monastery of Galmanho, which he had founded at York; and, as a
memorial of his prodigious prowess, there was long afterwards shown a
rock of granite which he was said to have split with one blow of his
mighty battle-axe.
[Illustration: Yggdrasill, the Mundane Tree of the Scandinavians]
IX.
[Illustration: William extorting a promise from Harold.]
HAROLD, THE SAXON KING.
When Earl Godwin breathed his last, under circumstances so memorable,
his second son, Harold, succeeded to his earldom, and inherited his
influence. A robust and active man, of tall, though not gigantic
stature, with long fair hair, a pleasing countenance, dignified
manners, and popular address--such appears to have been Harold, the
son of Godwin.
It was when Hardicanute died so suddenly, at the marriage feast at
Lambeth, that Harold began to figure in public, and to take a
prominent part in national affairs. At that crisis, Harold was one of
the first to raise a standard against the Danes, and he is even said
to have contributed to the triumph of the Saxon cause, by inviting
many of the Danish chiefs to a banquet, and causing them to be put to
the sword while over their cups. But, whatever truth there may be in
such a story, it seems that Harold shared in the prosperity of the
house of Godwin at the opening of Edward's reign, and that when
Godwin, outlawed and exiled, in 1048 escaped to Bruges, Harold, with
his brother Leofwin, fled to Bristol, and there took shipping for the
Irish coast. When Godwin returned from Bruges, Harold and Leofwin,
coming from Ireland, joined their father at the Isle of Wight, and
took part in that formidable demonstration which startled King Edward
and his Norman courtiers in the halls of Westminster.
After the restoration of Godwin, and the banishment of the Normans,
Harold would seem to have been higher in Edward's favour than any of
his kinsmen; and after the death of Godwin, Harold was quietly put in
possession of the vast earldom south of the Thames which his sire had
so long enjoyed. Both as regarded military reputation and territorial
power he was now foremost among the Anglo-Saxons, and he immensely
increased his fame by the skill he displayed in a war with the
refractory Welsh.
The originator of this war was Algar, son of the great Leofric, who,
becoming discontented, gave his daughter Aldith in marriage to a Welsh
prince named Griffith, and encouraged that crowned Celt to make an
incursion into the English territories. During this inroad the city of
Hereford was sacked and much mischief done; but Harold, on being sent
with an army, speedily put the Welsh to the rout, and forced Griffith
to submit. Untaught, however, by his severe experience of the
superiority of the English, Griffith once more rebelled; and Harold,
marching back to the borders of Wales, caused such terror, that, to
pacify him, the Welsh sacrificed Griffith to save themselves, and
sent the head of the murdered prince to the English camp, on the point
of a spear.
After his victories over the Welsh, Harold returned to London, and
found himself hailed by the multitude as a conqueror. His popularity
was now immense, and wherever he appeared his name was shouted with
enthusiasm.
"Harold! Harold the Earl!" was the cry.
"Since Edward the king has no heirs," was the saying, "no man is so
worthy to succeed to the crown."
While such was the popularity of the son of Godwin, and while all
rivalry with him was so completely out of the question that Algar died
of despair and regret, Harold, with a view of recovering his brother
Wolnoth and his nephew Haco, who had been sent as hostages to Duke
William, and who were still retained at the court of Rouen, proposed
to visit Normandy. On intimating his intention to Edward, however, the
king hesitated to grant permission.
"Your journey," said the king, "will certainly bring some evil on
yourself, and on your country."
"In what way, O king?" asked Harold in amazement.
"I know Duke William and his crafty mind," replied Edward; "he hates
you, and will grant you nothing unless he gain greatly by it. The only
way to obtain the hostages from him were to send some one else."
"I fear it is otherwise," said Harold.
"Well," said Edward, "I will not prevent your going; but, if you do
go, it will be without my consent."
Not much influenced by Edward's warnings, Harold departed for
Normandy. As if going on an excursion for pleasure, he set out,
surrounded by his gay comrades, with his hawks and his hounds.
But a circumstance soon occurred to make him serious. Having sailed
from one of the ports of Sussex, Harold's vessels were driven by
contrary winds towards the mouth of the Somme; and the earl, forced to
land on the territories of Guy, Count of Ponthieu, was seized by that
feudal personage as a captive, despoiled of all his property, and
placed securely under lock and key, in the castle of Beaurain.
One day, when William the Norman was at Rouen, a messenger from Harold
arrived hurriedly and in haste, with intelligence of his captivity.
William expressed high indignation, and demanded extradition of the
Saxon earl with a menace, which was meant to serve for ransom. Guy of
Ponthieu, however, demanded a fine estate and a large sum of money,
and would listen to no proposal less advantageous to himself. William
was, in consequence, obliged to grant what the count demanded; and,
the matter having been arranged, Harold was set free and conducted to
Rouen.
On reaching the Norman capital, Harold met with a reception which soon
effaced the remembrance of his captivity in the stronghold of Count
Guy. At the same time William intimated that the hostages were at
Harold's disposal; but he pressed the earl to remain for a time as his
guest, and see something of the land. Harold, who was bold and
confident, accepted the invitation; and having, with his companions,
been admitted into the Norman order of knighthood, he began to figure
prominently in the festivals and pageants of the Norman court.
While Harold the Saxon was in this position, William the Norman
undertook an expedition against the Bretons. Before setting out, the
martial duke requested Harold's company; and Harold, consenting
without hesitation, went with his Saxon comrades to take part in the
war. During this campaign, William treated Harold with the utmost
consideration; and the Norman duke and the Saxon earl slept in one
tent, ate at the same table, and conducted themselves towards each
other like men on terms of the most intimate friendship.
In this expedition against the Bretons, Harold and his Saxon
companions bore themselves with a courage which excited high
admiration; and, in spite of Edward's prophecy, everything seemed to
go smoothly; when one day, as the duke and the earl rode along, side
by side, enlivening the way with friendly colloquy, William artfully
turned the conversation to his early acquaintance with the King of
England, and suddenly revealed the ambitious project which was
occupying his mind.
"In the days of my youth," said William, turning on his saddle,
playing with his bridle-rein, and looking Harold in the face, "your
king and I lived under the same roof like brothers; and he then
promised that, if ever he came to be King of England, I should be
nominated heir to his crown."
Harold, in perplexed surprise, muttered some words.
"Wherefore, Harold," continued William, "if thou wouldst aid me in
realizing this promise, be sure that, if I obtain the kingdom,
whatever thou askest thou shalt have. What is thine answer?"
"Be it as thou sayest," murmured Harold, taken by surprise, and
finding it impossible to answer otherwise than with some vague words
of compliance.
"Then," added William, growing bolder in his proposals, "since thou
consentest to serve me, thou must engage to fortify the castle of
Dover, to dig there a well of fresh water, and when the time comes, to
deliver up the place to my people. Moreover, to make the bond between
us the stronger, thou must give thy sister Thyra in marriage to one of
my barons; and thou must take to wife my daughter Adeliza. On thy
departure, thou must leave me, as guarantee for thy promise, one of
the two hostages thou hast come to reclaim, and I will restore him to
thee in England when I come there as king."
"I acquiesce in your demands," said Harold, eager to get rid of a
subject which every moment became more embarrassing, and, without
pursuing the conversation further, the duke and the earl rode on side
by side towards Bayeux.
But it soon became apparent that William the Norman was by no means
satisfied with the promise he had wrung from his Saxon guest. No
sooner had the duke reached Bayeux than he prepared to exact a more
solemn and ceremonious pledge; and, having caused such sacred relics
as bones of saints to be brought from the churches, placed in a vessel
in the council hall of the castle, and covered with a rich cloth of
gold, so as to have the appearance of a table, he convoked his barons
and prelates on a certain day, and intimated to Harold that his
presence would be required.
At the hour appointed, baron and bishop crowded to the council hall;
and William, with a sword in his hand and the coronal of Normandy on
his brow, took his seat on the throne, caused two small reliquaries
to be placed on the cloth of gold, and intimated, by a gesture, his
desire that Harold should approach.
"Harold," said the Duke, "I require thee, before this noble assembly,
to confirm, by oath, the promises thou hast made to me--namely, to aid
me to obtain the kingdom of England after the death of King Edward, to
marry my daughter, and to send thy sister, that I may give her to one
of my lords."
"I swear," said Harold, extending his hand over the two reliquaries,
"to execute my promise as far as lies in my power, if I live, and if
God aid me."
"God aid him!" repeated the barons and bishops who stood around.
The ceremony being thus complete, William made a sign; the cloth of
gold was raised; and before Harold's eyes lay bones and entire
skeletons of saints, upon which he had, without suspecting their
presence, so solemnly sworn. With a shudder and a change of
countenance, which did not escape notice, he turned away from the
sight. But the oath which he had sworn appeared to the Normans far too
sacred ever to be broken; and he was allowed to depart for England
with his nephew, the son of Sweyn. William accompanied them to the
seaside, made them valuable presents, and repaired to Rouen, rejoicing
in the thought, that the man most likely to have baffled his
aspirations after the crown of England, was bound, by the most solemn
oath, to aid him to the utmost.
Meanwhile, Harold's ships went tilting over the waters; and, on
reaching England in a mood the reverse of serene, he hastened to
London, presented himself to Edward, and related what had passed
between the duke and himself. The saintly king heard the tidings with
sadness, and expressed himself in words of woe.
"Did I not warn you," he said, after a painful silence, "warn you over
and over again, that I knew Duke William, and that thy journey would
bring evil on thyself and on thy country?"
"It is true," said Harold.
"Heaven grant," continued Edward, "that these evils happen not in my
time!"
And, in truth, there was little danger of Edward living to witness
the troubles in store for the land of his fathers. The king's days
were now "dwindling to the shortest span." Aware that he was hourly
sinking, Edward occupied himself more and more with religious
devotions, and manifested much anxiety for the completion of the Abbey
of Westminster, which, under his auspices, had risen on Thorney Island
in the form of a cross, with a high tower in the centre. Intending to
consecrate this edifice with great splendour at the Christmas of 1065,
Edward summoned all the nobles and clergy to be present. But before
the appointed day he became too weak to leave his chamber.
Edith, the queen, consequently presided at the consecration; and
scarcely was the ceremony over, when Harold became aware that his
royal brother-in-law could not survive many days. In fact, Edward,
stretched on a bed of sickness, and haunted by terrible visions of
fiends wandering over England, was looking, almost with impatience,
for the hour that was to deliver him from the evils to come. Nor was
the patience of the royal saint put to any long or severe trial.
It was Thursday, the 5th of January, 1066, and the king lay in that
chamber of the palace of Westminster long afterwards, when known as
"The Painted Chamber," associated with his memory. Robert Stigand,
Archbishop of Canterbury, with many nobles and prelates, stood by his
couch; for Edward was on the eve of going where the weary are at rest;
and nobles and prelates were, doubtless, anxious to hear his last
will. He was, however, entirely absorbed in melancholy forebodings;
and, as passages of Scripture denouncing woe to nations occurred
involuntarily to his memory, he repeated them with a wild energy which
horrified those who surrounded his couch.
"The Lord has bent his bow," exclaimed the dying king, "the Lord has
prepared his sword; he brandishes it like unto a warrior; his wrath is
manifested in steel and flame."
"The saints defend us!" muttered those present, terrified at the
king's ejaculations.
"Tush!" exclaimed Archbishop Stigand, with a sneer of contempt; "why
tremble ye at the dreams of a sick old man?"
In such a frame of mind, Edward the king breathed his last; and it is
said that, having been asked whom he wished to succeed to his throne,
he named Harold, son of Godwin. But whether or not such was the case,
Harold was elected on the day after Edward's funeral, and allowed
himself to be crowned at once, in violation of his oath to William the
Norman, and in defiance of the claims of Edgar Atheling, grandson of
Edmund Ironsides, and heir of the Saxon kings. In order to bind the
chiefs of the House of Leofric to his interest, and to render his
throne more secure, Harold espoused Aldith, daughter of Earl Algar,
and widow of that Griffith whose head the Welsh had sent to him on the
point of a spear.
Nevertheless, the position of Harold was encompassed with danger, and
the minds of his subjects were filled with gloom and apprehension. As
men reflected on the dying words of Edward the king, they recalled to
mind old prophecies which increased their alarm. One of these
predicted such calamities as the Saxons had never experienced since
they left the Elbe; and another, which was more to the point,
predicted the conquest of England by a people from France. While vague
terrors preyed upon England, the appearance of a comet daunted all
hearts, and was regarded, as it seemed to come, as a herald of woe.
"Thou hast then returned," said a monk of the period; "thou hast
returned at length, thou who wilt cause so many mothers to weep! Many
times have I seen thee shine; but thou lookest to me more terrible now
that thou announcest the ruin of my country."
[Illustration]
X.
DUKE WILLIAM AND HIS DIFFICULTIES.
It was early one day, about the opening of the year 1066, and the
ground was hard with frost, when William the Norman left the palace of
Rouen, and crossed the Seine to test some new arrows in the park of
Rouvray. While the duke was occupied in stringing that mighty bow
which, save himself, no man then living could bend, a messenger from
England reached him with tidings of such import, that his colour
changed, and his lip quivered with emotion. It was to the effect that
Edward the Confessor was dead, and that Harold, son of Godwin, had
seized the English crown.
Giving his bow to an attendant, William walked to the margin of the
Seine, stepped into his barge, and, without speaking, indicated by a
gesture his wish to return to Rouen. On reaching the castle, he
entered the great hall, and paced up and down with a restless and
excited step, "often," say the chronicles, "changing posture and
attitude, and oft loosening and tightening the strings of his mantle."
Such, indeed, seemed his agitation, that no member of his household
ventured for some time to ask the cause.
Meantime, rumours of the intelligence brought by the messenger from
England began to creep about, and a Norman noble, probably William
Fitzosborne, the duke's seneschal, and the proudest of Norman
magnates, presented himself to learn the actual state of affairs.
Fitzosborne, who was Count of Breteuil, and destined one day to higher
rank, had such a reputation for _hauteur_ that he was surnamed "The
Proud Spirit." Without any of that hesitation exhibited by others, he
approached William the Norman, and inquired the cause of his emotion.
"My lord," said he, "pray communicate your news. It is bruited about
that the King of England is dead, and that Harold, breaking faith with
you, has usurped the crown."
"They say truly who so report," answered the duke; "and my grief is
touching the death of Edward, and my anger is touching the wrong done
me by Harold."
"Sir," said Fitzosborne, "chafe not at what may be amended. For
Edward's death, it is true, there is no remedy; but there is a remedy
for the injury done you by Harold. Yours is the right, and you have
stout warriors. Strike with courage: the work is already half done."
Genius, however, is generally patient; and William was too crafty to
spoil his game by indiscreet haste. He went cautiously and gradually
to work; and not till he had twice, in courteous phrase, required
Harold to fulfil the treaty so solemnly concluded, did he threaten the
Saxon with invasion and punishment. Then, however, he cast hesitation
to the winds, and resolved on inflicting a signal chastisement. "I
doubt not," he said, "of finding that man a feeble foe, who has proved
so faithless a friend."
In the meantime negotiations were vigorously commenced at Rome, and
Harold was charged before the pontifical court with perjury and
sacrilege. The Saxon king was summoned to defend himself, and
endeavoured to escape by refusing to acknowledge the jurisdiction of
the court. But this did not serve his purpose. The conclave assembled
at the Lateran, under the inspiration of the famous Hildebrand,
decided that William should enter England, and bring that kingdom back
to the Holy See; and a papal bull, directed against Harold and his
adherents, was presented to William, along with a consecrated banner,
an agnus of gold, and a ring which contained a hair of St. Peter, set
in a diamond of great price.
A council of high Norman nobles was now convened at Rouen; and
William, addressing his friends, demanded counsel and aid. There was
no difference of opinion. All were ready to take part with their duke
in the invasion of England, and each man present delighted his soul
with visions of rich manors on the Thames or the Mersey. However, they
advised him to consult the general feeling of the community; and,
accordingly, the merchants and traders of Normandy, as well as the
lords and knights, were summoned to confer with the duke.
Lillebonne was the place appointed for this memorable assembly, and
thither came all the wealthiest and most important subjects of
Normandy. William, after opening his heart to them, explained his
views and craved pecuniary aid, and they then withdrew to deliberate
in freedom. The result was not quite satisfactory. The Normans were
greatly divided in opinion. Some were anxious to aid the duke with men
and money; but others positively objected, declaring that they had
already more debts than they could pay.
It was now that William Fitzosborne did better service than a hundred
knights could have rendered to his liege lord. Raising his voice above
the tumult, he exerted that eloquence for which the Norman nobles were
so remarkable.
"Why this confusion and discord?" asked Fitzosborne. "Why dispute thus
among ourselves? The duke hath need of us, and he is our lord----"
"William is our lord; but we owe him no aid beyond the seas,"
interrupted the assembly.
"It is our duty to make offers of aid, rather than to wait his
requests," continued Fitzosborne. "He hath need of us now; and if we
fail him, and he gains his end, he will remember it to our
disadvantage. Let us, then, prove by our acts that we love him, and
let us entitle ourselves to his gratitude."
"Doubtless, William is our lord," cried the Normans; "but is it not
enough for us to pay him his dues? We owe him no aid beyond the seas.
He hath already oppressed us enough with his wars; let him fail in
this new enterprise, and our country is undone."
"Well," said Fitzosborne, changing his plan, "let us return to the
duke; and I, as knowing the position of each man present, will take
upon me to excuse the limited offers of the assembly."
"So be it," was the answer; and the Normans, with Fitzosborne at their
head, returned to Duke William's presence.
"Sire," said Fitzosborne, addressing William, "I do not believe that
there are in the whole world people more zealous than yours. You know
the aids they have given you--the onerous services they have rendered.
Well, sire, they will do more. They offer to serve you beyond the seas
as they have done here."
"No, no!" cried the Normans, "we did not charge you with such an
answer."
"For my own part," continued Fitzosborne, "I will, out of love to you,
give sixty well-appointed ships, each charged with fifty fighting men.
Forward, then, and spare us in nothing! He who hath hitherto only
supplied you with two good mounted soldiers will now supply four."
"We did not say that," cried the Normans, "and it shall not be so. In
things within his own country, we will serve the duke, as is due; but
we are not bound to assist him to conquer another man's country.
Besides, if once we rendered double service, and followed him across
the sea, he would make it a right and a custom for the future; he
would burden our children with it."