vociferously; and, after forming themselves into groups of ten,
twenty, and thirty, they declaimed tumultuously, and then separated.
William was enraged beyond measure--the blood of Rolfganger boiled in
his veins--and the spirit of Robert the Devil flashed from his eyes.
Nevertheless, by such an effort as only such a man is capable of, he
exercised sufficient command over himself to control his temper, bow
his pride, and resort to artifice. Summoning separately the men with
whom in a body he had failed, he requested the support of each as a
personal favour. This plan of proceeding proved completely successful.
No Norman, when alone with the duke, and under the influence of his
eloquence and his eye, had the courage to refuse; and every one of
those who had shouted "It cannot be!" consented to give to the full
extent of his means.
With the papal bull in his hands, and promises of aid from his
subjects, carefully registered when they had been made, William
summoned the Normans to the consecrated banner, and published his ban
in the neighbouring countries, with promises of pay and pillage. Both
Normans and foreigners answered his call. From all directions martial
adventurers crowded to his standard. The papal bull and the promises
of plunder did their work. From France and Flanders; from Maine, and
Aquitaine, and Brittany, and from Anjou, ruled by the ancestors of
the Plantagenets--from the Alps, and from the banks of the
Rhine--multitudes crowded, with sword and cross-bow, to range
themselves under the consecrated banner, and to aid in the conquest
and share in the plunder of England.
[Illustration]
XI.
[Illustration: Tostig's parting speech to his brother Harold.]
TOSTIG, SON OF GODWIN.
In the spring of 1066, when the crown of Edward the Confessor was
placed on the head of Harold the Saxon; and when the news of the
coronation, carried to Rouen, kindled the ire of William the Norman,
there was living in Flanders, musing over the past, watching events
with a keen eye, an English exile, who was Harold's brother and his
sworn foe. This exile was Tostig, the third son of Godwin and Githa.
When the riot between the townsmen of Dover and the train of Eustace
of Boulogne resulted in the dispersion of the family of Godwin,
Tostig, then in the pride of early manhood, accompanying his father to
Flanders, wedded Judith, daughter of Count Baldwin, and sister of
Matilda, whom William the Norman, after vanquishing so many obstacles,
received as his bride. This high alliance would seem to have rendered
Tostig's pride intolerable; and he returned to England with ridiculous
notions of his hereditary claims, and absurd ideas of his personal
importance. It was a period, however, when the members of Godwin's
house were encouraged to conduct themselves as if England had existed
solely for their advantage; and when Siward died, leaving one son too
young to succeed to his authority, Tostig claimed and received the
earldom of Northumberland.
Accustomed to the sway of such chiefs as Uchtred and Siward, the men
of the north were not perhaps particularly pleased with their new
earl. But whether or not, Tostig soon gave them cause to be
discontented. Cruel and tyrannical in his notions, he appeared at York
with the tax-gatherer on one hand, and the executioner on the other,
and treated the Northumbrians as if he had been a conqueror, and they
had been the inhabitants of a conquered province. Brooking no
restraint, he violated old customs and laws, levied enormous imposts,
and violently put to death those who refused to submit to his
exactions. Gamel, the son of Orm, and Ulf, the son of Dolphin, are
mentioned as among the thanes of high rank whom, with fell treachery,
he allured to the castle of York, and caused to be put to death, under
his own roof, and in his own chamber.
Of all people, the Northumbrians were the least likely to tolerate
such tyranny. Meeting at Gamelburn, Dunstan, son of Agelnoth, and
Gloricern, son of Eadulf, with two hundred soldiers, raised the
standard of insurrection; and, under the command of their native
chiefs, the men of the north sprang to arms to avenge their
slaughtered countrymen and fight for their ancient liberties. Marching
to York, Dunstan and Gloricern prepared to seize the tyrant in his
castle.
Tostig was in the capital of the north, when he suddenly became aware
that armed men were approaching with hostile intent. Unprepared for
resistance, and shrinking from the peril he had defied, the son of
Godwin resolved to fly; and, escaping with some of the chief ministers
of his violence and injustice, he left his officers and servants to
contend with the men whom he had exasperated. The Northumbrians,
taking possession of York, seized the arsenal and treasury, and,
assembling a council, formally deposed Tostig, and elected Morkar,
one of the sons of Algar, and one of the grandsons of Leofric and
Godiva, in his stead.
When news of the tumult in Northumberland, and of the expulsion of
Tostig, reached the Confessor's court, Harold mustered an army and
marched northward to deal with the insurgents. This, however, he soon
found would be no easy operation. The Northumbrians met him at Oxford,
and in such a way as convinced him of the expediency of listening to
their complaints. A conference was consequently held, and Harold
endeavoured to exculpate his brother and to soften the Northumbrians.
"If," said Harold, "you will receive Tostig again as your earl, I
promise that he will govern with equity, and according to law."
"No!" cried the Northumbrians with one voice, and with that Danish
burr which their descendants have inherited; "we were born free; we
were brought up free; and a haughty ruler we cannot abide. We have
been taught by our ancestors to live free or to die. We have said.
Bear thou our answer to Edward the king."
Harold could not dispute the justice of the complaints of the
Northumbrians. Without delay he went to explain their grievances to
the king; and Edward sent him back to give the royal sanction to
Tostig's deposition, and to the election of Morkar, the grandson of
Leofric.
Henceforth, it was not so much against the Northumbrians as against
Harold that Tostig's wrath burned fiercely; and when the brothers soon
after met at Windsor, at Edward's board, a scene was enacted which
made the blood of the saintly king run cold. Harold, it appears,
pledged Edward in a cup of wine; and Tostig, exclaiming that such
familiarity with the king was unseemly, pulled Harold by the hair of
his head. A scuffle immediately ensued, and but for the presence of
the king would have ended in bloodshed.
"It is notorious," said Edward, raising his hands in holy horror,
"that all the sons of Godwin are so transcendently wicked, that if
they see any house which they covet, they will murder the owner in the
night-time, and destroy his children, to get possession. Verily, they
will one day destroy each other."
After this outrageous scene at Windsor, Harold and Tostig were at
deadly feud; and when Harold, somewhat later, was on his way to
Hereford with the king, Tostig, going thither and entering his
brother's house, attacked the servants, who were preparing a great
feast. Killing the unoffending men, and severing the heads and hewing
the limbs from the bodies, he put the corpses into the winecasks, and
then, riding forth as if to meet the king and his party, he hinted at
the brutal enormity he had perpetrated.
"Harold," he said, as he turned away, "you will find the meat for your
feast well powdered."
And, as Tostig spoke these words, the brothers parted, not to meet
again till that day when they met face to face as foes, each with a
weapon in his hand and an army at his back.
After the massacre at Hereford, Tostig, with revenge gnawing at his
heart, and threats on his lips, sailed from England and repaired to
the court of Flanders. For a time he remained brooding in silence over
his wrongs, and watching his opportunity. No sooner, however, did he
receive intelligence of Edward's death and Harold's coronation, than
he sprang to action, and cried that the time for vengeance had
arrived. Mounting in haste, he made his way without delay to Normandy,
and urged Duke William, his brother-in-law, to lose no time in hurling
Harold from the throne.
"Be not so impatient, brave Tostig," said William.
"Why," asked Tostig, excitedly, "should a perjurer be allowed to reign
in peace? Have not I more credit and power in England? Yea, and I can
assure possession of the country to any one who will unite with me to
make the conquest."
But William was not the man to be imposed upon by vain boasts; and
Tostig was somewhat mortified at the reception with which his
proposals were met. Willing, however, to test the banished Saxon's
influence, the duke furnished him with some ships to make a descent.
But Tostig, instead of sailing for England, sailed to the Baltic
trusting to secure the aid of his uncle, Sweyn, King of Denmark. This
attempt, however, failed. Sweyn gave Tostig a harsh refusal; and the
nephew, leaving his uncle in discontent, but still breathing threats
of revenge against his brother, made for Norway, where a king reigned
more likely than Sweyn to take part in a bold adventure, and better
qualified to conduct a bold adventure to a triumphant conclusion.
XII.
[Illustration: Hardrada's deliverance from his eastern dungeon.]
HAROLD HARDRADA.
When Tostig's ships came to anchor, and when Tostig, landing at
Drontheim, presented himself at the rude palace of the old kings of
Norway, the crown of that northern realm was worn by the last of those
heroes who called the ocean their home and the tempest their servant.
This was Harold Hardrada, a warrior of high renown, who had fought
countless battles on the sea as well as on the land, who had probably
seen more of the world than any man then living, and who, in every
respect, looked worthy of the fame he had won. His height exceeded
seven feet; and, though the hands and feet appeared somewhat large,
the whole person was fairly proportioned. He had a short beard, a long
moustache, and fair hair falling over his shoulders. His aspect was,
on the whole, pleasing, and would always have been so but for the
circumstance of one eyebrow being somewhat higher than the other, and
giving a sinister expression to his face when he frowned.
Hardrada was son of Sigurd and brother of Olaf--that King of Norway
who established Christianity in his kingdom by the strong hand.
Hardrada, however, appears to have been more of a sea-king than a
saint.
At an early age, Hardrada fought by the side of Olaf in the sanguinary
battle of Stiklestad. The elder brother fell, but the younger escaped,
after his body had been covered with wounds, and his blood freely
poured out. Taking to the forest, he was received into the cottage of
a woodman, and there lay concealed till his wounds were healed and his
spirits revived.
Restored to health and hope, Hardrada left his lurking-place, and
turned his face eastward. Faring forth with a brave band of comrades
on a career of adventure, he set foot, after many romantic wanderings,
on the banks of the Bosphorus, and, halting with his comrades at
Constantinople, took service, as a varing, in the bodyguard then
maintained by the Emperor of the East.
The varings were of high account at the Imperial Court. Generally
Danes, Swedes, or Germans, they exhibited the courage characteristic
of Northmen, and wore their hair long, after the fashion of their
native countries. Armed with huge axes, which they were in the habit
of carrying on their shoulders, they stood as guards at the door of
the emperor's chamber, and paraded his capital, imposing respect and
awe.
Among the varings, Hardrada, though the brother of a king, did not
disdain to enrol himself and his comrades. But his wild and free
spirit could ill brook the necessary subordination, and, after some
quarrel with a Greek commander, he repaired to Africa. Fighting there
with the Saracens, and despoiling them of gold and jewels, he became
celebrated and rich. Turning to Sicily, he increased his fame and his
wealth; and then, as if to consecrate his deeds of violence, he made
an armed pilgrimage to Jerusalem, not yet visited by Peter the Hermit;
and, sweeping Moslem and marauder from his path, ascended Mount
Calvary, and knelt at the Holy Sepulchre.
From Jerusalem Hardrada returned to Constantinople, and there became
enamoured of Maria, a niece of the Empress Zoe, while he himself
became dear to the heart of the empress. The predicament was
perplexing, and might have baffled the ingenuity of another man. But
Hardrada was equal to the occasion, and freed himself by a romantic
elopement from the snares by which he was surrounded.
It appears that Olaf, the brother of Hardrada, though deemed worthy of
canonization, had been somewhat general in his attentions to the fair
sex; and, among other consequences of his amours, was an illegitimate
son, named Magnus. In the absence of Hardrada, Magnus contrived to win
the sovereignty of Norway from the heir of Canute; and no sooner did
Hardrada hear of his nephew's elevation than he determined to assert
his own superior claim.
But Hardrada had scarcely intimated his intention of returning to
Norway, when he found there was a lioness in the way. Eager to detain
the varing who had won her heart, the empress caused him to be charged
with some irregularity, and imprisoned. Hardrada was accordingly
incarcerated. But a Greek lady, incited by a dream, resolved to
attempt his deliverance, and lowered ropes from the roof of a tower to
the dungeon in which he lay. Escaping in this way, Hardrada hastily
roused his varings, proceeded to the palace of Maria, niece of the
empress, bore off the princess in his strong arms to the quay,
embarked with her in his galley, and gave his sails to the wind.
At length, Hardrada, with the bride and the wealth he had won, set his
foot on the shores of Norway, and, raising an army, made an effort to
grasp the crown. Magnus, however, proved a formidable adversary; and
Hardrada, perceiving the difficulty of a complete triumph, made a
compromise, and agreed to share the kingdom with his nephew.
On the death of Magnus, however, Hardrada became king of all Norway.
Such he was, and highly considered among European sovereigns on
account of his experience, his prowess, and his wealth, when Tostig,
with the proposals which had been coldly treated in Normandy and
scornfully repelled in Denmark, reached Drontheim, appeared at the log
palace, and approached him with honeyed words. "The world knows well,"
said the banished son of Godwin, "that there lives no warrior worthy
to be compared to thee. Thou hast only to will it, and England will be
thine."
Hardrada was neither insensible to such flattery, nor proof against
such a temptation. Allowing himself to be persuaded, he promised to
put to sea whenever the ice should melt and the ocean become
navigable, and commenced preparations for the grand expedition.
Tostig, however, was much too impatient to await the convenience of
his Norwegian ally. With his own fleet he set out to prepare the way,
and, with a band of men recruited in Flanders, Holland, and Friesland,
he made a descent on the northern coast of England. But the
inhabitants, roused at the news of villages pillaged, and granges
burned, rose in such numbers that he was compelled to make for
Scotland, and, anchoring off the Orkney Islands, he waited till the
winds should blow the Norwegian ships to his aid.
Hardrada, meanwhile, fitted out several hundred ships of war; and the
Norwegians, encamped on their coast, waited the signal to embark.
Their enthusiasm was not excessive. Vague presentiments of evil
pervaded their ranks, and the sleep of many of the warriors was broken
by ill-omened visions. One dreamed that, the fleet having put to sea,
flocks of vultures perched on the masts and sails; and that a woman,
sword in hand, sitting on a rock, cried to the birds with a loud
voice, "Go without fear; you shall have enough to eat and to choose
from, for I go with them." Another dreamed that he saw his comrades
land in England, and encounter an English army, in front of which was
a woman of gigantic stature, riding on a wolf, and giving it human
bodies to devour.
The imaginations of the Norwegian warriors were disagreeably
influenced by these presages; and more threatening than either of the
dreams appeared an incident that occurred as the Norwegian king, with
his son Olaf, and his war-steed black as a raven, and his banner, "The
Ravager of the World," embarked. As Hardrada set foot in the royal
barge, the weight of his body pressed the boat so much down in the
water, as to cause general apprehension. But, undismayed, Hardrada set
sail, touched at the Orcades, and joined his fleet with that of
Tostig, who was all impatience for carnage and revenge.
XIII.
[Illustration: Door of Westminster Abbey.]
THE ALARM IN ENGLAND.
It was the summer of 1066, and William the Norman was gathering
continental warriors to his standard, and Harold Hardrada was manning
his lofty war-ships with grim Norwegians, and Harold the Saxon king
was applying his energies with diligence and care to the difficulties
of his position, when the people of England were seized with alarm at
the prospect of an invasion.
From the day of Harold's coronation at Westminster, he devoted himself
ably and vigorously to his regal duties. Never, indeed, had English
monarch shown himself more considerate for the people's feelings, or
more ardent for their welfare. The new reign was marked by a complete
return to the national customs, by a diminution of the taxes
previously levied, and by a more decided impartiality in the
administration of justice. By all means in his power Harold
endeavoured to render his reign popular. "Ever active for the good of
his country," says the chronicler, "he spared himself no fatigue by
land or by sea."
Notwithstanding his vigour and energy, clouds soon began to gather
around the Saxon king. In the midst of his efforts to keep together a
decaying empire, Harold was disagreeably interrupted by the arrival of
a messenger from Duke William to claim fulfilment of the promise made
at Bayeux.
"William Duke of Normandy," said the messenger, "reminds thee of the
oath which thou didst swear to him upon good and holy relics."
"It is true that I swore such an oath to Duke William," replied
Harold, "but I swore it under compulsion. I promised that which did
not belong to me, and which I could not perform. My royalty is not
mine, nor can I divest myself of it without consent of the country. As
for my sister Thyra, whom the duke claims, to marry her to one of the
chiefs, she died this year. Would he have me send her body?"
The Norman with this answer departed, and hastened to Duke William.
But, with as little delay as possible, he was sent back, and appeared
at Westminster with a new message, couched in terms of gentle
remonstrance.
"Duke William," said the messenger, "entreats you, if you will not
abide by all the conditions, at least to execute one of them, and
take, as wife, his daughter Adeliza, whom you promised to marry."
"I could not marry," said Harold, "without the country's consent; and
besides," he added, "it is now impossible for me to wed the daughter
of Duke William, since I have already wedded another woman."
"Is this thine answer?" asked the Norman.
"It is," replied Harold.
"Then," said the Norman, "Duke William swears that, within the year,
he will come and demand the whole of his debt, and pursue you, as
perjurer, to the very places where you think you have the surest and
firmest footing."
Rumours of William's projects crept about England, and the country was
soon in serious apprehension. The appearance of the comet, coming, it
was believed, as a harbinger of woe, added to the general alarm; and
while thousands nightly went out to gaze at "the blazing star,"
merchant and pilgrim carried to castle and cottage intelligence of the
formidable preparations making by Duke William for the subjugation of
England.
In the midst of the alarm which prevailed, Harold at first displayed a
vigilance worthy of the crisis. All summer, and far into autumn, he
remained steadily at his post, guarding the southern coast. Even when
news of Tostig's ravages came, he did not leave London, but left the
chastisement of his brother to the Northumbrians and their earl.
But events baffled Harold's plans. When summer passed and autumn came
without an invasion, men, wise in their own conceit, began to ridicule
the idea of the peril being imminent; and Harold, not uninfluenced by
the general impression that William would not attempt to land before
winter, allowed his army to disband, and the fleet to run short of
provisions.
Such was the position of affairs, when news reached London that
Hardrada, in company with Tostig, had landed in the North, defeated
the Northumbrians in a sharp battle, and taken measures for forcing
York to yield.
No sooner did Harold become aware of the new danger than he roused
himself to action. Convincing himself, perhaps reluctantly, that the
peril which he left behind was not extreme, the Saxon king hastily
drew his men together, and prepared to crush the host of grim
Norwegians. Turning his face northward, Harold pushed on, by forced
marches, to York, and succeeded in reaching the capital of the North
on the very evening before Hardrada and Tostig anticipated placing on
its walls "The Ravager of the World."
XIV.
[Illustration: The Norwegian Champion at Stamford Bridge.]
THE BATTLE OF STAMFORD BRIDGE.
The month of September, 1066, was drawing towards its close, and so
far all had prospered with Tostig and his Norwegian ally. After
burning Scarborough, they had sailed up the Humber, advanced towards
York, fought a tough battle, and placed themselves in such a position
before the capital of the North, that the citizens recognised the
necessity of yielding. Indeed, they had agreed to open the gates on
the morning of the 25th, and on that morning Tostig and Hardrada--who
had broken up their lines, and encamped on the river Derwent, at
Stamford Bridge, seven miles from York--were to march in triumph into
the city, and hold a grand council to regulate the affairs of the
province.
It was a Monday; and early in the morning, Hardrada and Tostig,
leaving part of their army encamped on the other side of the Derwent,
rode side by side towards York, accompanied by some thousands of their
soldiers. The weather being warm--for it was "one of those autumnal
days in which the sun is still in all its vigour"--and no resistance
being anticipated, the Norwegians laid aside their coats of mail, and
dispensed with all defensive armour except helmets and bucklers. When
approaching York, however, they suddenly perceived clouds of dust,
and, through the clouds, steel glittering in the sun.
"Who are these men?" asked Hardrada, in surprise.
"They must be Northumbrians," answered Tostig, "coming either to crave
friendship or to ask pardon."
The Norwegians, however, had not advanced many paces, when Tostig was
disagreeably undeceived. The approaching mass grew more distinct, and
the sun revealed an army in battle order.
"It is King Harold," said Tostig, scarce mustering voice sufficient to
speak the words.
"Ride!" said Hardrada, turning to three of his horsemen--"ride! and,
with all haste, bring our warriors from the camp."
The horsemen darted off with the speed of the wind; and Hardrada,
unfurling "The Ravager of the World," on the folds of which a vast
raven was depicted, ranged his men round the banner in a long, narrow
line, curved at the extremities. Pressing against each other, with
their spears planted in the ground, and the points turned against the
foe, the Norwegians stood ready for conflict; and their king, mounted
on his coal-black steed, his helmet glittering with gold, rode along
the line, singing, as was his wont on such occasions, extempore
verses, to excite the valour of his men.
"Let us fight," he sang, "though without our cuirasses; let us forward
to the edge of blue steel. Our helmets shine in the sun. For brave men
that is enough."
While Hardrada thus sang, about twenty mounted warriors--horses and
riders clad in steel--dashed out from the Saxon ranks. Approaching the
Norwegian lines, they suddenly halted, and intimated their wish to
hold a parley.
"Where," cried one of them, "is Tostig, the son of Godwin?"
"Here," answered Tostig, spurring forward his steed.
"If thou art Tostig," said the Saxon, "thy brother greets thee by me,
and offers thee peace, with his friendship, and thine ancient
honours."
"These are fine words," said Tostig, bitterly; "but if I accept your
offers, what shall be given to the noble King Hardrada, son of Sigurd,
my faithful ally?"
"He," replied the Saxon, "shall have seven feet of English land, or a
little more, for his height exceeds that of other men."
"Then," said Tostig, "go back and say to my brother that he may
prepare to fight; for none but liars will ever say that the son of
Godwin deserted the son of Sigurd."
The parley ended; and the Saxon warriors rode back to their host. The
Norwegians and Saxons then closed in the shock of war, and the
conflict immediately became fierce and sanguinary. But, from the
first, the invaders had the worst of the encounter. With their huge
battle-axes, wielded with both hands, the Saxons rushed furiously on
their foes, cleaving down all opposition, and breaking the first rank
of the Norwegians. Hardrada, pierced with an arrow, fell in the heat
of the strife; and, as his gigantic form disappeared from the black
steed, the banner he had brought from Norway was trampled in the dust
and captured by the foe.
No sooner did Hardrada fall than Tostig took command of the
Norwegians, and prepared to continue the strife. Harold, however,
paused in his assault, and sent once more to offer peace. But the
Norwegians would not listen to terms.
"We will rather die," said they, "than owe our lives to those who have
killed our king."
On receiving this answer, the Saxon king led on his men to the attack,
and fearful was the carnage that ensued. In vain did bands of the
Norwegians, roused in their camp by Hardrada's riders, hurry up to the
aid of their fast-falling comrades. Fatigued with their hasty march
under a burning sun, they fell in heaps before the axes of their foes.
Ere long, the struggle ceased: Tostig lay dead on the ground, and
around him the Norwegian chiefs who had followed their king to
minister to his vengeance.
But, meanwhile, the Norwegians who had not passed the Derwent drew
together to make a desperate defence; and the Saxons advanced to
consummate their victory. This, however, proved no easy achievement.
In fact, the strength and resolution of one man long kept the Saxons
at bay.
At that time the Derwent was crossed by a wooden bridge. Long and
furiously was this bridge contested; and when the Norwegians, yielding
to overwhelming press of numbers, retreated, one warrior, of tall
stature and mighty strength, remained to defy, single-handed, the
might of his foes. Armed with a battle-axe, which few men could have
wielded, he struck down every one who ventured within his reach; and,
when forty men had fallen by his hand, the boldest Saxons recoiled in
dismay from a foe who appeared armed with supernatural power.
But at length the Norwegian was taken unawares. Perceiving the
certainty of death in attempting an encounter hand to hand, one of the
Saxons seized a long spear, leaped into a boat, and floated quietly
under the bridge. Availing himself of a favourable opportunity, the
Saxon dexterously thrust his spear through the planks right into the
Norwegian's body; and the huge champion, without even seeing his new
adversary, fell mortally wounded. Harold then became master of the
bridge, and led his soldiers to the Norwegian camp.
Nothing that could be called resistance was now attempted. The
Norwegians had given way to despair; and when Harold, for the third
time, sent to offer peace, the proposal was gladly accepted.
Accordingly, a treaty was hastily concluded; and after Olaf, son of
Hardrada, had sworn friendship to the Saxon king, the Norwegians took
to their ships, and, with sad hearts, set sail for their northern
homes.
The victory at Stamford Bridge placed much booty, and a considerable
quantity of gold, in the hands of the Saxons. All this Harold, as
king, claimed as his own; and deep was the discontent which the
avarice, or economy, of the son of Godwin, on this occasion, created
in the ranks of the victorious army. Many of the Anglo-Saxon chiefs
took mortal offence, and ridiculed the idea of serving a king who had
not sufficient generosity to share the spoil of a vanquished enemy
with those by whom the enemy had been vanquished.
The discontent of the Anglo-Saxons was at its height, when Harold
suddenly became aware that he was in no position to lose friends and
adherents. The breezes in which his banners waved at Stamford Bridge
had filled the sails, and impelled to the English shores, the fleet of
an invader more formidable than the adventurous Hardrada. While Harold
the Saxon was wrangling with his earls and thanes in the city of York,
William the Norman had landed with his counts and vavasors, on the
coast of Sussex.
Alarm now appeared on the face of every Saxon, and confusion added to
the discontent that pervaded Harold's ranks. But no time was to be
lost. Without even taking time to bury the slain, the Saxon king
turned his face southward. For many years after, the bones of the
slaughtered Norwegians whitened the scene of the battle of Stamford
Bridge; and, so late as the nineteenth century, swords, heads of
halberds, and horseshoes, have often been turned up, and excited
interest, as memorials of the day on which the great Hardrada was
overthrown, and the "Ravager of the World" trampled in the dust.
[Illustration]
XV.
PHILIP OF FRANCE.
While Duke William was preparing for the invasion of England, and the
nobles of Normandy were mustering their fighting men, and adventurous
warriors were flocking from all quarters, with eager anticipation, to
take part in the daring enterprise, he bethought him of repairing to
the court of France, with the object of enlisting the sympathies, and
securing the support, of the French king.
Philip, the son of Henry, and great-grandson of Hugh Capet, was then a
boy of fourteen, and reigning under the guardianship of Baldwin, Count
of Flanders. He was residing at St. Germain when William appeared to
ask his aid and salute him with a degree of feudal deference seldom
shown by the Dukes of Normandy to the Capetian kings.
"You are my seigneur," said William, addressing the young king; "and
if it please you to aid me, and I, by God's grace, obtain my rights
over England, I promise to do you homage for it, as though I held it
from you."
"Well," answered Philip, "I will assemble my council of barons; for,
without their advice, I cannot decide an affair so important."
A council was accordingly called, and the expediency of assisting
William was discussed; but the French barons, one and all, pronounced
strongly against rendering any aid.
"You know," said they to the king, "how ill the Normans obey you now."
"True," said Philip.
"It will be worse if they possess England," said the barons. "Besides,
it would cost us a great deal to assist Duke William; and, if he fail
in his enterprise, the English will be our enemies for ever."
The council, having determined on giving William no aid, rose; and
Philip, repairing to the Norman duke, communicated the decision.
"My barons," said he, "are of opinion that they ought not, in any way,
to aid you in the conquest of England."
"Are they?" exclaimed William, much disappointed. "Then, by the
splendour of God! I will show them that I can conquer England without
their help."
"But," asked the boy-king, with a sneer, "who will take care of your
duchy while you are grasping at a crown?"
"My duchy," answered William, fiercely, "shall not trouble my
neighbours. I have a spouse of prudence, who can take charge of my
duchy, and could take charge of much more, if it were necessary."
And King Philip parted with his great subject, whom he was never
henceforth to think of but as a formidable foe.
[Illustration]
XVI.
[Illustration: The good ship Moira, William of Normandy, owner]
THE NORMAN ARMAMENT.
All through the summer of 1066, while England was ringing with alarm,
Normandy was resounding with preparations; armourers were busy forging
weapons and coats of mail; shipwrights were occupied with the
construction of vessels; and men were continually employed carrying
arms from workshop to port. Everything, meantime, seemed to favour
William's project of conquest; and he fixed on a day about the middle
of August as the time for his departure.
The mouth of the Dive was appointed as the rendezvous; and there, in
good time, William's mighty armament was ready for the enterprise.
Sixty thousand men came to the Norman standard; and the fleet
consisted of four hundred ships and a thousand other vessels, great
and small. For a month, however, the winds, proving adverse, detained
the fleet in port. An Anglo-Saxon was caught making observations,
taken into custody, and carried before William.
"You are a spy," said the duke.
The man, with William's terrible eye upon him, could not muster
courage to deny the charge.
"Nevertheless," said the duke, "you shall see everything; though
Harold need not trouble himself to ascertain my force; for he shall
both see and feel it, ere the year has run its course."
At length a southern breeze sprang up, and the Normans set sail. But
they soon found the impossibility of proceeding on their voyage.
Carried as far as the roadstead of St. Valery, at the mouth of the
Somme, they were under the necessity of landing and submitting to a
further delay.
William's patience was now severely tried. The weather was stormy;
rain fell in torrents; some ships, shattered by the tempest, sank with
their crews; and the men began to lose heart. The fearful difficulties
that beset the enterprise forced themselves on every mind; and while
conversing with each other under their tents, dripping with water,
they talked of the ships that had been lost, and exaggerated the
number of the bodies cast ashore.
"The man is mad who thus seeks to seize the land of another," said
some of the soldiers.
"And, doubtless," suggested others, "God is offended with such
designs, and proves it by refusing us a favourable wind."
Not unaware that such conversations were held, William became uneasy
and restless. He plied the men with strong drink to stimulate their
courage, and was frequently observed to enter the church of St.
Valery, to remain long in prayer, and to gaze anxiously, as he left
the building, at the weathercock that ornamented the belfry.
On Tuesday, the 26th of September, while William was occupied with
somewhat sad thoughts, a brilliant idea crossed his brain, and filled
his heart with hope. Either prompted by sincere faith, or by a desire
to dissipate the gloom that hung over his mighty host, he caused a
coffer containing the bones of St. Valery to be taken from the church
and solemnly carried through the camp. The duke made rich offerings;
every soldier gave his mite; and the adventurers in a body joined in
prayer. This ceremony had the effect of calming superstitious fears;
and when next morning dawned, it seemed as if their prayers had been
answered and a miracle wrought; for the weather was fine, and the wind
was favourable.
No time was now lost. At daybreak the sleepers were roused from their
repose; orders for immediate embarcation were given; the soldiers,
cheered by the change of weather, joyfully hastened on board; and the
mariners made ready to haul up their anchors and spread their sails.
William's own ship--a gift of Matilda the duchess--was named the
Moira, commanded by a skipper of skill, known as Stephen, the son of
Gerard, and ornamented by a figure-head representing William Rufus,
then a little boy, with a bent bow in his hands. On the sails of
divers colours were painted the arms of Normandy, and at the masthead
flew the consecrated banner sent to William by the pope. Large
lanterns, fixed on poles, were intended to serve as a rallying-point
for the whole fleet.
After much bustle and exertion, everything was in readiness for
sailing; and, William having embarked, the Moira, followed by fourteen
hundred vessels, great and small, made for the open sea, while a cheer
rose from sixty thousand tongues. The voyage was, on the whole,
prosperous. But the Moira, sailing much more swiftly than the other
ships, outstripped them during the day, and at night left them far
behind. In the morning William found to his dismay that his friends
were not to be seen.
"Go to the masthead," said the duke, addressing Stephen; and the
skipper obeyed.
"I see only sky and sea," said the skipper.
"Never mind," said William, affecting a gay countenance; "cast anchor
till they come in sight."
At the same time, to keep away fear and anxiety, he ordered a copious
repast, with spiced wines; and, this having been disposed of, he
caused the skipper again to go aloft.
"What do you see now?" asked William.
"Four vessels," answered the skipper.
"Look again," said William.
"Ah!" cried the skipper, "I see a forest of masts and sails."
"Our fleet!" exclaimed William, joyfully; and ere long, the fourteen
hundred vessels having come up, the Moira was once more at their head,
and gallantly leading the way to the coast of Sussex.
On that September day, the Norman fleet, without encountering the
slightest opposition, sailed into the Bay of Pevensey, and cast anchor
hard by that ancient castle, whose foundations were then washed by the
waves, though the sea is now a mile distant from its stately ruins.
The process of disembarking the troops was immediately commenced.
First landed the archers, clad in short coats, with their bows in
their hands; then the horsemen, in steel helmets and coats of mail,
with long lances and double-edged swords; and then the armourers,
smiths, carpenters, and pioneers. Everything was done in perfect
order, and with a degree of precision which must have pleased
William's eye.
The duke was the last to land; and, as he did so, a slight accident
occurred, which some were inclined to regard as a presage of evil, but
to which, with his wonted tact, he contrived to give an interpretation
highly favourable to the fortunes of their enterprise. When his foot
touched the shore, he slipped and fell on his face, and a murmur
instantly arose.
"God preserve us!" exclaimed some in horror.
"This is a bad sign," cried others.
"Lords, what is it you say?" exclaimed William, rising with a spring.
"Why are you amazed? See you not that I have taken seizin of this land
with my hands, and all that it contains is our own?"
It is said that after landing, William ordered the ships forming his
fleet to be burned, that the Normans, seeing all hope of retreat cut
off, might be induced to fight the more desperately; and then he
marched towards Hastings.
On a broad plain, between Pevensey and Hastings, the Normans pitched
their camp. Having erected two wooden castles, brought with them to
serve as receptacles for provisions during the campaign, or as places
of refuge in case of disaster, they sent out bodies of troops to
overrun the neighbourhood. The inhabitants, terrified at the approach
of foes whom they were utterly unprepared to meet, fled from their
dwellings to the churches; and the country seemed to lie so open,
that many of the invaders indulged in the anticipation of taking
possession without resistance.
Far otherwise, however, was it ordered. In fact, the Anglo-Saxons were
rising from the Thames to the Tweed; and William soon received warning
from one of the Normans settled in England not to trust to
appearances.
"Be upon your guard," was the message, "for in four days the son of
Godwin will be at the head of a hundred thousand men."
The warning was well meant, but somewhat unnecessary. William was not
the man to be taken by surprise, as Hardrada had been. His camp was
carefully guarded; and his outposts, extending to a great distance,
kept watch night and day with unceasing vigilance. At length, on the
morning of Friday, the 13th of October, horsemen galloped into the
camp in such haste, that they had scarcely breath sufficient to
communicate their intelligence.
"With what tidings come you?" asked the Normans eagerly.
"With tidings," answered the horsemen, "that the Saxon king is
advancing furiously."
[Illustration: Harold has news of William's landing.]
XVII.
HAROLD'S HOST.
As Harold, after his victory over the Norwegians, left York to hasten
to London, he summoned the men of the provinces through which he
passed to arm in defence of their country. The Anglo-Saxons obeyed the
summons with the utmost possible celerity, and bands of armed men were
soon on their way to the capital. But Harold's conduct ruined all.
With a rashness of which even Tostig would hardly, under such
circumstances, have been guilty, he resolved to venture on a battle
before the great Anglo-Saxon nobles and their fighting-men came up;
and, accompanied by his brothers, Gurth and Leofwine, he left the
capital at the head of an army composed mainly of Kentishmen and
Londoners, utterly inferior both in numbers and discipline to the
force arrayed under the banner of his potent foe.
Elate with the success of his arms at Stamford Bridge, and probably
deluding himself with the idea that he could conquer William as he had
conquered Hardrada, Harold marched with fierce rapidity till he was
within seven miles of the Norman camp. But convinced, at that stage,
of the impossibility of coming on William unawares, he changed his
tactics, halted near the village then known as Epiton, took possession
of some hilly ground, and fortified his position with ditches,
palisades, ramparts of slates, and willow hurdles. Thus strongly
intrenched, he resolved to stand on the defensive.
Meanwhile, some spies, sent to make observations on the hostile army,
and bring intelligence of the disposition and force of the Normans,
returned to the camp, and gave their report.
"There are more priests," said the spies, "in Duke William's camp,
than there are fighting men on the English side."
"Ah," said Harold, with a smile, "you have mistaken warriors for
priests, because the Normans shave their beards, and wear their hair
short. Those whom you saw in such numbers are not priests, but brave
soldiers, who will soon show us what they are worth."
"It seems to us," said some of the Saxon chiefs, on whom the report of
the spies, doubtless, was not without effect, "that we should act
prudently in avoiding a battle for the present, and retreating towards
London, ravaging the country as we go, and thus starving out the
foreigners."
"I cannot ravage the country which has been committed to my care,"
answered Harold. "By my faith, that were indeed treason; and I prefer
taking the chances of battle with my courage, my good cause, and the
few men I have."
But ere long the Saxon chiefs had reason to doubt the goodness of
Harold's cause. While this conversation as to the expediency of a
retreat was taking place, a monk from William arrived with a message
for Harold, and found his way to the presence of the Saxon king.
"William, Duke of Normandy," said the monk, addressing Harold,
"requires thee to do one of three things: either to surrender to him,
the crown of England; or to submit your quarrel to the arbitration of
the pope; or to refer its decision to the chances of a single combat."
"And my answer," said Harold, briefly, "is, that I will not resign the
crown; I will not refer the matter to the pope; and a single combat I
will not fight."
"Then," said the monk, solemnly, "Duke William denounces thee as
perjurer and liar; and all who support thee are excommunicated. The
papal bull is in the Norman tent."
The mention of excommunication produced an instantaneous effect on the
Saxon chiefs, and they looked at each other like men suddenly seized
with superstitious terror.
"This is a business of great danger," they murmured.
"Whatever the danger may be, we ought to fight," said a thane; "for
here is not a question of receiving a new lord as if our king were
dead; the matter in hand is very different. William of Normandy has
given our lands to his barons and his people, most of whom have
already rendered him homage for them. They come not only to ruin us,
but to ruin our descendants also, and to take from us the country of
our ancestors."
"It is true," cried the Saxons, recovering their courage. "Let us
neither make peace, truce, nor treaty with the invader."
"Let us swear," cried all, "to drive out the Normans, or die in the
attempt."
An oath was accordingly taken by the Saxon chiefs. But when their
enthusiasm evaporated, the thought of fighting for national existence
under the auspices of a man branded as "perjurer and liar" troubled
every conscience. Even Harold's brothers could not conceal their
uneasiness, and Gurth frankly and honestly expressed his sentiments.
"Harold," said Gurth, "let me persuade you not to be present in the
battle, but to return to London and seek fresh reinforcements, while
we sustain the Norman's attack."
"And why?" asked Harold.
"Thou canst not deny," replied Gurth, "that, whether on compulsion or
willingly, thou hast sworn an oath to Duke William upon the relics of
saints. Why risk a combat with a perjury against thee? For us, who
have taken no oath, the war is just: we defend our country. Leave us,
then, to fight the battle. If we retreat, thou canst aid us; if we
fall, thou canst avenge us."
"My duty," said Harold, "forbids me to remain apart while others risk
their lives."
The night of Friday, the 13th of October, had now come, and by the
Saxons little doubt was entertained that the Norman duke would attack
them on the morrow. Nor was their anticipation incorrect. Indeed,
William had intimated to his army that next day would be a day of
battle; and, while the Norman warriors prepared their arms, Norman
monks and priests prayed, and chanted litanies, and confessed the
soldiers, and administered the sacrament.
The Saxons passed the night in a far different and much less devout
manner. It seems that the 14th of October was the day of Harold's
nativity, and that the Saxons, eager to celebrate such an occasion, or
hailing it as a fair excuse for carousing, dedicated the night to
joviality. Around their fires wine and ale flowed in abundance, and
men, grouped in large circles, sang national ballads, and filled and
emptied horns and flagons with a reckless indifference to the
probability that next morning their ideas would be confused and their
nerves disordered.
And thus, almost face to face with the Normans, and soon to be hand to
hand, the Saxons, under King Harold's standard, beheld the break of
that day on which, against fearful odds, they were to fight a battle
for the sovereignty of England.
[Illustration: Battle Abbey, Hastings.]
XVIII.
[Illustration: The Norman prelates blessing the troops.]
THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS.
On the morning of Saturday, the 14th of October, 1066, the day of St.
Calixtus, William the Norman rose from his couch, and prepared to tear
the crown of Edward the Confessor from the head of Harold, son of
Godwin.
Before forming into battle order, the Normans went through an
impressive religious ceremony. Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, and Geoffrey,
Bishop of Coutance, celebrated mass, and solemnly blessed the troops;
and then Odo, who was warrior as well as prelate, and wore a hauberk
under his rochet, mounted his tall white charger, and, with a baton of
command in his hand, aided to marshal the cavalry.
The Norman army was ranged in three divisions. In the first were the
men of Boulogne, Ponthieu, and most of the continental adventurers,
whom the prospect of pay and plunder had brought to the invading
standard; in the second appeared the auxiliaries from Brittany, Maine,
and Poitou; while the third was composed of the high Norman chivalry,
and comprised hundreds of knights and nobles, whose names were
afterwards registered in the roll of Battle Abbey, and whose
descendants ranked among the mediæval magnates of England. Gallantly
they mounted--Fitzosborne and Warren, Gourney and Grantmesnil, Percy
and Peverill, Montgomery and Mortimer, Merley and Montfichet, Bruce,
Bigod, and Bohun, De Vere, De Vesci, De Clare, De La Val, and De
Roos--completely covered with linked mail, armed with lances and
swords, and with crosses or dragons and wolves painted on their
shields.
But, while warriors were mounting, the proudest and grandest of these
barons attracted little attention. It was on the chief of that mighty
host that all eyes were turned--on the martial duke, under whose
auspices was now to be fought one of the greatest battles of the
world--a battle the result of which has ever since exercised no
unimportant influence on the destinies of the human race.
William was now in his forty-third year, and time had left its traces
behind. But, bald as he was, and worn with the cares of four decades,
the Norman duke had all the vigour, energy, and martial enthusiasm of
youth. Never, perhaps, had he appeared more worthy of his high
fortunes than when, with some of the relics on which Harold had sworn,
around his neck, he stood in view of the great army of which he was
the soul.
This display having served its purpose, William hastened to complete
the process of arming; and his squires, while handing him his hauberk,
in their haste presented him with the backpiece first.
"This is an evil omen," said the lords around.
"Tush!" exclaimed William, laughing their fears to scorn. "Methinks it
is rather a good omen: it betokens that the last shall be first--that
the duke will be a king."
Having completely armed himself, with the exception of his helmet,
William intrusted his standard to Tonstain le Blanc, a young warrior,
and sprang upon his magnificent Spanish charger, which the King of
Castile had sent him as a gift. Thus armed, and thus mounted, with the
consecrated standard waving over his head, he raised his voice to
address his soldiers ere they marched upon the foe.
"Normans and warriors," said the duke, "you are now about to encounter
your enemies. Fight your best, and spare not. What I gain, you gain;
if I conquer, you conquer; if I take the land, you will share it. We
shall all be rich. Know, however, that I came here not merely to take
that which is my due, but to revenge our whole nation for the felon
acts, perjuries, and treasons of these Saxons. In the night of St.
Brice they put to death the Danes, both men and women. Afterwards they
decimated the companions of my kinsman, Alfred, and put him to death.
On then, in God's name, and chastise them for all their misdeeds!"
As William concluded his address, the Norman priests and monks retired
to a neighbouring hill to pray for victory; and the Norman warriors,
with a shout of "Dieu aide!" began their march to the Saxon camp. In a
short time they came in sight of the place where Harold and his men,
all on foot around their standard, and strongly posted, stood ready,
with their huge axes, to fight to the death.
While such was the position of the hostile armies, a Norman minstrel,
named Taillefer, rendered himself prominently conspicuous. Giving the
spur to his horse, he rode out in front of the Norman array, and, in a
loud voice, raised the song of Charlemagne and Roland, then so famous
throughout Christendom. As he proceeded, he played with his sword,
tossing the weapon far into the air, and then catching it in his right
hand with wondrous dexterity; while the warriors behind vociferously
repeated the burthen of his song, and loudly shouted, "Dieu aide!"
When the Normans approached the Saxon intrenchments, their archers
began the conflict by letting fly a shower of arrows, and the
crossbowmen discharged their bolts. But neither arrows nor bolts did
much execution. In fact, most of the shots were rendered useless by
the high parapets of the Saxon redoubts, and the archers and bowmen
found, with dismay, that their efforts were in vain.
But the infantry, armed with spears, and the cavalry, with their long
lances, now advanced, and charging the gates of the redoubts,
endeavoured to force an entrance. The Saxons, however, forming a solid
mass, encountered their assailants with courage, and swinging with
both hands their heavy axes, broke lances into shivers, and cut
through coats of mail.
It was in vain that the Normans forming the first division of
William's army perseveringly endeavoured to tear up the stakes and
penetrate the redoubts. Foiled and dispirited, archers and bowmen,
infantry and cavalry, fell back on that column where the duke, in
person, commanded.
But William was not to be baffled. Spurring his Spanish charger in
among the archers, he ordered them to shoot, not straightforward, but
into the air, so that their arrows might fall into the enemy's camp.
"See you not," said the duke, "that your shafts fall harmless against
the parapets? Shoot in the air. Let your arrows fall as if from the
heavens."
The archers then, advancing in a body, profited by William's
suggestion; and so successful proved the manoeuvre, that many of the
Saxons, and, among others, King Harold, were wounded in the face.
In the meantime, the Norman horse and foot renewed the attack with
shouts of "Notre Dame!" "Dieu aide!" and an impetuosity which seemed
to promise success. But if the attack was fierce, the resistance was
stubborn. Notwithstanding the execution done by arrows and bolts, and
their frightful wounds, Harold and his men fought with mighty courage.
Driven back from one of the gates to a deep ravine, which was
concealed by brushwood and long grass, the Normans found their
situation deplorable. Horses and men rolled over each other into the
ravine, perishing miserably; and, when William's Spanish charger was
killed under him, and the great war-chief for a moment disappeared,
alarm seized the invaders.
"The duke is slain!" was the cry; and the Normans, giving way to
panic, commenced a retreat.
"No!" exclaimed William, in a voice of thunder, as he disentangled
himself from his fallen steed; "I am here. Look at me. I still live,
and, with God's help, I will conquer."
And taking off his helmet that he might be the more readily
recognised, William threw himself before the fugitives, and
threatening some, striking others with his lance, he barred their
passage, and ordered the cavalry to return to the attack. But every
effort to force the redoubts proved fruitless; still the charge of the
Normans was broken on the wall of shields; and, in spite of the
fearful odds against them, the Saxons still held gallantly out.
It was now that William determined on a stratagem to lure the Saxons
from their intrenchments, and ordered a thousand horse to advance to
the redoubts and then retire. His command was skilfully obeyed; and
when the Saxons saw their enemies fly as if beaten, they lost the
coolness they had hitherto exhibited, and, with their axes hanging
from their necks, rushed furiously forth in pursuit.
But brief indeed was their imaginary triumph. Suddenly the Normans
halted, faced about, and being joined by another body of cavalry, that
had watched the manoeuvre, turned fiercely upon the pursuers with
sword and lance, and quickly put them to the rout.
Evening was now approaching; and William, availing himself of the
confusion and disorder which the success of his stratagem had created
among the Saxons, once more assailed the redoubts, and this time with
success. In rushed horse and foot, hewing down all who opposed them.
In vain the Saxons struggled desperately, overthrowing cavalry and
infantry, and continued the combat hand to hand and foot to foot.
Their numbers rapidly diminished; and at length the king and his two
brothers were left almost without aid to defend the standard.
No hope now remained for the Saxons, and soon all was over. Harold,
previously wounded in the eye, fell to rise no more. Leofwine shared
his brother's fate and died by his side; and Gurth, courageously
facing the foe, maintained a contest single-handed against a host of
knightly adversaries. But William, pushing forward, mace in hand,
struck the Saxon hero a blow of irresistible violence, and Gurth fell
on the mangled corpses of his kinsmen and countrymen.
Ere this the sun had set, and still the conflict was continued; and
the Saxons, vain as were their efforts, maintained an irregular
struggle till darkness rendered it impossible to know friend from foe,
except by the difference of language. The vanquished islanders then
fled in the direction of London. But when the moon rose, the victors
fiercely urged the pursuit. The Norman cavalry, flushed with triumph,
granted no quarter. Thousands of Saxons, dispersed and despairing,
fell by the weapons of pursuers, and thousands more died on the roads
of wounds and fatigue.
Meanwhile, William ordered the consecrated standard to be set up where
that of the Saxons had fallen, and, pitching his tent on the field of
battle, passed that October night almost within hearing of the groans
of the dying.
[Illustration]
XIX.
THE BODY OF HAROLD.
No sooner did Sunday morning dawn than William, having first evinced
his gratitude to Heaven for the victory gained, applied himself to
ascertain the extent of his loss. Having vowed to erect on the field
of battle an abbey, to be dedicated to St. Martin, the patron saint of
the warriors of Gaul, the Conqueror drew up his troops, and called
over the names of all who had crossed the sea, from a list made at St.
Valery.
While this roll was being called over, many of the wives and mothers
of the Saxons who had armed in the neighbourhood of Hastings to fight
for King Harold appeared on the field to search for and bury the
bodies of their husbands and sons. William immediately caused the
corpses of the men who had fallen on his side to be buried, and gave
the Saxons leave to do the same for their countrymen.
[Illustration]
For some time, however, no one had the courage to mention the
propriety of giving Christian burial to the Saxon king; and the body
of Harold lay on the field without being claimed or sought for. At
length Githa, the widow of Godwin, sent to ask the Conqueror's
permission to render the last honours to her son, but William sternly
refused.
"The mother," said the messengers, "would even give the weight of the
body in gold."
"Nevertheless," said William, "the man, false to his word and to his
religion, shall have no other sepulchre than the sands of the shore."
William, however, relented. It happened that Harold had founded and
enriched the abbey of Waltham, and that the abbot felt himself in duty
bound to obtain Christian burial for such a benefactor. Accordingly he
deputed Osgod and Ailrik, two Saxon monks, to demand permission to
transfer the body of Harold to their church; and the Conqueror granted
the permission they asked.
But Osgod and Ailrik found their mission somewhat difficult to fulfil.
So disfigured, in fact, were most of the dead with wounds and bruises,
that one could hardly be known from another. In vain the monks sought
among the mass of slain, stripped as they were of armour and clothing.
The monks of Waltham could not recognise the corpse of him whom they
sought, and, in their difficulty, they resolved to invoke female aid.
At that time there was living, probably in retirement, a Saxon woman
known as Edith the Fair. This woman, who was remarkable for her
beauty, and especially for the gracefulness of her neck, which
chroniclers have compared to the swan's, had, before Harold's
coronation and his marriage with Aldith, been entertained by him as a
mistress; and, on being applied to, she consented to assist the monks
in their search. Better acquainted than they were with the features of
the man she had loved, Edith was successful in discovering the corpse.
The body of Harold having thus--thanks to the zeal and exertions of
the monks--been found, was, with those of his brothers, Gurth and
Leofwine, placed at the disposal of their mother, the widowed Githa.
With her consent they were buried in the abbey of Waltham. The
Conqueror sent William Mallet, one of his knights, to see the corpse
honourably interred; and at the east end of the choir, in a tomb long
pointed out as that containing the remains of the Saxon king, were
inscribed the words--
"HAROLD INFELIX."
"But here," says Sir Richard Baker, "Giraldus Cambrensis tells a
strange story, that Harold was not slain in the battle, but only
wounded and lost his left eye, and then escaped by flight to Chester,
where he afterwards led a holy anchorite's life in the cell of St.
James, fast by St. John's Church."
XX.
[Illustration]
THE CONQUEROR AND THE KENTISHMEN.
After his victory at Hastings, William remained for some time on the
field, waiting for the men of the country to appear at his camp and
make their submission. Finding, however, that nobody came, he marched
along the sea coast, took Dover, and then advanced by the great Roman
road towards London.
While passing through Kent, the conquerors, for a time, pursued their
way without interruption. Suddenly, however, at a place where the
road, approaching the Thames, ran through a forest, they found their
passage disputed by a large body of Kentishmen. Each man carried in
his hand a green bough, and at a distance they presented the
appearance of a wood in motion.
"This," said the Normans, crossing themselves, "is magic--the work of
Satan."
On drawing near, however, the Kentishmen threw the green boughs to the
ground, raised their banner, and drew their swords; and William, aware
that the men of Kent were not foes to be despised, asked with what
intent they came against him in such a fashion.
"We come," cried the men of Kent, "to fight for our liberty, and for
the laws we have enjoyed under King Edward."
"Well," answered William, whose object it now was, if possible, to
conciliate, "ye shall have your ancient customs and your laws which ye
demand, so that ye acknowledge me king of England."
The Kentishmen, on hearing this, consented to lay down their arms,
having concluded a treaty by which they agreed to offer no further
resistance, on condition that they should be as free as they had
before been. William sent forward five hundred horsemen towards
London; and learning that the citizens were likely to stand on their
defence, he resolved to turn towards the west, and passed the Thames
at Wallingford.
On reaching Wallingford, which had been regarded by the Saxons as a
stronghold of the first importance, William was struck with the
capacity of the place, and eager to secure it as one of his
strongholds. On this point there was no difficulty. In fact,
Wallingford was in possession of a Saxon thane named Wigod, who had
neither the will nor the power to resist, but who had an only daughter
named Aldith, with no insuperable objection to become the bride of a
Norman knight. The Conqueror immediately provided the fair Aldith with
a husband, in the person of Robert D'Oyley, one of his favourite
warriors; and the marriage ceremony having been performed without any
unnecessary delay, D'Oyley was left, in the company of his bride and
his father-in-law, to make the castle as strong as possible; while the
Conqueror, marching to Berkhampstead, cut off all communication
between London and the north, and continued so to hem in the city that
the inhabitants became every day more apprehensive of being exposed to
the horrors of famine.
XXI.
EDGAR ATHELING.
News of the Norman victory at Hastings speedily reached London; and
the city became the scene of commotion and debate. So strong, however,
appeared the necessity for doing something decisive, that men calmed
themselves to consider their position; and, by way of dealing with the
crisis, they resolved on placing the Confessor's crown on the head of
Edgar Atheling, the Confessor's kinsman, and the undoubted heir of the
Saxon kings.
Atheling was grandson of Edmund Ironsides, and a native of Hungary. In
fact, it seems that when Canute the Dane, in 1017, made himself master
of England, he found in the kingdom two sons of Ironsides, who bore
the names of Edmund and Edward. Wishing, it is said, to have the Saxon
princes put to death, but apprehensive of the consequences of ordering
their execution, Canute sent them to the King of Sweden, with a
request that they might be secretly made away with. Not caring,
however, to have the blood of two innocent boys to answer for, the
royal Swede sent them to Hungary; and the king of that country, after
receiving them with reluctance, reared them with kindness. As time
passed on, Edmund died without heirs; but Edward, known as The Exile,
espousing Agatha, daughter of an Emperor of Germany, became father of
a handsome and fair-haired boy, known as Edgar Atheling, and two
girls, named Margaret and Christina.
During the reigns of Harold Harefoot and Hardicanute, the son of
Ironsides remained forgotten in exile. But the Confessor, in his old
age, finding himself childless, and knowing that his end was drawing
nigh, turned his thoughts towards his expatriated kinsman, and
despatched Aldred, Archbishop of York, to escort the heir of Alfred
from the German court. The result was, that Edward the Exile, bringing
with him his wife and three children, returned to the country of his
ancestors, with high hopes of wearing the crown. But not long after
arriving in England he went the way of all flesh, leaving his son much
too young to assert his own rights, and without adherents sufficiently
influential to cope successfully with the wealthy and popular chief of
the House of Godwin.
At the time when the Confessor drew his last breath, in the Painted
Chamber, Edgar Atheling was a boy of ten; and Harold had very little
difficulty in excluding him from the throne. It has been asserted,
indeed, that, from the earliest period, minors had been set aside, as
a matter of course, by the Saxon customs; and that the Atheling's
nonage positively disqualified him from wearing the crown.
Nevertheless, the youth, the beauty, the hereditary claims of the boy,
won him many friends; and he was much beloved by the people, who, in
their loyal affection, called him their darling.
"He is young and handsome," said they, "and descended from the true
race, the best race of the country."
It would seem that the Atheling's claims caused Harold considerable
uneasiness. In fact, historians state that the son of Godwin was kept
in constant dread "of anything being contrived against him in favour
of Edgar by those who had a great affection for the ancient royal
family." However, Harold, to keep them quiet, showed the boy great
respect, gave him the earldom of Oxford, and "took care of his
education," says one historian, "as if he would have it thought that
he intended to resign the crown to him when he should be of fit age to
govern."
But whatever may have been Harold's motives or intentions, no sooner
did he fall at Hastings than the popular cry rose in Edgar's favour.
Opinions, however, were divided as to the person most worthy of being
king. Edwin and Morkar, the grandsons of Leofric, claimed the honour
for one of themselves; and men influenced by the papal bull, stood up
for Duke William. But both Stigand, Archbishop of Canterbury, and
Aldred, Archbishop of York, declared strongly for the Atheling; and at
length, after much hesitation and much dispute, the boy was publicly
proclaimed.
Such was the stage at which affairs had arrived in London, when
William, from his camp at Berkhampstead, found a way of communicating
with Ansgar, the standard-bearer of the city, an officer whom, in
1051, he had seen at Edward's court; and when Ansgar, assembling the
chief citizens, without informing them of William's message to
himself, impressed upon them the expediency of negotiating with the
invaders.
"Honourable brothers," said Ansgar, "our resources are nearly
exhausted. The city is threatened with assault, and no army comes to
our aid."
"True," murmured the citizens.
"Such," continued Ansgar, "is our situation; but when strength is
exhausted, when courage can do no more, artifice and stratagem still
remain. I advise you to resort to them."
"In what way?" asked the citizens.
"The enemy," answered Ansgar, "is not yet aware of our miserable
position: let us profit by that circumstance, and send them fair words
by a man capable of deceiving them, who will feign to convey your
submission, and, in sign of peace, will lay his hand in theirs if
required."
"Yes," cried the citizens: "we will, in that case, be able to obtain a
suspension of hostilities, and protract negotiations until the arrival
of succours."
After this scene, in which Ansgar skilfully acted his part, his
counsel was enthusiastically adopted. But the messenger sent to delude
William returned to London devoted to the Norman duke's cause, and
gave so flattering a report of the Conqueror, that the citizens became
eager to acknowledge such a man as King of England. The feeling proved
marvellously contagious, and London was soon under the influence of
one of those popular outbursts which nothing can resist.
"What should be done?" asked Ansgar.
"Let the keys of the city be carried to Duke William," was the answer.
The warriors and prelates who surrounded Edgar Atheling were probably
somewhat surprised at this sudden resolution, and they were certainly
in no position to restrain or counteract it. They therefore yielded to
the current; and the young king, accompanied by the two archbishops,
Stigand and Aldred, by Wulstan, Bishop of Worcester, and by the chief
citizens, proceeded to Berkhampstead to make their submission. On
presenting themselves to the Conqueror they swore fidelity, gave
hostages, and received his promise to be gentle and clement. William
regarded the grandson of Ironsides with interest, kissed the boy
tenderly, and spoke to him with kindness. Doubtless, in the eye of a
prince of Edgar Atheling's age, a dog and a pony would have seemed
more to be desired than the crown and throne of England; nor can it be
said that, in after years, when his valour and his capacity had been
proved, he ever looked back with excessive regret to the crown he had
lost and the throne from which he had been excluded.
[Illustration: Saxon Bondman (from Strutt).]
XXII.
[Illustration: Commotion during the crowning of William.]
CORONATION OF THE CONQUEROR.
After Edgar Atheling and the Saxon chiefs and prelates had made their
submission to the conqueror of Hastings, and given hostages for their
fidelity, William--having previously sent forward a strong body of
soldiers to construct a fortress in the heart of London--left
Berkhampstead, and marched towards the wealthy city on the Thames, ere
long to become the capital of England.
It seemed as if the progress of the Normans would now be easy. Most
men of rank and worldly discretion, especially the bishops--whose
influence was strong--believed that the national cause could not be
maintained, and were inclined to support Duke William as a matter of
duty.
"It is needful," men said to each other, "to fall in with the times,
and not to oppose the will of God, by whom the powers of the world are
raised up."
But all Saxons did not take this view; and while the Normans were on
their way from Berkhampstead to London, an incident occurred which
gave William an idea of the hostile spirit by which many of the
natives were animated. On approaching the ancient abbey of St. Alban's
he found, with surprise, that numbers of huge trees had been cut down,
and so disposed as to intercept the march of his army. William
immediately sent for the abbot, whose name was Frithrik, and demanded
the reason of this attempt to intercept his passage.
"Why," asked the Conqueror, "hast thou thus cut down thy woods?"
"I have done my duty," answered the abbot, boldly; "and had all of my
order done the same, as they ought to have done, thou wouldst not have
advanced so far into our country."
After having advanced near London, William, pondering the propriety of
assuming the crown, held a council of war, ostensibly to discuss the
means of promptly completing the conquest, but in reality to get
nearer the object on which his heart had so long been set.
"It appears," said some of William's friends, addressing their chief,
"that, in order to mitigate resistance, it is politic that thou
shouldst assume the title of King of the English."
"No," said William, feigning an indifference which he was far from
feeling; "I demand, at least, some delay. I have not come to England
for my own interest alone, but for that of the whole Norman nation.
And besides, if it be the will of God that I should become king, the
time has not yet arrived. Too many countries and too many men have yet
to be subjected."
"Yes; it is not yet time to create a king," said the Norman nobles,
interpreting William's scruples literally.
"This is too modest of Duke William," said Aimery de Thouars, a
captain of auxiliaries, rising and speaking with much energy. "It is
too modest of him to appeal to soldiers, whether or no they will have
their lord a king. Soldiers have nothing to do with questions of this
nature; and our discussions only serve to retard that which, as a
matter of feeling, we all so ardently desire."
After the speech of Aimery de Thouars, the Norman nobles felt bound to
support the opinion he had expressed; and it was unanimously resolved
that William should be crowned before proceeding farther with the work
of the conquest. Accordingly, he entered London, took up his residence
at the Tower, and ordered the necessary preparations to be made for
the ceremony.
Christmas was the day fixed for placing the Confessor's crown on the
Conqueror's head, and the church of Westminster was decorated for the
occasion. The Archbishop of Canterbury was invited to perform the
office; but Stigand declined. The Archbishop of York was then invited;
and Aldred consented. The Norman cavalry, posted around Westminster,
carefully watched over the safety of those who took part in the
ceremony; and William, walking between two ranks of soldiers, entered
the abbey, accompanied by two hundred and sixty of his counts and
captains.
When everything was ready for the ceremony of coronation, Geoffrey,
Bishop of Coutance, and Aldred, Archbishop of York, ascended a
platform; and Geoffrey asked the Normans, and Aldred asked the
English, whether they would have William for their king. Those present
answered by acclamations so loud as to produce awkward results. The
Norman cavalry posted in the vicinity, mistaking the meaning of the
cries, and hastily concluding that a riot had taken place, drew their
swords, spurred towards the church, and, in their confusion, set fire
to some houses. The noise and tumult reaching the interior, caused
Normans and Saxons hastily to disperse, and William was left alone
with Aldred and the Saxon and Norman priests. The ceremony was,
however, completed; and William somewhat hastily took the oaths to
treat the Saxon people as well as the best king ever elected by them.
Having planted the lion banner of Normandy on the Tower of London, and
portioned out the south and east of England among his followers,
William embarked at Pevensey to visit his continental dominions,
taking with him as hostages, Edgar Atheling and several Saxon chiefs,
and more gold and silver than could have been found in all Gaul.
In Normandy he was received with boundless enthusiasm. Crowds flocked
from Rouen to the seashore to welcome his return. The Normans and the
French vied with each other in doing him honour. William's vanity was
gratified, and he displayed his munificence by presenting his guests
with the chased gold and silver plate, and the massive drinking-cups,
of which the Saxons had been despoiled.
No one dared now to allude to his illegitimacy, or to mention his
grandsire, the tanner. William had, in fact, made himself the most
independent of European sovereigns; and even the great Hildebrand,
when exalted to the papal throne as Gregory the Seventh, in vain asked
for the oath of fealty.
"I hold my kingdom of God and of my sword," was the stern answer of
the Conqueror.
[Illustration]
XXIII.
THE SIEGE OF EXETER.
After having seated himself on the throne of Edward the Confessor, and
attained the object of his ambition, William was not, perhaps,
unwilling to pursue a policy of clemency and conciliation towards the
Saxons. The Norman barons and knights might have been satisfied with
the lands of the Saxons who had fallen at Hastings. But the numerous
adventurers who had followed the Norman standard had yet to be gorged
with plunder. While the Conqueror was on the Continent, these men were
guilty of indiscreet severity; and the Saxons, unable to brook their
insolence, formed leagues, and vowed to assert their liberty or die in
its defence.
Messengers, hastily despatched, carried to Rouen intelligence of the
state of affairs; and William in alarm hastened to Dieppe, and on a
cold December night embarked for England. On reaching London he found
that city in a ferment; and conscious that his military force was not
as yet sufficient to keep down a whole nation, he resorted to
artifice--called around him Saxon chiefs and prelates, promised all
they asked--celebrated, in their company, the festival of
Christmas--and having in this way gained over the leaders, addressed
to the populace a proclamation, couched in the Saxon language, and
engaging to maintain the laws of King Edward.
After making these and other promises, never intended to be kept,
William left London, and proceeded westward, to pursue the work of
conquest. At Exeter, where Githa, the widow of Godwin and mother of
Harold, had resided since Hastings, the citizens, bent on resistance,
fortified their walls, repaired their towers, and, summoning fighting
men from the neighbouring country, indicated their determination to
bid the Conqueror defiance.
Informed of the attitude assumed by the men of Exeter, William halted
at a place four miles distant from the city, and sent, summoning the
citizens to surrender and swear the oath of fidelity.
"No," answered the citizens of Exeter; "we shall swear no oath of
fidelity to this pretended king, nor admit him within our walls. But
if he thinks proper to receive, by way of tribute, the impost we pay
to our kings, we will give it to him."
"I require subjects," was William's scornful reply, "and I will have
them on no such conditions as are offered."
Without further parley, William ordered his banner to advance
forthwith, and the Norman army speedily invested Exeter. Ere the
assault began, however, some of the chief men, in pursuance of a
secret negotiation, came to the king, demanded peace on terms of
surrender, and delivered hostages. But on returning within the walls,
the bulk of the citizens exclaimed against their treaty, kept the
gates closed, and stood to their arms. William, who was not to be
trifled with, caused one of the hostages to be brought in sight of the
ramparts, and had his eyes put out. But the determination of the
inhabitants was inflexible; and it was not till the siege had lasted
nearly three weeks, and till forty-eight houses were destroyed, that
their courage gave way, and they repaired to the Norman camp, in the
attitude of suppliants, with their priests bearing missals and sacred
vessels.
Having gained possession of Exeter, William ordered a strong fortress
to be constructed out of the houses that had been destroyed during the
siege, and proceeded with the subjugation of the west; adding Somerset
and Gloucester to the conquered territory; dividing the land among his
warriors; and on almost every eminence erecting strong and gloomy
castles to keep the Saxons in awe. Recognising the importance of
Gloucester as a barrier against the incursions of the Welsh, William
fortified the north and south with embattled walls and gates, and
selected its castle for his residence in winter, as he had already
made the Tower of London his residence in summer, and the palace of
Winchester his residence in spring.
Ere Exeter surrendered, Githa, the widow of Godwin, and a number of
other women, escaped to one of the islands of the Severn; then to
Bath; and from Bath gained the western coast, and embarked for
Flanders. Fortunate, comparatively speaking, were those who thus
betook themselves to exile. Cruel, indeed, if we are to believe
historians, was the fate of those who remained. While thanes of high
name and great descent were supplanted by men who had been weavers in
Flanders and drovers in Normandy, their wives and sisters were
degraded to the dust.
"Ignoble grooms, the scum of armies," says the chronicler, "did as
they pleased with the noblest women, and left them nothing but to weep
and wish for death."
[Illustration]
XXIV.
[Illustration: Belfry at Bruges]
MATILDA AND BRIHTRIK.
While William the Norman was occupied with the subjugation of the
west, Matilda of Flanders arrived in England to share her husband's
triumph. It was in the spring of 1068, after the siege of Exeter, that
Matilda, with her children, set foot on English ground. Her reception
was all that she could have desired. Her grace and majesty quite
charmed the people; and when, with great state, she was crowned at
Westminster, she was cheered enthusiastically.
The popularity of Matilda arose from a belief that her counsels often
softened the heart of the Conqueror towards the Saxons, and disposed
him to clemency. Such was probably the case. On one occasion, however,
the royal lady manifested a most vindictive spirit, and exercised the
influence she possessed with her husband to avenge, in a signal
manner, a slight which she deemed had been put upon her in the days of
a somewhat wayward youth.
It appears that when the daughter of Count Baldwin was a girl at
Bruges, with nothing particular to occupy her attention, a young and
noble Saxon, named Brihtrik, arrived at her father's court as
ambassador from Edward the Confessor, and brought with him the
reputation of being enormously rich. Matilda was then passing her time
in exchanging sharp sayings with her sister, Judith, going to mass
with her ladies of honour, working at the embroidery in which she had
such skill, and applying her fine intelligence to the studies which
rendered her one of the most accomplished of European princesses.
Captivated with Brihtrik's handsome person, long hair, and fair face,
and being at an age when ladies are supposed to fall in love without
profoundly calculating the consequences, the Flemish princess soon
found her heart full of a romantic kind of affection for the
interesting stranger.
Brihtrik, however, does not appear to have evinced excessive joy at
his good fortune. In vain the daughter of Count Baldwin indulged in
dreams and in hints of uniting her fate with his. The Saxon lord,
either from having another bride in view, or not relishing the idea of
ladies taking the initiative in love, proved insensible to
allurements, and left the court of Bruges, and the beautiful Matilda,
without having given proof of anything like reciprocity of sentiment.
Matilda was by no means gratified with Brihtrik's coolness. Indeed,
she would seem to have brooded over the memory of the Saxon for many
long years. In any case, when time passed over, and she became the
bride of William the Norman, Queen of England, and the mother of sons
destined to wear crowns and coronals, she had not forgotten Brihtrik
the Saxon.
It is just probable that Brihtrik might not always have spoken of the
daughter of Count Baldwin with the discretion which he ought to have
exercised. When the alarm of invasion was agitating England, and the
name of Duke William was on every tongue, the Saxon, over his cups in
his own hall, or even in the palace of Westminster, might have been
tempted, under the influence of repeated potations, to speak too
freely of his early acquaintance with Matilda the duchess; and his
words might have been carried to the palace of Rouen. At all events,
she still sighed for vengeance on the man who had trifled with her
affections, or treated her advances with indifference.
Matilda had an early opportunity of proving to Brihtrik that he had
not been forgiven. The possessions of Brihtrik, which included
Tewkesbury and Thornbury, lay in the south-west of England; and after
the taking of Exeter, the lands of the vanquished in that quarter were
divided among the conquerors. One of the first names inscribed on the
partition-roll was that of Matilda of Flanders; and her portion of the
plunder was all the land of Brihtrik the Saxon. But Matilda's
resentment was too deep to be satisfied with impoverishing Brihtrik;
and the potent queen still further avenged her outraged vanity by
imprisoning the object of her youthful love after she had plundered
him.
Accordingly, Brihtrik, having been arrested at his manor-house, was
incarcerated in the castle of Winchester. In a dungeon of that
palatial stronghold, with misery for his mate, and precluded,
probably, from looking on the face of day, save through the iron bars
of a prison house, Brihtrik had the prospect of leisure to lament the
coolness of which he had been guilty towards the daughter of Count
Baldwin, and to curse the fate that had made the offended fair one the
spouse of a king and conqueror of England.
But Brihtrik did not long survive the date of his incarceration.
Whether he died a natural death, or fell a victim to Matilda's
relentless vengeance, does not clearly appear. It is certain, however,
that the Saxon lord drew his last breath in prison, and that he was
buried with a degree of secrecy which suggested suspicions of foul
play.
XXV.
[Illustration: William's march on Hexham]
THE NORMANS IN NORTHUMBERLAND.
It was the autumn of 1068, and the south, east, and west of England
having yielded to the Conqueror, and been portioned out among his
adventurous followers, the theatre of English independence became
somewhat limited. William, however, had not yet reason to sigh for
another country to conquer. North of the Humber was a vast province,
where no Norman banner had yet waved, where no Norman horseshoe had
left its print, but where tall Danes and wealthy Saxons, who were
prepared to do battle fearlessly for their liberty, were leaving their
houses to sleep in tents, or in the open air, swearing never again to
repose beneath the shelter of a roof till they had freed their
country.
At length, however, the Conqueror marched northward, and, advancing
upon York, slaughtered all who attempted resistance, and, sword in
hand, entered the capital of the north. Feeling that the struggle was
hopeless, many of the chief Northumbrians descended the Humber in
boats, and sought refuge on Scottish soil, there to watch events; and
William, after erecting a strong castle, and appointing William Malet
as Governor of York, returned southward. But the aspect of affairs
speedily became so alarming, that the king prepared for a second
expedition, and reached York at the very time when the citizens and
the inhabitants of the country had formed a league, and were besieging
the Norman fortress. Attacking them with his wonted energy, William
succeeded in killing or dispersing the insurgents, and, determined on
extending his sovereignty at least as far as Durham, he entrusted the
task of doing so to Robert Comine, whom he by anticipation created
earl of the county that was to be subdued.
With an army of nine thousand men, twelve hundred of whom were
horsemen, Robert Comine ventured on his perilous enterprise. At first
all seemed to go prosperously; and he became quite confident when he
found himself approaching Durham without having seen the face of a
foe. At that point, however, he was met by Eghelwin, Bishop of Durham,
who hinted that there was danger in the way.
"I advise you," said the bishop, "to be prudent and beware of a
surprise."
"Who would attack me?" asked Comine, with contempt. "None of you, I
imagine, would dare to do so." And with these words the Norman warrior
rode into the city and took up his quarters in the bishop's palace,
while his troops encamped in the square.
Everything, so far, seemed secure; but after nightfall a wonderful
change occurred. On every hill a signal-fire was lighted, and armed
men, gathering from the banks of the Tyne, assembled in great numbers,
and hastened towards Durham. By daybreak they were before the walls,
and, forcing the gates, they entered with a mighty rush, and fell
ferociously upon the Normans. Dismayed, but not yet despairing, Comine
attempted to rally his soldiers in the bishop's palace, erected
barricades, and showered arrows from the roofs; but every effort
proved vain. The Northumbrians, resolutely pressing on, set fire to
the episcopal mansion, and Comine and every man within the walls
perished in the flames.
After this successful attempt at revolt, the Northumbrians summoned
allies to their side. They implored aid from the King of Denmark, and
they recalled the Saxons who had exiled themselves to the Scottish
frontier. Both responded with alacrity. A Danish fleet, sent by the
King of Denmark, under the command of his brother, entered the Humber;
and Edward Atheling, Siward Beorn, and Merlesweyn, and Waltheof, son
of the great Siward, who had all taken refuge in Scotland, hastened to
Durham.
It was the autumn of 1069, when the Saxons and Danes, after uniting
their forces, marched upon York, the Saxons forming the van, the Danes
the main army. Messengers went before, announcing deliverance from the
invaders; and, ere long, the Normans were surprised to find the city
invested on all sides. For several days the garrison offered a brave
resistance, but on the eighth day--it was Saturday, the 19th of
September--the besiegers had made such progress that the Normans,
seeing that they must depend on their citadel, and fearing that the
neighbouring houses might be used as materials for filling up the
moats, set them on fire. The flames, leaping from house to house, made
rapid progress; and the Northumbrians and their Danish allies, guided
by the light, penetrated within the walls.
The Normans now took to the citadel, and still hoped to save
themselves. The assault of the besiegers, however, proved
irresistible. The citadel was taken. A conflict of the most desperate
character took place: the Northumbrians and the Danes sought to excel
each other in deeds of valour; and thousands of Normans fell in the
sanguinary encounter. The victors granted quarter to William Malet and
his wife and children, who were conveyed on board the Danish fleet,
and then imprudently proceeded to destroy the fortifications erected
by the Normans, in order to efface all vestiges of the invasion. This
done, they raised the shout of triumph, and expressed their impatience
for the arrival of spring to march southward, and drive the conquerors
from the land. Meanwhile, as King of England, Edgar Atheling concluded
a treaty of alliance with the citizens of York, and had the
gratification of being recognised from the Humber to the Tweed.
William was hunting in the Forest of Dean when he received
intelligence that the Northumbrians had killed Robert Comine at
Durham, and taken possession of York. The wrath of the Norman king
burned fiercely.
"By the Divine splendour!" he exclaimed, "I will never again lay aside
my lance till I have slain all the Northumbrians;" and he prepared
forthwith to execute his threat. But, resolved to facilitate
operations by buying off the Danes, he sent messengers to the Danish
king's brother, with offers of a large sum of money; and the Dane,
yielding to temptation, agreed to take the bribe, and withdrew without
striking another blow.
Having thus deprived the Northumbrians of their allies, William
assembled an army composed of picked soldiers, and, by forced marches,
suddenly appeared at York. The Northumbrians, taken by surprise, and
dispirited by the departure of the Danes, nevertheless girded
themselves up for the combat, resisted with the courage of despair,
and fell by thousands while attempting to oppose the Conqueror's
passage through the breaches of the walls. But long as was the
struggle, and dearly-purchased as was William's success, his victory
was complete. Edgar Atheling left as a fugitive the land of his
ancestors, and all who could, made their escape northward.
Finding himself once more master of York, William determined to extend
his conquest to the Tweed. Cruelly and savagely the work was begun.
Precipitating themselves on Northumberland, the Normans wreaked their
fury on all that the land contained. Flocks and herds were massacred
as well as men; corn-fields were burned with the towns and hamlets
they surrounded; and the devastation seems to have been pursued on
such a scale as to render the country uninhabitable. Wasting, burning,
slaughtering as they went, the Normans at length reached Durham, which
in the previous year had witnessed the death of Robert Comine.
When, one winter's day, news of the Conqueror's approach reached
Durham, the bishop and his clergy were well-nigh in despair. It was
the very depth of the season. Nevertheless, they resolved to be gone.
"Let us fly," they cried, "to some place where neither Norman, nor
Burgundian, nor brigand, nor vagabond can reach us."
Accordingly they set out for Holy Island, carrying with them the bones
of St. Cuthbert and all their moveables of value. They left, however,
a crucifix, richly adorned with gold and silver gems, which had, in
other days, been presented to the church by Tostig, the son of Godwin,
and his haughty countess, Judith of Flanders. This crucifix appears to
have been too heavy for the monks to carry. But they consoled
themselves with the idea that, instead of tempting sacrilege, it would
act as a protection to the church, and to the sick and infirm persons
who had crawled to seek refuge within the sacred precincts, and who,
overcome with pain, and misery, and fatigue, lay in crowds on the bare
stones.
While the bishop and clergy were flying, William entered Durham, and
the Normans took possession of the city, without being disturbed in
their slumbers as Robert Comine had been. Indeed, resistance was now
scarcely thought of, even by the most desperate; and the conquering
army traversed Northumberland in all directions, killing the
unresisting. The sufferings of the inhabitants were fearful. Between
the Humber and the Tweed, more than a hundred thousand human beings
perished by famine and the sword; and many, bidding farewell for ever
to the fields and homesteads of their fathers, hurried northward, and
sought safety in the Merse and Lothian.
But the expedition proved infinitely more fatiguing than any
previously undertaken by the conquerors. Their march was through
terrible roads, across rivers, and over hills covered with snow. On
reaching Hexham, William's army had suffered severely. Horses sank
never to rise again, and the riders complained of the hardships as
intolerable. One dark night William was horrified to learn that his
guides had missed their way, and that he was separated from his army.
The Conqueror found himself in the awkward predicament of being in a
strange and hostile country, with not more than six attendants. The
circumstance caused him some pensive reflection; and when, with the
aid of the morning light, he regained his army, it appeared that the
danger he had passed had produced considerable effect on his mind.
On reaching Hexham, William halted; and ordering his captains to
overrun the country to the north and west, he returned to York, and
caused himself to be crowned in the northern capital. At the same time
he endeavoured to confirm his conquests by planting Norman warriors of
high rank throughout the territory that had been subjugated. William
de Warren, William de Percy, and others were gifted with manors and
villages in Yorkshire; William de Lacy obtained the great domain of
Pontefract; Robert de Brus was settled in Durham; Ralph Meschines took
possession of the mountainous district of Cumberland; Robert de
Umfraville had a grant of Prudhoe and Redesdale; William de Merley
obtained the lands of Morpeth, on which he and his heirs built the
castle of Morpeth and the abbey of Newminster; and Ivo de Vesci became
lord of Alnwick, and husband of the heiress of a Saxon chief who had
fallen at Hastings. All these Norman warriors erected strong castles,
manned the walls with foreign soldiers, and applied their energies to
keep down the Northumbrians.
[Illustration]
XXVI.
COSPATRICK AND THE CONQUEROR.
It would seem that William's taste of Northumberland during his
campaign made him pause and ponder. Perceiving the difficulty of
retaining such a district in subjection against the inclination of the
inhabitants, he recognised the policy of conciliation. Under such
circumstances he bethought him of the claims of a Saxon of illustrious
birth, whom the Northumbrians regarded with pride as the heir of their
ancient earls.
At the time when Harold reigned at Westminster, when Tostig was
tempting the King of Norway to invade England, and when William the
Norman was preparing that mighty armament the accounts of which filled
the minds of the Saxons with dismay and alarm, without rousing them to
preparations for a patriotic resistance, there might have been seen,
in the north of England, riding somewhat discontentedly to the
Northumbrian earl's court at York, or stalking about the woods of
Raby, with a spear in his right hand, a hawk on his left wrist, and
greyhounds running at his heels, a young man with fair face and blue
eyes, whose dress was the short garment, reaching to mid-knee, of the
Normans, but whose moustache, long hair, and speech, strongly
tinctured with the "burr" which the Danes introduced into
Northumberland, indicated, in a manner not to be mistaken, his
genuinely English birth. He was a Saxon thane of high consideration,
and was known as Cospatrick. Frank and hasty was this personage, ever
too ready to trust foes and to quarrel with friends; but with all his
faults, he was destined to play in his own day a conspicuous part in
the affairs of struggling England north of the Humber, and to figure
in history as male ancestor of the two mighty mediæval families of
Neville and Dunbar.
The father of Cospatrick was Malred, the son of Crinian; and his
mother was Algitha, daughter of the great Uchtred, Earl of
Northumberland. Moreover, the blood of the Saxon kings ran in
Cospatrick's veins; for Uchtred had married Elfgiva, King Ethelred's
daughter; and of that marriage Algitha was the issue. It was natural
that, with such a pedigree, Cospatrick should be somewhat
discontented; that he should look with discontent on the domination of
the House of Godwin; that, as grandson of Uchtred, he should grow
indignant at the sight of Tostig figuring as Earl of Northumberland;
that, as great-grandson of Ethelred, he should boil with indignation
at the sight of Harold on the throne of his young kinsman, the
Atheling.
It is necessary, in order to comprehend the course taken by the great
Anglo-Saxon Houses at the time of the Conquest, to remember that the
members of Godwin's House appeared to them wholly different beings
from the personages represented to our generation by the writers of
romantic histories and historic romances. Almost every one of them
stood charged with some fearful crime. Edric Streone was the worst of
ingrates and traitors. Godwin had on his hands the blood of the young
Alfred. Sweyn had debauched a nun and assassinated a kinsman. Harold
had the weight of perjury and usurpation on his soul. Tostig's name
was associated with bloodshed, savagery, and treason. Even Edith, the
queen, was not free from reproach. Chroniclers tell how, on the fourth
night of Christmas, 1065, while the Confessor was on his death-bed,
starting restlessly from dreams of woe and terror, Edith, for love of
her brother, Tostig, caused some Northumbrians, who were dependents of
Cospatrick, to be murdered in the king's court.
Such being the idea entertained of the House of Godwin, Cospatrick was
probably in no mood to pray for the usurpation of Harold being
attended with success. More probably, indeed, the Saxon magnate, rich,
potent, ambitious, and surrounded, in his halls at Raby, by a huge
household of warriors, coerles, serfs, and adherents of every
description, who fed at his board, lived on his hospitality, and
ministered to his pride, reflected with bitterness on being excluded
from the government of that magnificent province, which from infancy
he had been taught to regard as his birthright, and only awaited a
favourable opportunity to enforce his hereditary claim to these fair
domains.
Thus it came to pass, that when the enterprise of the Normans so
prospered, that the Saxon prelates and chiefs carried Edgar Atheling
to Berkhampstead, Cospatrick claimed the earldom of Northumberland, as
heir of Uchtred. William the Conqueror, however, proved as
unaccommodating as Harold the Usurper had been; and Cospatrick not
only saw the government of Northumberland bestowed upon another, but
found that he was no longer safe on the south of the Tweed.
However, when William perceived the necessity for cultivating the
good-will of the Northumbrians, he entered into negotiations with
Cospatrick, and indicated his readiness to come to terms. A bargain
was soon struck between the Conqueror and the grandson of Uchtred.
Cospatrick paid William a large sum of money, and William invested
Cospatrick with the earldom of Northumberland.
[Illustration]
XXVII.