All within the palace of Westminster showed the confusion and dismay
of the awful time;--all, at least, save the council-chamber, in which
Harold, who had arrived the night before, conferred with his thegns.
It was evening: the courtyards and the halls were filled with armed
men, and almost with every hour came rider and bode from the Sussex
shores. In the corridors the Churchmen grouped and whispered, as they
had whispered and grouped in the day of King Edward's death. Stigand
passed among them, pale and thoughtful. The serge gowns came rustling
round the archprelate for counsel or courage.
"Shall we go forth with the King's army?" asked a young monk, bolder
than the rest, "to animate the host with prayer and hymn?"
"Fool!" said the miserly prelate, "fool! if we do so, and the Norman
conquer, what become of our abbacies and convent lands? The Duke wars
against Harold, not England. If he slay Harold----"
"What then?"
"The Atheling is left us yet. Stay we here and guard the last prince
of the House of Cerdic," whispered Stigand, and he swept on.
In the chamber in which Edward had breathed his last, his widowed
Queen, with Aldyth, her successor, and Githa and some other ladies,
waited the decision of the council. By one of the windows stood,
clasping each other by the hand, the fair young bride of Gurth and the
betrothed of the gay Leofwine. Githa sate alone, bowing her face over
her hands--desolate; mourning for the fate of her traitor son; and the
wounds, that the recent and holier death of Thyra had inflicted, bled
afresh. And the holy lady of Edward attempted in vain, by pious
adjurations, to comfort Aldyth, who, scarcely heeding her, started
ever and anon with impatient terror, muttering to herself, "Shall I
lose this crown too?"
In the council-hall debate waxed warm,--which was the wiser, to meet
William at once in the battle-field, or to delay till all the forces
Harold might expect (and which he had ordered to be levied, in his
rapid march from York) could swell his host?
"If we retire before the enemy," said Gurth, "leaving him in a strange
land, winter approaching, his forage will fail. He will scarce dare
to march upon London: if he does, we shall be better prepared to
encounter him. My voice is against resting all on a single battle."
"Is that thy choice?" said Vebba, indignantly. "Not so, I am sure,
would have chosen thy father; not so think the Saxons of Kent. The
Norman is laying waste all the lands of thy subjects, Lord Harold;
living on plunder, as a robber, in the realm of King Alfred. Dost
thou think that men will get better heart to fight for their country
by hearing that their King shrinks from the danger?"
"Thou speakest well and wisely," said Haco; and all eyes turned to the
young son of Sweyn, as to one who best knew the character of the
hostile army and the skill of its chief. "We have now with us a force
flushed with conquest over a foe hitherto deemed invincible. Men who
have conquered the Norwegian will not shrink from the Norman. Victory
depends upon ardour more than numbers. Every hour of delay damps the
ardour. Are we sure that it will swell the numbers? What I dread
most is not the sword of the Norman Duke, it is his craft. Rely upon
it, that if we meet him not soon, he will march straight to London.
He will proclaim by the way that he comes not to seize the throne, but
to punish Harold, and abide by the Witan, or, perchance, by the word
of the Roman pontiff. The terror of his armament, unresisted, will
spread like a panic through the land. Many will be decoyed by his
false pretexts, many awed by a force that the King dare not meet. If
he come in sight of the city, think you that merchants and cheapmen
will not be daunted by the thought of pillage and sack? They will be
the first to capitulate at the first house which is fired. The city
is weak to guard against siege; its walls long neglected; and in
sieges the Normans are famous. Are we so united (the King's rule thus
fresh) but what no cabals, no dissensions will break out amongst
ourselves? If the Duke come, as come he will, in the name of the
Church, may not the Churchmen set up some new pretender to the crown--
perchance the child Edgar? And, divided against ourselves, how
ingloriously should we fall! Besides, this land, though never before
have the links between province and province been drawn so close, hath
yet demarcations that make the people selfish. The Northumbrians, I
fear, will not stir to aid London, and Mercia will hold aloof from our
peril. Grant that William once seize London, all England is broken up
and dispirited; each shire, nay, each town, looking only to itself.
Talk of delay as wearing out the strength of the foe! No, it would
wear out our own. Little eno', I fear, is yet left in our treasury.
If William seize London, that treasury is his, with all the wealth of
our burgesses. How should we maintain an army, except by preying on
the people, and thus discontenting them? Where guard that army?
Where are our forts? where our mountains? The war of delay suits only
a land of rock and defile, or of castle and breast-work. Thegns and
warriors, ye have no castles but your breasts of mail. Abandon these,
and you are lost."
A general murmur of applause closed this speech of Haco, which, while
wise in arguments our historians have overlooked, came home to that
noblest reason of brave men, which urges prompt resistance to foul
invasion.
Up, then, rose King Harold.
"I thank you, fellow-Englishmen, for that applause with which ye have
greeted mine own thoughts on the lips of Haco. Shall it be said that
your King rushed to chase his own brother from the soil of outraged
England, yet shrunk from the sword of the Norman stranger? Well
indeed might my brave subjects desert my banner if it floated idly
over these palace walls while the armed invader pitched his camp in
the heart of England. By delay, William's force, whatever it might
be, cannot grow less; his cause grows more strong in our craven fears.
What his armament may be we rightly know not; the report varies with
every messenger, swelling and lessening with the rumours of every
hour. Have we not around us now our most stalwart veterans--the
flower of our armies--the most eager spirits--the vanquishers of
Hardrada? Thou sayest, Gurth, that all should not be perilled on a
single battle. True. Harold should be perilled, but wherefore
England? Grant that we win the day; the quicker our despatch, the
greater our fame, the more lasting that peace at home and abroad which
rests ever its best foundation on the sense of the power which wrong
cannot provoke unchastised. Grant that we lose; a loss can be made
gain by a king's brave death. Why should not our example rouse and
unite all who survive us? Which the nobler example--the one best
fitted to protect our country--the recreant backs of living chiefs, or
the glorious dead with their fronts to the foe? Come what may, life
or death, at least we will thin the Norman numbers, and heap the
barriers of our corpses on the Norman march. At least, we can show to
the rest of England how men should defend their native land! And if,
as I believe and pray, in every English breast beats a heart like
Harold's, what matters though a king should fall?--Freedom is
immortal."
He spoke; and forth from his baldric he drew his sword. Every blade,
at that signal, leapt from the sheath: and, in that council-hall at
least, in every breast beat the heart of Harold.