I have already (see above, p. 219, and vol. ii. p. 302) made some

remarks on this story, a story which is plainly of English invention.

Eadward’s intentions in favour of William are cut down to a rash

promise in his youth, of which no one seems to know anything except

Eadward and William themselves. Eadward’s present intentions are

plainly in favour of Harold, and perfect confidence and cordiality

are implied as reigning between the King and the Earl. But, as I have

already said, this view of Eadward’s promise will not stand the test of

chronology. There was no time when Eadward and William lived together

as youths of equal age. When Eadward left Normandy in 1041, William

was thirteen or fourteen years old, Eadward perhaps thirty-eight. A

private promise of this kind seems most unlikely to have happened

between them, though, as I have already said (see vol. ii. p. 523),

William’s counsellors may have been already reckoning the chances of

William’s succession. The story of Wulfnoth and Hakon being given as

hostages for Godwine’s good behaviour on Godwine’s triumphant return

is quite inconsistent (see above, p. 221) with the true narrative of

that return. Still less can we accept the story of William of Poitiers

(see above, p. 668) that Wulfnoth and Hakon were given as hostages,

not for Godwine’s good behaviour towards Eadward, but for the carrying

out of the imaginary act of the English Witan in favour of William.

My own belief is that there were no English hostages at all in the

hands of William at the time when Harold came into Normandy. But I

think it is not hard to see how the story of the hostages arose. It

is certain that Wulfnoth was kept as a prisoner by William, and that

his imprisonment began early in life. William, on his death-bed (see

Florence, 1087), set free various prisoners, both English and Norman,

and among them “Wlnothum Regis Haroldi germanum, quern a pueritiâ

tenuerat in custodiâ.” This of course might only mean that Wulfnoth

was imprisoned after William’s coming to England, as must have been

the case with Harold’s son Wulf, whom Florence speaks of directly

after. But it is also quite consistent with the statement that he was

left behind as a hostage by Harold. That he was so left is affirmed

by Eadmer and Simeon in the passage just quoted. It is also implied

by William of Poitiers, when he says (111) that, of his two supposed

hostages, one, namely Hakon, was allowed to return with his uncle

(“quinetiam fratruelis ejus, alter obses, cum ipso redux propter ipsum

redditus est”). But moreover William of Jumièges, who says nothing

about Hakon or about any earlier giving of hostages, says (vii. 31)

that Wulfnoth was left as a hostage; “Postremò ipsum [Heraldum] cum

multis muneribus Regi remisit [Willelmus], et pulcrum adolescentem

Wlnotum fratrem ejus obsidem retinuit.” In this he is followed by

Benoît (36640);

“Heraut out un frere danzel,

Que n’estoveit querre plus bel;

Vuilnoth out non, corteis e sage;

Cel laissa au Duc en ostage.”

One would certainly understand this as meaning that Wulfnoth had

accompanied Harold on his voyage and that he was left by him as a

hostage for his own good faith. Why should not this have been the case?

If, as I have suggested, Harold was accompanied on his voyage by both

Wulfnoth and Hakon, if he brought Hakon back and left Wulfnoth behind

as a hostage, one can easily see how the story arose about Hakon and

Wulfnoth having both originally been hostages. The Norman version would

represent them, as William of Poitiers does, as hostages given for

William’s succession to the Crown. English writers, knowing that this

at least never happened, would find some more possible occasion for

the handing over of a son and a grandson of Godwine to the keeping of

the Norman Duke. Such an occasion would be found in the reconciliation

between Godwine and Eadward. The interchange of hostages is mentioned

more than once in the course of the story, so that the notion that

hostages were given by Godwine at the final conclusion of peace, though

an unfounded idea, was not an unnatural one.

These then are the two views, according to both of which Harold is

made to set out for Normandy with some settled purpose, either to

confirm the bequest of the Crown to William or to obtain the release

of his brother and nephew. The two accounts are utterly contradictory

to one another, and I do not think that either will stand the test of

criticism. But before I go on to the third version, I must mention

the accounts given in the Roman de Rou and in the Tapestry. Honest

Wace, after his manner, knowing that there were two or three stories,

allows his readers to choose between them. He first tells the story

of Godwine’s return, according to his notion of it. Godwine is in

banishment, and the King will not let him come back unless he gives

hostages for his good behaviour. He sends his son and grandson, whom

Eadward sends over to William, and Godwine then returns.

“Goigne ne l’osa néer;

Tant por li Reis asséurer,

Tant por sez parenz maintenir,

Tant por sez homes garantir,

Un soen nevo et un soen filz,

K’il aveit ensemble norriz,

A en ostage el Rei bailliez.

E li Reis les a envéiez

Al Duc Willame en Normendie

Come à cil ù mult se fie:

Mandé li a k’il les gart tant

Ke il méisme li demant.”

(vv. 10579–10590.)

He then adds the significant remark, which seems to show that he had

the version of William of Poitiers and William of Jumièges in his eye,

that this looked very much as if Eadward intended the hostages who were

nominally given for the good behaviour of Godwine to act practically as

hostages for the succession of William.

“Ço fut semblant k’il voulsist

Ke toz tems cil les retenist,

Ço distrent genz, ke il péust

Sun regne aveir s’il ainz morust.”

(vv. 10591–10594.)

He then goes on to describe Godwine’s death (see vol. ii. p. 612),

Eadward’s vow of pilgrimage, the foundation of Westminster, and

Eadward’s intention to bequeath his Crown to William, which last he

describes in language which is evidently taken from the statement put

into William’s own mouth by William of Poitiers (129; see above, p.

667). He then gives a description of Harold, on whose virtues, power,

and favour with the King he becomes somewhat eloquent, and fully

realizes his position as the practical ruler of the whole kingdom.

“En la terre out un senescal

Heraut out nom, noble vassal;

Por sun pris è por sa bunté

Out el regne grant poesté,

Li plus fort hom fu del païs

Fort fu d’homes, fort fu d’amis,

_Engleterre out en sa baillie_

_Com home ki a senechaucie_.”

(vv. 10709–10716.)

So directly after;

“Héraut fu ben de son seignior,

Ki à feme aveit sa seror.”

(vv. 10725–10726.)

The story then goes on in much the same shape as in Eadmer. Harold’s

wish to release the hostages and the warnings of Eadward are given in

much the same way, with the further piece of advice from the King,

that, if Harold wishes for the hostages, he should send some other

messenger and not go himself. Wace then adds that he has also read

another story, that namely of William of Poitiers and William of

Jumièges, and that he does not profess to know which is the true one.

“Issi l’ai jo trové escrit,

Et un altre livre me dist

Ke li Reis li rova aler

Por li réalme asséurer

Al Duc Willame sun cosin,

Ke il l’éust emprez sa fin;

Ne sai mie ceste achoisin,

Mais l’un è l’altre escrit trovon.”

(vv. 10741–10748.)

So much for Wace. The Tapestry plainly shows (pl. 1) an interview

between Eadward and Harold before Harold sets sail from Bosham, and

another interview (pl. 7) after Harold’s return. Of these two scenes

the earlier must be interpreted by the later. In that scene Harold

is represented as recounting his adventures to the King with a very

strange look and strange gestures, quite different from anything shown

in the first interview. But Dr. Bruce’s imagination surely carries

him a little too far when he says (p. 27) that “Harold comes into the

presence of the Confessor like a guilty person, deploring his misdeeds

and craving pardon. An axe, carried by an attendant on the left of

the King, is turned towards him, apparently betokening that he has

committed an offence worthy of death. The King is evidently reproving

him sharply, but the attendant on the right of the King having the

edge of his axe turned away from Harold, shows that the result of the

interview was a pardon.” Unluckily for this ingenious theory, one of

the persons who in this very plate offer the Crown to Harold carries an

axe with its edge no less threateningly turned towards the person of

the King-elect. Still there is no doubt that Harold enters the King’s

presence with the air of one who is by no means proud of the success

of his errand. His neck is stretched out in a most amazing fashion,

and the whole expression is that of one whose position is exceedingly

awkward. This seems to me to fit in exactly with the version of Eadmer,

and I do not see how it can be made to fit in with the version of

William of Poitiers. According to that version, Harold had done nothing

to be afraid or ashamed of. He had simply pledged himself in a solemn

way to carry out the King’s intentions. But, on Eadmer’s view of the

matter, he had utterly failed, except so far as he had brought back

Hakon; he had involved himself and his country in great danger, and he

must have gone to the King with the unpleasant feeling that one so much

his intellectual inferior had for once proved wiser than himself. This

seems to me to be plainly enough expressed in the representation of

the second interview in the Tapestry; I therefore accept the Tapestry

as, so far, a witness in favour of Eadmer’s version, or at least in

favour of some version according to which Harold went into Normandy on

an errand which failed. A certain amount of confirmation is thus given

to Eadmer’s statement, but I can hardly think that it is enough to

counterbalance its inherent improbability in other respects.

3. I now come to the third version, that which makes Harold’s presence

in Normandy wholly the result of accident. William of Malmesbury

was fully aware of the version of William of Poitiers. He (ii. 228)

distinctly refers to it (“ferunt quidam ipsum Haroldum a Rege in

hoc”—namely to announce to William the bequest of Eadward—“Normanniam

missum”), but he deliberately rejects it. The story which he prefers

as nearer to the truth (“quia propius vero videtur”), and as told by

those who were better informed (“alii secretioris consilii conscii”),

represented Harold’s presence in Normandy or in any part of Gaul

as simply caused by his being carried thither by stress of weather

(“invitum, venti violentiâ illuc actum”). He set out from Bosham purely

on a voyage of pleasure and for the purpose of fishing (“ut animum

oblectaret suum, piscatorium conscendit navigium”). Some cause or

other led him to venture to an unusual distance from land (“interim

quidem longiusculo ludo in altum proceditur”), and a storm drove him

to the coast of Ponthieu. According to Henry of Huntingdon, Harold

was not thus merely yachting, but was going, for some cause which is

not mentioned, to Flanders (“Haraldus verò transiens in Flandriam

tempestate compulsus est in Ponticam provinciam,” M. H. B. 760 E).

Matthew Paris (p. 1), whom I shall again have to quote, tells the tale

in what, for my purpose, is the same way. Harold, still a young man,

but looking forward to the Crown (“dum adhuc juvenis esset, adspirans

ad regnum Angliæ”), is sailing about, and is driven by the winds to a

land which he takes to be Flanders, but which proves to be Ponthieu

(“sponte spatiatus, navigando raptus est vi ventorum, et dum Flandriam

credidit se attigisse, compulsus venit in Pontinam provinciam”). Snorro

(Johnstone, 190; Laing, iii. 75) makes Harold to have been sailing,

not to Flanders, but to Wales. He seemingly looks on the voyage as

part of Harold’s warfare against Gruffydd. A storm drives his ships,

not to Ponthieu, but to the coast of Normandy (“þat var á eino sumri,

at Haralldr Gudinason átti ferd til Brettlandz, oc fór á skipi, enn

er þeir komo í hafit, þá tók þá andvidri, oc rák út í haf. Þeir tóko

land vestr í Nordmandi, oc höfdo fengit storm mann-hættan”). These

accounts seem independent, and of course they cannot be reconciled in

detail. The important point which they have in common is that they

all represent Harold’s presence in Normandy as unintentional. He is

not going thither on any errand either of his own or of the King’s;

he is carried either directly to Normandy, or first to Ponthieu, by a

storm. If this were the true tradition, we can easily understand that

various versions would soon arise as to the direction and object of

his journey. Snorro’s notion, for instance, of a voyage into Wales is

hardly consistent with the remarkable agreement of several versions

that it was from Bosham that Harold set sail. But it is of little

moment whether he was sailing to Wales or Flanders or nowhere in

particular, provided he was not purposely sailing to Normandy. And

that this story is the right one will, I think, appear, if we consider

the way in which tales grow. They improve, they add details, they

give new and fuller reasons for everything; but they seldom lop off.

The fact of Harold’s presence in Normandy would call forth a thousand

conjectures and speculations as to the cause of his being there. The

purely negative version, which said that all these speculations were

at fault, which asserted that Harold’s presence in Normandy was a mere

accident, is, of all the versions, that which least bears the impress

of legendary invention or adornment.

This general position is not affected by William of Malmesbury’s

evident attempt to reconcile this version with that of William of

Poitiers. Harold, in Guy’s dungeon, begins to devise some means of

escape (“astuto pectore volvens casûs remedium”). It seems to be taken

for granted that such means could come only through the help of the

Duke of the Normans. He accordingly sends a man won over by great

promises (“hominem promissis ingentibus sollicitatum”) with a message

to Duke William. It is hard to see how a prisoner who was kept not

only in ward but in fetters could have had the chance of winning over

any one in this way, unless indeed the man so won over were one of

his own keepers. The message is to the effect that Harold has been

sent by Eadward to confirm in a more solemn way the King’s intentions

in favour of William. It is assumed that Eadward had made such a

disposition (see vol. ii. p. 371), and that it had been made known to

William by messengers of inferior dignity; it is only the character

of an ambassador which Harold is made falsely to assume for the nonce

(“missum se Normanniam a Rege, ut quod minores nuntii balbutierant

ipse potissimùm suâ confirmaret præsentiâ”). So Matthew Paris makes

Harold falsely pretend that he was coming on an errand to the Duke’s

Court, though he gives that errand a different turn from that which

it takes in William of Malmesbury, one which I shall have to discuss

hereafter. This is a most awkwardly devised story, even as a story, and

it is of course inconsistent with the evidence by which I have shown

that no disposition in William’s favour at this time can be admitted.

It can only be an attempt to piece together the two versions, that of

Harold’s embassy and that of his accidental presence in Normandy. He

was not really an ambassador, but he pretended to be one. The attempt

at joining the two stories was an awkward one, but perhaps no other

attempt could have succeeded better.

The two other writers who follow a version essentially the same as

that of William of Malmesbury, namely Snorro and Henry of Huntingdon,

give no details of Harold’s deliverance from his prison in Ponthieu.

Snorro leaves out the sojourn in Ponthieu altogether, and Henry only

says, “quem [Haraldum] captum Consul Ponticus Willielmo Duci Normanniæ

reddidit.” So Matthew Paris, making the act still more voluntary on

Guy’s part, says, “quem captum Consul Ponticus Willielmo Normannorum

Duci præsentavit.” Snorro, as I have said in the text, gives some

curious details of Harold’s sojourn at Rouen; he also makes him get

there in the summer, stay through the winter, and go back to England in

the spring.

II. It will be seen that two distinct views as to the devise of the

Crown in favour of William are involved in the first two of these three

versions. According to one of them, the bequest was simply a private

promise made by Eadward, when he was not yet King, that, if he ever

should become King, William should succeed him. This is in itself not

impossible, though it is not possible in the particular shape in which

it is told us, namely as the promise of one young man to another young

man. It is hardly necessary to show that such a promise as this could

have no kind of force, according to the laws of England or of any

other kingdom. According to the other story, the devise of the Crown

took the form of an Act of Settlement, of a regular vote of the King

and his Witan, confirmed by the signatures and the oaths of the four

greatest men in the land. Such an act would doubtless have been valid,

and it would have given William as good a claim as George the First.

At the same time it must not be forgotten that all such attempts at

an election before the vacancy seem to have been unpopular, and that

they were very seldom carried out in practice (see vol. i. pp. 118,

533). But beyond the assertion of William’s own laureate, there is not

a scrap of evidence or of probability in favour of this story, and

the particular form in which it is told is chronologically impossible

(see above, p. 673). William of Malmesbury, or those whom he followed,

probably saw this, and therefore changed the date from some time before

the death of Godwine to some time after the death of the Ætheling (see

vol. ii. p. 371). He also leaves out all mention of the consent of the

Witan or of the Earls, and seems to make it a purely personal act of

the King. Here we get something which is barely possible, but which

has no evidence and no probability in its favour. In fact neither of

these statements as to the bequest to William rest on the slightest

tenable ground. The third statement, that of a strictly testamentary

disposal, a bequest of Eadward on his death-bed, does not appear in any

writer at all near the time. The fact of the death-bed nomination of

Harold was too notorious to be denied, and the adverse party generally

contented themselves with asserting that the nomination was wrung from

the dying King against his will. The first appearance of the notion of

a death-bed bequest to William is to be found in the passage of the

Hyde writer which I have already quoted (see above, p. 595), where it

is said that Eadward “Regnum moriens Willelmo Comiti consobrino suo

reliquit.” So the Annals of Margam (p. 3 Luard), “quia virgo decessit

... quum potiorem hæredem non haberet, Willelmo Duci Normannorum,

consobrino suo, Regnum Angliæ testamento tradidit.” So Thomas Wykes,

the partizan of Henry the Third, consistently enough asserts the rights

of William in their fulness. He tells us (p. 22 Gale) how Eadward,

“prævidens dum adhuc viveret Regnum Angliæ post mortem suam periculis

et turbationibus exponendum, nobilissimum Ducem Normanniæ Willielmum le

Bastard hæredem suum constituit, et Regni sui successorem, tamquam ex

testamento dum adhuc viveret, assignavit ipsum.” M. Francisque Michel,

in his note to Benoît (iii. 162), has collected several passages from

unpublished writers taking the Norman side, which he very fairly

contrasts with the genuine statements of the English writers. One only,

the Chronicle of Peter of Ickham, a writer of the fourteenth century,

seems worth quoting because he attempts rather ingeniously to combine

two versions.

“Iste autem Edwardus, aliquando exsulatus in Normanniam, Willielmo,

cognomento Bastard, Duci Normannorum, præstitit sacramentum quod si

Rex, annuente Deo, foret, nullum alium præter ipsum haberet hæredem.

“Iste Edwardus, sanctus Dei confessor, absque liberis decessit quia

virgo permanserat: et quum hæredem de se non haberet, Willielmo Duci

Normanniæ consanguineo suo, sicut ei priùs juramento promiserat, regnum

testamento dedit.”

These passages seem quite enough to show that the notion of a last

will and testament in favour of William is one which was quite unknown

till a later generation. I must quote one more passage in which this

view is set forth, because it brings in another expression which

deserves some notice. In the Chronicle of Battle Abbey (p. 2) we

read, “Interea Anglicæ Regnum monarchiæ eidem Duci Willelmo, a suo

consanguineo Rege Edwardo e mundo migrante, hæreditario jure delegatum

relinquitur.” The expression to be noticed is that of “hæreditario

jure,” which is here applied to William’s succession to the Crown. We

find it also in charters of William himself and of his son William

Rufus. There is one in Rymer (p. 3), where William describes himself

as “Ego Willelmus Dei gratia Rex Anglorum hæreditario jure factus;”

and one of William Rufus (p. 5), where he describes himself as “Ego

Willelmus Dei gratia Rex Anglorum filius magni Regis Willelmi qui Regi

Edwardo hæreditario jure successit.” The words “jus hæreditarium” have

more than one meaning. It is possible that the Battle writer really

meant to assert an hereditary right in the modern sense. He had just

before said that William, “principatum proprium”—that is of course the

Duchy of Normandy—“hæreditario sibi jure a patre relictum feliciter

obtinuit.” And there is no doubt that William’s kindred with Eadward

really was looked on by zealots in his cause as giving him some kind of

hereditary claim upon England. This was certainly the belief of Henry

of Huntingdon. See vol. i. p. 332. Otherwise the words “hæreditario

jure” may be taken simply to mean that William was the heir of Eadward

in the sense of being adopted by him. So two of the manuscript

chronicles quoted by M. Francisque Michel (Benoît, iii. 163) say that

Eadward “adoptavit in regnum”—“adoptavit hæredem—Willielmum Ducem

Normannorum.” The words “hæreditario jure” are also used to express

something which a man holds by a right which is not derived from his

forefathers, but which is to be passed on to his descendants. It is

even applied, as in the Cartulary of the Holy Trinity at Rouen (pp.

449 et seqq.), to property held by a corporation in absolute freehold,

which will therefore pass to the official heirs, so to speak, of the

existing members.

There is one more Norman version of the bequest of Eadward, which,

though it rests on no early authority, is worth referring to, on

account of the detail at which it is given, and because it brings in

a name which we have already had occasion to mention with honour. It

will be found in the History of Colchester Abbey in the Monasticon,

iv. 607 (cf. Ellis, i. 415). The “internuntius” between William and

Eadward was Hubert of Rye (see vol. ii. p. 249), the father of Odo,

the founder of the Abbey. Eadward, finding himself sick and without

heirs (“quum eò maximè cruciaretur, quod in se regium genus deficere

videret”)—Eadgar is seemingly forgotten—sends Goscelin, a merchant of

Winchester, who was in the habit of going on long voyages in the way

of trade, on a message to Duke William. Goscelin, by his name, must

have been a Norman or Frenchman, and the mention of a French merchant

as settled at Winchester in Eadward’s time is worth notice. The Duke

is asked to send some confidential agent (“ut aliquem dirigeret à suo

latere”) to receive the King’s message for the Duke. In an assembly

of Norman Barons (“facto magno procerum conventu”), the Duke seeks

for some one who will go on an embassy to England. But all refuse to

trust themselves among the barbarians who had wrought the death of

Ælfred (“omnes recusant barbaram expetere gentem, propter illa quæ

audierant facta apud Geldefordiam”). Hubert at last volunteers to go,

and is thereon much praised and rewarded. He goes over in wonderful

state (“cum grandi apparatu, cum pompâ magnâ, equis phaleratis et

fremitu terribilibus, hominibus serico indutis et colore vestium

spectabilibus”). Eadward receives him honourably, and of course gives

him a grant of land (“ei primæ in Angliâ suæ mansionis villa quæ

Esce dicitur, perpetuò possidenda conceditur.” The place is Ashe in

Hampshire, which appears in Domesday, 47, as held by Hubert’s son Odo,

but which was held T. R. E. by a tenant of Earl Harold). The business

is done satisfactorily, and Hubert goes back to Normandy with the

promise of the Kingdom and tokens confirming the promise (“insignia

quibus Willielmus declarabatur hæres Edwardi Regis Anglorum, spatam

scilicet cum capulo in quo erant inclusæ sanctorum relliquiæ, cornu de

auro venatorium, et caput ingens cervinum”).

The story goes on to say that Hubert did not come with William into

England because disturbances were looked for in Maine, which he was

sent to quell or to hinder (“veniente Willielmo in Angliam accipere

sibi regnum, quoniam a Cenomanicâ regione suspicabatur tumultus,

Hubertus, quia erat promptus manu et consilio bonus, missus est illic

prætendere et servare pacem”). I did not venture, without better

authority, to mention this in my text at p. 384, but it is worth

comparing with the seeming disloyalty of the Cenomannian knight at

Senlac mentioned in p. 486.

Now, after going through all these accounts, what is the real state of

the evidence with regard to the alleged promise of Eadward to William?

A death-bed bequest, as we have seen, was not alleged by William or

by his contemporaries. Such a bequest would be inconsistent with any

of the versions of the story of Harold’s oath, all of which conceive

William as asserting some right to the succession before Eadward’s last

sickness. A promise made in earlier times, before Eadward’s accession,

is possible, but it is by no means likely, and such a promise could

not be of any legal force. An act of the King and his Witan in

William’s favour is impossible in itself and is confirmed by no kind of

evidence. But that there was some promise I think cannot be doubted.

When I believe that promise to have been made I have already said (see

vol. ii. p. 303). Here is another fact which looks the same way. In

one of the manuscripts quoted by M. Francisque Michel (Benoît, iii.

164), William tells us how he reigned, “devicto Haroldo Rege cum suis

complicibus, qui mihi regnum prudentiâ Domini destinatum et _beneficio_

concessionis _domini_ et cognati mei gloriosi Regis Edwardi concessum

conati sunt auferre.” This is vague enough, but it suggests one hint.

The feudal language employed, the words “beneficium” and “dominus”—the

latter of which is applied by William to Eadward in other documents

(see above, pp. 249, 555, and cf. ii. 18)—might suggest that, when the

promise was made, William did homage to King Eadward as his lord and

adopted father. There is but one time when this could have happened.

We have here another confirmation of the view, supported by no direct

evidence, but the only view which is not upset by opposing evidence,

that the promise was made by Eadward, and that the homage, if there

was any, was performed by William, at the time of William’s visit to

England in 1051.

III. The next point is as to the time, the place, and the matter of

Harold’s oath. As to the time, William of Poitiers (108) distinctly

places the oath, as well as the knighthood, before the expedition into

Britanny. Such seems also to be the account of Orderic (492 A-B),

though his way of telling the story in the pluperfect tense takes off

somewhat from the clearness of his narrative; “Heraldus ... sacramentum

fecerat, ... tunc etiam Dux eumdem Heraldum in expeditione secum

contra Conanum Comitem Britonum duxerat, armisque fulgentibus et equis

aliisque insigniis cum commilitonibus suis spectabiliter ornaverat.”

The other accounts seem to place both the knighthood and the oath after

that expedition. In the Tapestry (pl. 6) we read immediately after the

taking of Dinan, “Hic Willelm dedit Haroldo arma,” on this follow the

words, “Hic Willelm venit Bagias, ubi Harold sacramentum fecit Willelmo

Duci.” So William of Jumièges (vii. 31) and Wace (Roman de Rou, 10816)

place the oath immediately after the return from Britanny, though

Wace (10812; see above, pp. 228, 240) seems to place the knighthood

before the expedition. As to the place, there is yet more difference

than as to the time. The Tapestry clearly means to place the event in

its own city, for “Bagias,” curious as the form is, can mean no place

but Bayeux. So does Wace, a Canon of Bayeux (Roman de Rou, 10826).

But William of Poitiers (108) places it at Bonneville (“coadunato ad

Bonamvillam concilio”), in which he is followed by Benoît (36594);

“Si josta li dux son concile,

Ce sui lisant, à Bone-Vile.

Là fu li serremenz jurez,

Que Heraut meisme a devisez.”

But Orderic (492 A) places the scene of the oath at Rouen (“ipse

Heraldus apud Rotomagum Willelmo Duci coram optimatibus Normanniæ

sacramentum fecerat”). It is also placed at Rouen by the romantic

Biographer of Harold (Chron. Angl. Norm. ii. 184 et seqq.), who adds

that the oath was sworn under a very large and aged oak, which, as soon

as the oath was broken, immediately lost its bark, which, as he truly

adds, was “dictu mirum” and “res digna spectaculo.” He adds that he

himself saw it an hundred and forty years after the event, which fixes

his own date to about the year 1205.

As to the form of the oath, William of Poitiers (108) simply says,

“Heraldus ei fidelitatem sancto ritu Christianorum juravit.” But,

according to his manner, he implies in a later passage (131; see p.

463, note 4) that the oath was made upon relics. So Orderic (492

A); “Homo ejus factus, omnia quæ ab illo requisita fuerant super

sanctissimas reliquias juraverat.” The “phylactery called ‘the

bull’s-eye’” is found in the Brevis Relatio (4); “Ei, sicut multi

dicunt, super filacterium quod vocabant oculum bovis quod ei fidem

et promissionem quam ei faciebat bene custodiret.” The Hyde writer

(290) tells us why it was called the bull’s-eye; “Infinitam sanctarum

multitudinem reliquiarum deferri jussit, superque eas filacterium

gloriosi martyris Pancratii, quod oculum bovis vocant, eo quod gemmam

tam speciosam quam spatiosam in medio sui contineat, collocavit,

certissimè sciens tantum martyrem nullâ temeritate posse deludi.”

In the Tapestry (pl. 6) Harold is shown swearing between two chests

or phylacteries (see Ducange in voce) of different shapes, one of

which has something on the top which might fairly pass for the “gemma

speciosa et spatiosa” of the Hyde writer. But in none of these accounts

do we find anything about the trick played upon Harold by William.

Whatever Harold swears upon, it is not at all implied that he was

otherwise than fully aware of what he was doing. The tale according to

which Harold is made unwittingly to take an oath of a more solemn kind

than he supposed comes from Wace;

“Toz li corz sainz fist demander,

Et un liu tuz asembler;

Tut une cuve en fist emplir,

Pois d’un paele les fist covrir,

Ke Heraut ne sont ne ne vit,

Ne ne li fust mostré ne dit

De suz out une filatire,

Tut li meillor k’il pout eslire,

E li plus chier k’l pout trover:

Oil de boef l’ai oï nomer.”

(vv. 10828–10837.)

So again, after the oath has been taken;

“Quant Heraut out li sainz beisiez

Et il fu suz levez en piez,

Verz la cuve li Dus le trait,

E lez la cuve ester le fait:

De la cuve a le paesle osté,

Ki tut aveit acoveté;

A Heraut a dedenz monstré,

Sor kels cors sainz il a juré.

Heraut forment s’espoanta

Des relikes k’il li monstra.”

(vv. 10850–10859.)

I leave the reader to judge which of these two versions is the older.

It is quite possible that the striking circumstance of the hidden

relics, which is peculiar to Wace, may be merely an instance of the

usual growth of legend. But it is no less possible that Wace, a very

honest writer, may have preserved a fact which, as tending to the

discredit of William and in some measure lessening the crime of Harold,

was left out by two violent partizans. I leave the point in the same

uncertainty in which I must leave all the other details of the story.

We now come to the matter of the oath said to have been taken by

Harold. The fullest accounts of its terms are those which are given by

William of Poitiers (108) and by Eadmer (5). I have in the text (p.

241) given its terms according to the accounts of these two writers.

The oath, as given by William of Poitiers, runs as follows;

“Se in curiâ domini sui Edwardi Regis, quamdiu superesset, Ducis

Willelmi vicarium fore; enisurum, quanto consilio valeret aut opibus,

ut Anglica monarchia post Edwardi decessum in ejus manu confirmaretur;

traditurum interim ipsius militum custodiæ castrum Doveram, studio

atque sumptu suo communitum; item per diversa loca illius terræ alia

castra, ubi voluntas Ducis ea firmari juberet; abunde quoque alimonias

daturum custodibus.”

The terms in Eadmer take the form of a speech addressed by William to

Harold. William mentions Eadward’s promise of the Crown to him, and

goes on thus;

“Tu quoque, si mihi te in hoc ipso [the succession to the Crown]

adminiculaturum spoponderis, et insuper castellum Dofris cum puteo aquæ

ad opus meum te facturum, sororemque tuam quam uni de principibus meis

dein in uxorem te ad me, tempore quo nobis conveniet, destinaturum,

necne [necnon?] filiam meam te in conjugem accepturum fore promiseris,

tunc et modò nepotem tuum, et quum in Angliam regnaturus venero,

fratrem tuum incolumem recipies.”

In both these versions Harold binds himself in different terms to do

all that he can to bring about William’s succession to the Crown;

but William of Poitiers makes no mention of the engagements as to

the two marriages, the marriage of Harold to a daughter of William

and the marriage of Harold’s sister to one of William’s nobles. In a

later passage however (p. 145), which I shall quote in another note

(see Appendix U), he takes for granted both the marriage of Harold

with William’s daughter, and also another stipulation of which we

hear more distinctly in William of Jumièges (vii. 31). This is the

important addition that Harold should have half the Kingdom as the

portion of Adeliza (“deinde Dux postquam Heraldus fidelitatem sibi

de regno pluribus sacramentis firmavit, Adelizam filiam suam cum

medietate Anglici regni se daturum eidem spopondit”). William of

Malmesbury (ii. 228) gives much the same account as Eadmer, but with

the strange addition that Harold offered the oath of his own accord.

His words are; “Ibi Haroldus, et ingenio et manu probatus, Normannum

in sui amorem convertit; atque, ut se magis commendaret, ultro illi

tunc quidem castellum Doroberniæ quod ad jus suum pertineret, et post

mortem Edwardi Regnum Anglicum, sacramento firmavit: quare et filiæ,

adhuc impubis, desponsione, _et totius patrimonii amplitudine donatus_,

familiarium partium habebatur.” The words in Italics would seem to

refer to some sort of commendation of Harold’s lands to William, and

something of the same kind seems implied in the words with which

William of Poitiers goes on with his story (109); “Dux ei [Heraldo] jam

satelliti”—a common equivalent for “miles” or vassal—“suo accepto per

manus ante jusjurandum terras ejus cunctumque potentatum dedit petenti.”

Wace says nothing about the castle of Dover, still less does he stoop

to Eadmer’s detail about the well, but he mentions the two engagements

to marry William’s daughter and to make over the Kingdom to him at

Eadward’s death. He gives these terms twice;

“Entretant a li Dus parlé

Tant ke Heraut li a graé,

Ke Engleterre li liverra

Tres ke li Reis Ewart morra;

Et à moillier s’il velt prendra

Ele une fille ke il a:

Co se li plaist li jurera,

Et Willame le graanta.”

(vv. 10816–10823.)

And again in describing the actual taking of the oath;

“Poiz a juré et a prami

Si come home ki eschari:

Ele, la fille al Duc prendra,

Et Engleterre al Duc rendra;

De ço il fera son poeir

Sulunc sa force e son saveir

Emprès la mort Ewart, s’il vit;

Si veirement Dex li aït,

E li corz sainz ki iloc sont.”

(vv. 10840–10848.)

I have discussed in the text the chief points connected with the terms

of the oath, and I have put forth the view which, on the whole, seems

to me the least improbable. I will now get together several passages

in which the promise to marry William’s daughter becomes the chief,

or even the only, engagement taken by Harold. They come from writers

who had not such good means of information as William of Poitiers,

but who were much less likely to misrepresent or colour the story.

They show what aspect of the tale most struck those who were not

immediately interested in the matter. Let us begin with Snorro. The

only engagement he knows of on Harold’s part is his engagement to marry

William’s daughter. The proposal, as far as William is concerned, comes

from Harold himself, but seemingly from Harold talked over by Matilda.

The Duke does not altogether approve of the long evening talks between

Harold and his wife. Matilda tells Harold that her husband is anxious

to know the subject of their discourse, so it is agreed that Harold

shall tell the Duke the next day. Harold accordingly asks William for

his daughter in marriage, saying that he has fully talked the matter

over with the Duchess, who favours his suit (“þat er at segia ydr,

Jarl, atfleira býrr í hingat-komo minni, enn þat er ec hefir enn upp

borit fyrir ydr. Ec vill bidia dóttr þinnar til eigin-kono mer, hefir

oc þetta máll rætt fyri módor hennar optliga, oc hefir hon mer því

heitit, at lidfinna þetta mál vid ydr.” Johnstone, 191; Laing, iii.

76). The suit is accepted; Harold is betrothed to the princess, but, on

account of her youth, the marriage is to be put off for a time. Harold

then goes to England, and comes back no more to _Welshland_ to marry

the girl (“oc kom eige sídan til _Vallandz_, at vitia þessa ráds”).

When Harold is elected King, William indeed bethinks himself that his

kindred with Eadward gives him a better right to the Crown than Harold

(“enn Vilhiálmr þóttiz betr tilkominn ríkis í Englandi, en Haralldr,

fyrír frændsemis sakir þeírra Játvardar Konungs.” Johnstone, 216;

Laing, iii. 94), but it is not made to appear that there was any breach

of faith on this score on Harold’s part. William invades England,

partly to assert his hereditary right to the Crown, partly to punish

Harold for not marrying his daughter (“þat var oc med, at hann þóttiz

eiga at giallda Haralldi svívirding, er hann hafdi slitit festamálom

vid dóttur hans”).

So in the Cartulary of Saint Bertin, in a passage already quoted, we

read (p. 197) how “Willelmus, Comes Nortmanniæ.... Angliam petiit, ac

Haroldo ipsius terræ [Rege?] occiso, _eo quod filiam ipsius Wilhelmi in

uxorem recipere recusaverit_, Anglos gravi prœlio, multorum sanguine

fuso, sibi subjugavit, et utrique populo Anglico et Nortmannico

regnavit.” Here the only reason given for William’s attacking England

is Harold’s neglect to marry his daughter. No other was known to the

author of the Chronicle of Saint Andrew’s at Cambray, who wrote in

1133. Here (Pertz, vii. 537) William is described as invading England

without any apparent reason, till we reach the words “Rex Anglorum

Heroldus, olim contra prædictum Comitem Willelmum perjurus, nam filiam

ejus se accepturum juraverat.” The Waltham writer “De Inventione”

(cap. 20) is in the like case; “Insidiantibus ei perfidis Normannorum

versutiis, quia filiam Willelmi Ducis Normannorum nuptui traditam

contempsit.” These “versutiæ” exactly describe the sort of constraint

under which I conceive Harold to have made the whole engagement.

These accounts mention no ground at all for the invasion except

Harold’s refusal to marry William’s daughter. Other accounts, without

going so far as this, put the question of marriage forward in a very

remarkable way, as if everything else was incidental. This is the case

in the version of the messages between William and Harold which is

given by Eadmer and Simeon. William’s main object is to demand Harold’s

sister and to require Harold to marry his daughter. Other matters are

quite secondary. “Venit nuntius in Angliam a præfato Willelmo directus,

expetens sororem Haroldi, juxta quod convenerat Willelmo et illi. _Alia

etiam quæ, violato sacramento, servata non erant, calumniatus est_”

(Eadmer, 5). And afterwards, “iterum ei amicâ familiaritate mandavit

quatenus, aliis omissis, servatâ fidei sponsione, saltem filiam suam

uxorem duceret.” (Simeon reads, “ut quamvis violatâ fide cætera non

servâsset, si tamen filiam suam duceret uxorem, _leviter ferret_.”)

Harold, in his answer, does undoubtedly speak of the Kingdom and of the

castle of Dover, but these subjects are thrust in between his answers

about the two marriages, how his sister is dead—does the Duke wish for

her corpse?—and how he cannot marry a foreign wife without the consent

of the Witan. Throughout this story William is made much more anxious

to find a husband for his daughter than to find a Kingdom for himself.

This must surely come from some account like that of Snorro and the

other writers quoted above, which spoke of the marriage only, and which

has been mixed up with the account given by William of Poitiers.

It will be remembered that, in the wild account of Eadward’s death-bed

given in the French Life (see above, p. 589), everything is made to

turn on an expected marriage between Harold and William’s daughter. It

is on that marriage that he is made to ground his hopes of the Crown.

In the account in Matthew Paris (p. 1) again, the marriage comes first.

Harold, carried to Ponthieu by accident, and handed over by Guy to

William, pretends that he is come secretly into Normandy to make a

league with the Duke and to marry his daughter (“Haraldus asserebat se

hæc omnia sponte fecisse, ut clam veniens in Normanniam confœderaretur

Duci, filiam ejus in sponsam accepturus”). This he swears to do on

the relics of the saints (“quod et juravit super sanctorum multorum

reliquias se fideliter ad quemdam terminum completurum”). Harold and

William, hitherto enemies, now become great friends, all the more so

because Harold has come secretly (“tantò igitur majori honore susceptus

est quantò secretiùs adventâsset; fuerant enim ante inimici ad

invicem”). Then, as something quite secondary, comes the oath about the

Kingdom; “Juravit insuper se post mortem Regis Edwardi, qui jam senuit

sine liberis, regnum Angliæ Duci, qui in regnum jus habuit, fideliter

conservaturum.” There is no explanation of the alleged right of

William, no mention of any bequest by Eadward. Matthew had surely read

some account which mentioned the promise of marriage only, and he added

the bit about the Kingdom in deference to the more usual statement.

Lastly, we have that most singular account in the Hyde writer (288–90),

to which I have already (see above, p. 686, and vol. ii. p. 519) had

to refer. According to this version, hostages, one of them a son of

Godwine, were given to William for the safety of Eadward, when the

English embassy came to offer him the Crown on the death of Harthacnut.

If any one chooses to accept this statement, here is a ready way of

accounting for the other stories about the hostages. And though I do

not think it likely that a son of Godwine was given as a hostage to

William at that time, it is distinctly less unlikely than that he

should have been so given at the time of Godwine’s return. But in this

account the hostages are not spoken of again. Harold, sailing to some

place not mentioned (“quibusdam caussis navem ingressus”), is driven

by adverse winds to Ponthieu; he is imprisoned by Guy, and set free

at the prayer (“precibus”) of Duke William. The Earl and the Duke,

according to this account, appear, not as the old enemies which Matthew

Paris calls them, but as old friends (“ab eodem [Willelmo] optimè

cognitus [Haroldus] in multis familiariter est habitus”). They agree at

last that, as William’s cousin King Eadward has no heir, Harold shall

receive the Kingdom of England on condition of marrying William’s

daughter and, it would seem, of holding the Kingdom as a fief of his

father-in-law. Such seems to be the meaning of the words, “Ad hoc inter

eos sermo progressus est, ut quia Edwardus Rex Anglorum, consobrinus

Comitis Willelmi, hæredem non habebat, regnum Anglorum Willelmus

Haroldo concederet eo tenore, ut filiam ipsius matrimonio acciperet,

eique per omnia fideliter [fidelis?] exsisteret.” Harold agrees so

readily that William, who did not easily trust Englishmen, becomes

suspicious, and binds him by an oath (“quod quum promptissimè annueret,

ab eodem _Anglorum fidem suspectam habente_ ad districta sacramenta

est coactus”). The phylactery of Saint Pancras, already spoken of, is

accordingly brought, and Harold swears on it “se omnia, scilicet sicut

fuerat postulatus, constantissimè se servaturum et Normannis fidelem

affuturum.”

Now it is singular when, after this, we read in the same account (see

above, p. 595) that Eadward on his death-bed left the Crown to William,

and that Harold usurped it. This hardly fits in with an agreement

between Harold and William that Harold should have the Crown on certain

conditions. But the account which this writer (291) gives of the

messages between the two princes exactly fits in with his account of

the oath. William calls on Harold to do what he has promised to do (“ut

sacramentorum in Normanniâ gestorum reminiscens, fœdus quod juraverat

persolveret”), that is, doubtless, to marry his daughter and do homage

for the Kingdom. Harold’s answer is that he has no need of any kind

of connexion or intercourse with the Normans, and will therefore not

perform his oath (“remandat Haroldus Normannorum societatem non esse

Anglis necessariam, et ideò nullum ei juramentum persolvere, nullum cum

eo consortium habere”). Of resigning the Kingdom there is not a word.

The reader will by this time know the peculiar position of the Hyde

writer. His accounts are often strange and incredible, and contradicted

by better authorities. But they are always independent. The writer is

no servile copyist. He followed independent traditions and exercised

an independent judgement of his own. His statements therefore have

a certain value. And in this case they have more value than usual,

as, though his prejudices are strongly Norman, his story points to a

tradition quite different from the received Norman version.

Putting then together the hints of these various writers, combined

with the probability of the case, I am led to the view which I have

suggested in the text. Harold’s oath was primarily an oath to marry

William’s daughter, and this oath, or perhaps his knighthood, was

accompanied by an act of homage to William. He became his “satelles”

in the language of William of Poitiers, his “homo” in the language

of Orderic. I have shown in the text how vague and lax were the

obligations thereby incurred. But such an act obviously lay open

to many interpretations. Harold would doubtless hold that whatever

obligations were imposed either by gratitude or by formal vassalage

would be amply fulfilled by his services in the Breton war and by

continued friendly relations with Normandy. But nothing would be

easier than for William to magnify the simple obligation of homage

into a promise to hold the English Crown in fief or to make it over to

William himself. Out of such a groundwork as this the elaborate Norman

story could easily grow up. But if Harold expressly promised all that

William of Poitiers makes him promise, it is not easy to see how the

engagement to marry William’s daughter could ever, in so many versions

of the tale, including some distinctly favourable to the Norman side,

have usurped the place which would have properly belonged to the more

important engagements about the Kingdom.

I will now, by way of relaxation, wind up this part of my subject with

the most wonderful tale of all, that with which Gervase of Tilbury

amused the Imperial leisure of Otto the Fourth. I will give only a

summary, referring the reader to the original of the “Otia Imperialia,”

Decisio Secunda, cap. xx., which will be found in Leibnitz’ collection

of Brunswick historians, vol. i. p. 945.

The holy King Eadward left as his heir his nephew Harold, a prince

whose virtues are set forth in the most glowing terms. In his boyhood

he had been sent by his uncle for education to Normandy, according

to the use of the English nobles, who commonly sent their sons into

France, to learn the use of arms, and to lay aside the barbarism

of their native tongue. The reigning Duke had a bastard son named

William, who was brought up as his heir. The two lads formed a boyish

friendship, and promised to marry each other’s sisters. King Eadward

and the unnamed Norman Duke die about the same time; Harold succeeds

his uncle in England, and William, after some opposition, succeeds

his father in Normandy. The new Duke sends a message to the new King,

calling on him to fulfil his promise by an exchange of sisters.

Harold has now no mind for either marriage, but his own marriage with

William’s sister is brought about by an accident. The King of the

English sets out with a few companions on a yachting expedition. Stress

of weather drives him to Flanders—we should surely read that, intending

to go to Flanders, he was driven to Normandy—there he pretends that

he is come to carry out his promise as to both marriages. He does

marry the Duke’s sister, and takes her with him to England, and again

promises to send his own sister to the Duke. Once at home again, he

neglects his promise, and, puffed up with pride, he invades Scotland

and defeats the Scots in a stoutly contested battle. Directly after

this, he hears that William has landed in the south of England, and

hastens to attack him. The Normans, few in number and fearing Harold’s

prowess, defend themselves with a dyke. But God, who can conquer by few

as well as by many, overthrows the proud English, whose King is either

killed or escapes by flight. William then marches on London, marries

Harold’s sister, and reigns over England by virtue of the marriage.

This is altogether the wildest of all the tales that I have come

across. I need not stop to point out all its blunders, anachronisms,

and confusions. The most amusing perhaps is the story of Harold’s

youthful sojourn in Normandy. This is evidently a confusion between

Harold and Eadward, and the reason which is given must be one which

belonged to Gervase’s own day rather than to Eadward’s. But even this

amazing fable is worth a moment’s thought, as it shows how strong the

tradition was that some question about a marriage of some kind or other

was the primary ground of quarrel between Harold and William.

IV. I have given in the text as the probable date of Harold’s visit to

Normandy the only date which seems possible, namely 1064. Mr. St. John

(ii. 226 et seqq.), who rejects the story altogether, enlarges on the

varying statements as to the date. The earliest accounts give no date;

some seem to place it very soon after the death of Godwine, others,

sometimes indeed the same, place it very soon before the death of

Eadward. The writers seem not to have stopped to think that these two

events were thirteen years apart. Mr. St. John says, very truly, though

with a curious confusion of the respective dates and values of his

authors,

“Bromton, p. 947, places it in the fourteenth year of Edward, that is,

A.D. 1056; Matthew of Westminster and Roger of Wendover in A.D. 1059;

Henry of Huntingdon A.D. 1063; Ranulph Higden, iii. 283, in 1064;

Hoveden, Malmesbury, Hemingford, Wace, Simeon of Durham, run through

the whole gamut of chronology from the period immediately succeeding

the death of Godwin to the period immediately preceding the death of

Edward, so little possible did they find it to give any stability or

coherence to their fable.”

He then goes on;

“Modern historians, discovering insuperable objections to all the

earlier dates, imagine there are fewer obstacles in the way of

adjudging the voyage to the last year of Edward’s reign. The selection

seems unfortunate. At the time of the expedition against Conan the

corn is said to have been almost ripe in the fields, which in Bretagne

is never the case till towards the end of August or the beginning of

September. Now from the most unimpeachable of all testimonies, we know

that Harold was in Wales during the summer of A.D. 1065, overlooking

the erection of the hunting-palace which he undertook to build for the

pleasure of his brother-in-law. We may infer, though it is not stated,

that Harold left Wales sometime before the end of August, because on

the 24th of that month Caradoc, son of the murdered king Griffith,

whose widow Harold had married, exterminated the earl’s workmen, and

put a period to the construction of the palace. Immediately after

this, that is, early in September, the insurrection took place in

Northumbria, when Harold was at hand, ready at the King’s request to

negotiate with the rebels at Northampton.

“From this view of the occurrences of A.D. 1065, it seems difficult,

if not impossible, to imagine an unoccupied interval lying between

midsummer and autumn long enough to admit of our crowding into it all

the events which are said to have occurred during Harold’s imprisonment

at Ponthieu and forced detention in Normandy.”

These arguments are, I think, decisive against 1065. Mr. St. John

places the Northumbrian revolt in September instead of in October;

still the English events of the autumn of 1065 hardly leave time for

Harold’s captivity at Beaurain, his sojourn at Rouen, and his warfare

in Britanny. But Higden’s date of 1064 seems open to no objection.

Florence (see vol. ii. p. 474) certainly carries the Welsh war into

that year; but the Chronicles leave it an absolute blank. At the same

time, as I have already said, I do not commit myself to the date or to

anything else. Mr. St. John’s arguments, though often expressed with

needless violence, have throughout great weight as against the details

of the story. But I still think that the story must have had some

groundwork of truth, and I have tried to show what that groundwork may

have been.

V. It would be an interesting question, how far Harold’s obligations

to William, whatever they were, were known in England either before or

after Eadward’s death. But this is a point on which we have absolutely

nothing to guide us. I know of no writer who has anything to say on the

subject, except the romantic Biographer of Harold, whom I have quoted

in p. 601.

I have thus done what I could to throw light on the most perplexing

question in my history, one of the most perplexing questions in all

history. I shall not be surprised if I am thought to have only made

what was before dark darker still. But no one can conceive how thick

the darkness really is except by groping in it, as I have done, in his

own person.

NOTE S. p. 221.

THE ÆLFGYVA OF THE BAYEUX TAPESTRY.

There is no representation in the whole of the Tapestry which is more

thoroughly puzzling than the one referred to in the text (pl. 4), with

its legend “Ubi unus clericus et Ælfgyva.” Who is the lady, bearing a

purely English name, who is thus suddenly introduced, seemingly at the

gate of William’s palace, with no apparent reference to anything before

or after? One would naturally look for the figure of William’s wife or

daughter in such a position, rather than for that of any other woman.

Harold’s promise to marry William’s daughter, which is so prominently

dwelt upon in every other version of the story, is not once alluded

to in the Tapestry, unless this place has reference to it. But how

could William’s wife or William’s daughter be described by the familiar

English proper name Ælfgifu? On the other hand, what chance is there

that any Englishwoman, really bearing the name of Ælfgifu, could be

present in Duke William’s palace at such a moment? And if any such

Ælfgifu really was there, what bearing had her presence on the general

course of the story, so as to account for the prominent position thus

given to her?

Some of these difficulties naturally struck the very earliest

commentators on the Tapestry, and from their days to ours a series

of the wildest conjectures have been poured forth with regard to the

“Ælfgyva” in question. The matter is treated of by Lancelot (Mémoires

de l’Académie, viii. 612), by De la Rue and his translator Mr. Douce

(Archæologia, xvii. 100), by Mr. Amyot (Archæologia, xix. 199), by De

la Rue again in his Appendix of 1824 (Recherches sur la Tapisserie, p.

53), by Mr. Bolton Corney (p. 19), by Dr. Bruce (p. 53), and lastly

by Mr. Planché (Journal of Archæological Association, 1867, p. 142).

The strange thing is that several of these writers seem not to have

understood that Ælfgifu is simply a very common English name, but to

have fancied that it was a sort of title, meaning Queen or Princess.

Their stumbling-block was the double name of Eadward’s mother,

“Ælfgifu-Emma,” in which formula Lancelot argued that _Ælfgifu_ was

equivalent to _Hlæfdige_. Any one who turns to the passages which I

have referred to will find a great number of guesses, some of which

refute themselves, while others are refuted by other writers in the

dispute. “Ælfgyva” has been identified with the Duchess Matilda,

with her daughter Adeliza, with Harold’s sister Eadgyth and his wife

Ealdgyth, while some have taken the trouble to show that she cannot

be either Ælfgifu-Emma or “the other Ælfgifu” (see vol. i. p. 453).

What it is that Ælfgyva and the clerk are doing no one seems to know

for certain, neither can I throw any light on the matter. Out of all

this mass I will only, by way of relaxation, quote Mr. Bolton Corney’s

remarks, as at once the most curious and the least generally accessible.

“William promised to bestow one of his daughters on Harold. She is

represented beneath the inscription ÆLFGYVA—but Elfgiva was not her

name. Emma, daughter of Richard I. of Normandy, and mother of Edward

the Confessor, is sometimes called by the Saxon annalists _Elfgiva_

Emma. _Elfgiva therefore, whatever we read in Florence of Worcester,

seems to have been an appellation of honour_, and may have been

understood as such by the _Saxons Bayeusains_. If so, why was the name

of the betrothed omitted? Could it not be ascertained, or was it deemed

superfluous? I apprehend the latter to have been the case; she was the

DAME _par excellence_—she was _buried_ and was _annually commemorated_

at Bayeux.”

We may infer then, First, that the Saxon language was spoken at Bayeux

in the thirteenth century, the date to which Mr. Corney assigns the

Tapestry; Secondly, that in the Saxon language of Bayeux _Ælfgyva_

meant “Lady;” Thirdly, that one particular daughter of William was

known, distinctively and familiarly, as “_the_ Ælfgyva;” Fourthly,

that Mr. Bolton Corney understood Old-English better than Florence of

Worcester.

Now leaving all wild conjectures, let us try and see what really

suggests itself about this obscure matter. The Tapestry represents a

woman named Ælfgifu as being in Duke William’s palace at the moment

of Harold’s coming thither. Who was she? We may put aside Matilda and

all other women who never were, or could have been, called Ælfgifu. We

may put aside all those women who were named Ælfgifu but who were dead

and buried at the time. But of all the women named Ælfgifu who were

living at the time, which could have been in William’s palace at that

particular moment? Several guesses have occurred to me at different

times. They are mere guesses, of no more value than the guesses of

other writers. They are all, I allow, improbable guesses, but I think

that they have the advantage over some other guesses of not being

absolutely impossible.

1. In my second volume (p. 629) I threw out, half in jest, the

suggestion that Ælfgifu, the name assumed by Emma on her marriage with

Æthelred, was the name usually assumed by foreign women who married

English husbands. Is it possible that there is really something in

this? Is it possible that William’s daughter, if she had married

Harold, would have had to change her name to Ælfgifu? Is it possible

that she is here called Ælfgifu proleptically, perhaps sarcastically?

This is, I grant, very far-fetched and unlikely, but it is perhaps

not absolutely impossible. We should certainly expect the Tapestry

to contain some reference to the intended marriage between Harold

and William’s daughter. We should certainly expect to find William’s

daughter, rather than any other girl or woman, represented where we

find Ælfgifu represented. And here is a way, however far-fetched, in

which it is just possible she might be called Ælfgifu.

2. Ælfgifu was (see vol. ii. p. 629) the name of the widow of Ælfgar,

the mother of Harold’s wife Ealdgyth. According to some accounts, she

was of Norman birth. Could she have been living or visiting in Normandy

at this time? And can her introduction have any reference to Harold’s

marriage with her daughter?

3. I have mentioned in my second volume (p. 554) the probability that

Harold had a sister of the name of Ælfgifu, and that she must have been

the sister whom Harold (Eadmer, p. 5; Sim. Dun. 1066) promised, as

part of his oath, to give in marriage to one of William’s nobles. Is

it possible that she was in Normandy at this time? If Harold’s voyage

really was, as I believe it to have been, a mere yachting expedition,

he may very well have been accompanied by his sister, as well as by his

brother and his nephew. If it should be asked how Ælfgifu came to be in

William’s palace while her brother was still a captive at Beaurain, it

may be answered that even Guy may not have pressed his right of wreck

so far as to imprison a woman, and that it is certain that one or more

of Harold’s party escaped Guy’s clutches, if only to carry the news of

his imprisonment to William (see above, p. 224). If therefore Harold

was accompanied by his sister, it is quite possible she might find her

way to Rouen before he did. I throw this out as a mere conjecture, and

it certainly has its difficulties about it, but every explanation of

this puzzling group must be mere conjecture, and it certainly strikes

me that this conjecture has less of difficulty about it than some of

the others.

Whomever we fix upon as the Ælfgifu of the Tapestry, it is still by no

means clear what is happening between her and the clerk, or why the

incident should receive so prominent a place in the pictured story.

Like the introduction of Turold, Vital, and Wadard, there is evidently

an allusion to some fact which was perfectly well known at the time,

but of which no other record has been preserved. As such, it is another

witness to the contemporary date, and thereby to the authority, of the

Tapestry.

NOTE T. p. 229.

THE BRETON CAMPAIGN OF WILLIAM AND HAROLD.

Our only detailed accounts of this campaign come from William of

Poitiers and the Tapestry. Between these two both Lord Lyttelton

(i. 354) and Mr. Planché (145) see a distinct contradiction; only

Lord Lyttelton assumes that the Tapestry must be wrong because it

contradicts William of Poitiers, while Mr. Planché assumes that William

of Poitiers must be wrong because he contradicts the Tapestry. But

there is really no distinct contradiction between the two authorities;

their accounts may easily be reconciled, if we only suppose a somewhat

remarkable omission on the part of William of Poitiers.

William tells us that the object of the expedition was to deliver Dol,

which was held on Duke William’s behalf by Rhiwallon, and that Conan

fled on the approach of the Norman army. He gives no details of any

further progress of William and Harold in Britanny, though he has a

good deal to tell us as to what passed between William and Rhiwallon.

He makes no mention of Rennes or of Dinan, the two other places

represented in the Tapestry.

There is nothing in the Tapestry (pl. 5) which at all contradicts this

account of what happened at Dol. William’s approach to the city is

clearly not a hostile approach. The Duke himself and those immediately

about him are not even in armour. There are no defenders on the walls,

such as we presently see at Dinan. The legend is simply “Venerunt ad

Dol,” while in the other case it is “Pugnant contra Dinantes.” But on

the other side Conan and his host are running away—“Conan fugâ vertit.”

I do not profess to explain the intentions of the man who is letting

himself down by a rope from the wall.

Thus far the Tapestry and the Archdeacon exactly agree. The Tapestry

also does not, as Mr. Planché understands it, make William pursue Conan

to Rennes. Rennes—“Rednes”—is indeed introduced in the Tapestry, but it

forms no part of the story; the city is represented on a smaller scale

than the other subjects, and certainly no one is made to pursue the

flying Bretons. Rennes is simply brought in as a kind of indication of

the point to which Conan fled.

The story of the siege of Dinan belongs wholly to the Tapestry. It

is certainly strange that William of Poitiers should leave out all

mention of so considerable an exploit, but the difficulty is a good

deal lessened if we accept Wace’s statement (see p. 230) that Harold

accompanied William on more than one raid into Britanny. That a siege

of Dinan really is intended, and not a siege of Rennes, I have no doubt

at all.

NOTE U. p. 259.

THE EMBASSIES EXCHANGED BETWEEN WILLIAM AND HAROLD.

The different statements as to Harold’s oath naturally lead to

statements equally different as to the messages which, after Harold’s

election, were exchanged between him and William. Whatever Harold had

promised, that William demanded, and whatever William demanded, that

Harold refused. We thus get a set of statements differing exactly as

the other set of statements differ. I have already had occasion to

refer incidentally to several of them. I will now try to put them

together in order.

Of the purely Norman authorities, the Tapestry is silent. William of

Poitiers does not directly speak of any messages between the rivals

till after William’s landing in England (128–131; see above, p. 430).

But there is a passage further on which seems to imply an earlier

message. This is when the Archdeacon breaks forth into that wonderful

panegyric on his master (145) which follows his account of William’s

coronation;

“Hic [Willelmus] ne Heraldum vellet occubuisse. Immò voluit patris

Godwini potentiam illi ampliare, et natam suam, Imperatoris thalamo

dignissimam, in matrimonium, _ut fuerat pollicitus_, tradere.”

This clearly implies that an offer of the Earldom of the West-Saxons,

perhaps of something greater, together with the hand of William’s

daughter, had been twice made by William to Harold. The first time is

of course at the taking of the oath; the second time must be in some

message sent before the expedition. For the messages exchanged after

William’s landing are given at length, and they contain no such terms.

And an offer of William’s daughter could then at least have been

nothing but sheer mockery. By that time, at all events, Harold was

married to Ealdgyth.

William of Jumièges (vii. 31) has an account which exactly agrees with

the implied narrative of William of Poitiers. The Duke, as soon as he

hears the news of Harold’s election, sends messengers to remind him

to keep his oath. The terms of the oath, according to him, were that

William should be King, Harold having half the Kingdom and William’s

daughter. His words are,

“Ad quem [Heraldum] Dux protinùs legatos direxit, hortans ut ab hâc

insaniâ resipisceret, et fidem quam juramento spoponderat condignâ

subjectione servaret. At ille non solùm hoc audire contempsit, verùm

omnem Anglorum gentem ab illo infideliter avertit.”

He then goes on with the account of Gruffydd and Ealdgyth which I

quoted in vol. ii. p. 630.

Orderic does not mention the message. The Roman de Rou (vv.

11066–11075) speaks of several messages;

“Willame li manda sovent,

K’il li tenist sun serement,

E Heraut li manda vilment,

K’il ne fereit por li néient,

Ne il sa fille ne prendreit,

Ne il terre ne li rendreit,

Et Willéalme le desfia,

E desfiance li manda;

E Heraut toz tems reponeit

Ke nule rien mez ne creimeit.”

Here the terms of William’s messages are not given, but they may be

inferred from the terms of Harold’s answer. These terms, and also the

mention of more messages than one, seem on the whole to fall in with

the account given by Eadmer and Simeon, which I have already mentioned

(see above, p. 671). Harold there makes this answer, of which I do not

fully understand the clause about the castle and well of Dover;

“Soror mea, quam juxta condictum expetis, mortua est. Quod si corpus

ejus, quale nunc est, vult Comes habere, mittam, ne judicer sacramentum

violâsse quod feci. Castellum Dofris et in eo puteum aquæ, licet

nesciam cui, ut vobis convenit, explevi.”

He then goes on with the passages which I have already quoted (pp.

262, 264), in which Harold declares his inability either to decline

the Kingdom which was offered to him or to marry a foreign woman

without the consent of the Witan. William then sends a second message

(see above, p. 260), of which the tone is greatly lowered. He now

only asks that, if Harold will do nothing else that he has promised

to do, he will at least marry his daughter. “Alioquin,” he continues,

“se promissam regni successionem armis sibi vindicaturum proculdubiò

sciret. At ipse [Haroldus] nec illud quidem se facere velle, nec hoc

formidare respondit.”

It will be easily seen how completely this agrees with the account in

the Roman de Rou, except in the prominence given to the engagement

about Harold’s sister, which Wace does not mention at all. The

statement about her death seems to me to bear the stamp of genuineness,

as it is not a thing which anybody would take the trouble to invent.

And it has sometimes struck me that this explains the statement of

William of Malmesbury, where he makes Harold say that the daughter of

William whom he had promised to marry was dead (see above, p. 660).

In this statement he stands quite alone, and it seems not unlikely

that he confounded the two marriage engagements, and that the death

of William’s daughter is really a reproduction of the death of

Harold’s sister. The rest of William of Malmesbury’s story, and the

constitutional doctrine put into the mouth of Harold, I have mentioned

already in the text and notes. See above, pp. 262–265.

The version of the Hyde writer I have already given at p. 692.

In Benoît’s account (36732–36757) the Kingdom alone is dwelt upon. He

had mentioned the marriage (36622 et seqq.), but he seems to look on

the marriage of Adeliza as something volunteered by William after the

oath, not as part of the oath itself.

I do not know that there is any need to quote the accounts of any later

writer.

NOTE W. p. 286.

WILLIAM’S COUNCILS AND NEGOTIATIONS.

Two points of some difficulty meet us here. We have no trustworthy

guide to the chronology of the different embassies and assemblies

which William used to put forward his claim; doubts may also be raised

as to the nature of the Norman Assemblies which he consulted. To fix

the exact chronology seems hopeless; as I said in the text, several

negotiations were most likely going on at the same time. And the writer

who ought to be our best authority, William of Poitiers, is now, as

usual, very careless about the order of events, arranging them not so

much according to the almanac as according to any arrangement which may

best suit his rhetoric. Two distinct questions however arise. First,

Did the Assembly which William of Malmesbury places at Lillebonne

meet before or after the gift of the consecrated banner by the Pope?

Secondly, Was the English expedition discussed in one or in two Norman

Assemblies?

On the first point, William of Malmesbury (iii. 238) distinctly puts

the Lillebonne Assembly after the receipt of the banner; “Perpensis

apud se utrimque partibus, Papa vexillum in omen regni Willelmo

contradidit; quo ille accepto, conventum magnatum apud Lillebona fecit,

super negotio singulorum sententias sciscitatus.” Wace, on the other

hand (11436), places the embassy to the Pope last of all, after all the

other negotiations.

On the second point, Wace (11120 et seqq.) is the only writer who

distinctly marks the two assemblies, first, a small body of select

counsellors who recommend the gathering of a larger assembly, and

secondly, the larger assembly of the whole baronage of Normandy which

is gathered according to their recommendation. The words of William of

Malmesbury would seem to imply one assembly only.

Let us see whether anything can be got out of William of Poitiers to

strengthen either view. Having recorded (p. 121) Harold’s accession

after his own fashion, he tells us of a council held by William, in

which many of his chief men dissuaded him from the undertaking as being

one too great for the power of Normandy (“Dux Willelmus, habitâ cum

suis consultatione, armis injuriam ulcisci, armis hæreditatem reposcere

decrevit; tametsi complures majorum id ingeniosè dissuaderent, ut rem

nimis arduam, Normanniæ viribus longè majorem”). He then enlarges on

the number of wise and illustrious men whom Normandy then contained,

and gives a list of them, which differs in one or two names only from

the list which Wace gives of the former and smaller council. Then comes

an account of the preparation of the ships, the pouring in of foreign

soldiers, the delay at the mouth of the Dive. Then, and not before, we

read of the embassies to the German King, the Pope, and the King of

the Danes. Then comes the tale about Harold’s spies, which is followed

by a great number of arguments against the expedition, which read very

much like Wace’s account of the assembly of Lillebonne, and which I

have not scrupled (see p. 294) to transfer to that gathering. One of

them is that the ships, though seemingly already collected at the mouth

of the Dive, could not be got together or supplied with crews within

the appointed space of a year. The Duke then makes a speech in answer,

and the fleet, which had been waiting in vain for the south wind at the

Dive, sails for Saint Valery.

In a tale told in this way there is clearly no regard paid to

chronology. The facts are much the same as the facts in Wace, but as

to their order nothing can be made out. It will be remembered that

several other incidents in the history, as the comet and some points

in the engagements between William and Harold, are (see pp. 643, 687,

701) recorded or alluded to by William of Poitiers in places still

more distant from their chronological order. The short account in

William of Jumièges (vii. 31–34) proves hardly anything. The events

which he records come in this order; the message to Harold; the coming

of Tostig; the death of Conan; the preparation and voyage of William.

Orderic (492–494) is fuller. He begins with the coming of Tostig, to

whose suggestion he seems to attribute the gathering of the Assembly

(see p. 303). His list of persons consulted is the list in William

of Poitiers, with a few names added. Then comes the embassy to Rome

and the gift of the banner. Then comes the unsuccessful enterprise of

Tostig against England, followed by William’s own preparations. Orderic

then, after his custom, leaves the subject to talk about quite other

matters. He comes back to it after some while (499, 500), to tell of

the Norwegian invasion of England, of the delay of the Norman ships at

the Dive, of William’s final voyage and all that followed it.

The short and inadequate account in Henry of Huntingdon (M. H. B. 761,

762) is of some importance, because part of it is clearly drawn from

the same sources as the account in Wace. He tells us that William held

an Assembly, and that his fleet afterwards met at Saint Valery. He says

nothing about any embassies at all. But he is the only writer besides

Wace who makes any special mention of William Fitz-Osbern, though the

way in which he tells the story is not exactly the same as that in

which it is told in the Roman de Rou. See p. 297.

The evidence being in this state, I thought that I might safely follow

Wace. His account of the two assemblies is full and clear, and it

derives a sort of incidental support from William of Poitiers and Henry

of Huntingdon. The former seems in a manner to imply that there were

two assemblies, though he puts the second out of its place. Following

Wace thus far, I have also followed him in placing the Assembly at

Lillebonne before the receipt of the banner from Rome, though William

of Malmesbury asserts the exact contrary. The reader must judge for

himself which order he thinks the more probable. The approval of the

Pope would of course be likely to tell with great effect on the mind of

the Assembly. On the other hand, it would be a great point for William

to be sure of the support of his own Duchy before he applied to the

Pope. It would be hardly like the wisdom of William to ask, or like

the wisdom of Hildebrand to grant, a blessing on an undertaking which

might easily fall through altogether. And the religious excitement

would probably tell less on William’s own subjects than on the mixed

multitude of Crusaders who flocked to him from all parts. But the

question—not one of any great importance—must be left an open one.

As to the embassies to foreign powers, the application to the Pope is

mentioned in every account which tells the story in any detail. It is

in fact the centre and soul of the whole business. All accounts again

agree as to the influx of foreign soldiers of all kinds. But as to the

particular potentates applied to, our two fullest accounts differ.

William of Poitiers speaks of the applications to Germany and Denmark,

Wace of those to France and Flanders. There is here no contradiction.

The object of William of Poitiers was to exalt his hero, and his own

mind was deeply impressed with Imperial ideas. The distant embassies,

above all the embassy to the future Emperor, were those which tended

most to set forth the greatness of the Norman Duke; they were those

therefore on which the loyal Archdeacon was most inclined to dwell.

It was equally natural that Wace, writing at a later time, should

think most of those nearer embassies which ordinary Norman tradition

would be most likely to understand and to remember. His account of the

dealings of William with the King of the French is straightforward

and probable enough, except in the omission of all mention of Baldwin

of Flanders in his character of Regent. I have therefore followed

it in the text. But of the intercourse between William and Baldwin

in his character of sovereign of Flanders, Wace has (11390–11432) a

tale which strikes me as so purely legendary that I did not venture

to introduce it into the text. The Duke sends to Baldwin, who is

spoken of as his brother-in-law, not as his father-in-law (“cum od

serorge”—_sororius_—“et od ami” in v. 11392; and again, “vostre seror

et vos nevoz” in vv. 11424, 11425), and asks his help. Baldwin answers

that he must first know what share of England he is to have for his

pains. William, who seems to be conceived as talking with Baldwin face

to face, says that he must go home and consult his Barons, and that he

will then send word by letter what the result is.

“E li Dus dist k’il s’en ireit,

A sez Barunz en parlereit,

Et a els s’en cunseillereit,

E ço ke l’en li loerreit

Par son bref li remandereit.”

(vv. 11399–11403.)

No consultation with the Barons seems to follow, but the Duke does a

thing which nobody had ever done before (“poiz fist ço, ke ainz ne fist

nus”). He takes a small piece of parchment on which nothing is written,

then seals it up with wax, and causes to be written on the outside that

the Count shall have such part of England as is stated in the inside of

the letter.

“De parchemin prist un petit

K’il ni out leitre ne escrit,

Tot voi le séela en cire,

Et en la coe fist escrire,

Ke d’Engleterre tant areit

Comme li brief dedenz diseit.”

(vv. 11406–11411.)

The packet is sent to Baldwin by a cunning varlet (“vaslet enloçonez”);

the Count breaks the seal, looks inside—seemingly he could read—finds

nothing, and shows it to the varlet. The varlet then says that there is

nothing there and that Baldwin shall have nothing. The honours which

the Duke was seeking would belong to Baldwin’s sister and nephews. If

Baldwin had joined in the enterprise no one would have gained more

by it than himself. As it was, William would with God’s help conquer

England for himself without help from Baldwin. Wace adds, as he so

often does, that he does not know what answer the Count made.

The sort of practical joke described in this story would be quite in

keeping with one side of William’s character (see p. 162) if one could

only see the point of the joke. But that point is, to say the least,

not very obvious, and the whole story seems quite inconsistent with the

real relations between William and Baldwin. See the note of Prevost,

ii. 137, and Taylor, 110.

NOTE X. p. 300.

THE MOVEMENTS OF TOSTIG AFTER HIS BANISHMENT.

The presence of Tostig in Normandy is asserted by Orderic in the

passages which I have quoted in the text, and it is implied in the

short narrative of William of Jumièges (vii. 32), who simply says,

after describing Harold’s accession, “Porro Dux Tosticum Comitem in

Angliam misit, sed militia Heraldi mare servans eum armis abegit” (see

p. 304). William of Poitiers and Wace make no mention of any visit of

Tostig to Normandy; they do not speak of him at all till they come

to their almost incidental mention of Harold Hardrada’s invasion of

England. The English writers also make no mention of any visit to

Normandy on Tostig’s part. He goes to Flanders and comes on his vain

expedition to England in May “from beyond sea” (see p. 324), which of

course leaves the matter open between Normandy and Flanders. Snorro

again knows nothing of a visit to Normandy, but takes Tostig (see p.

329) from Flanders to Denmark by way of Friesland. I do not however

wholly reject the account of Orderic. The omission of Tostig’s visit

both by William of Poitiers and the English writers is not at all hard

to understand, while it is not easy to see why William of Jumièges or

Orderic should have invented it. Its omission by Snorro is still less

surprising; it is hard indeed to reconcile his version with that in the

English Chronicles even on those points which are the very life of his

story.

Orderic’s story however cannot be accepted in its details. First of

all, it involves (see vol. ii. p. 626) the central mistake of making

Tostig’s banishment follow the accession of Harold. Secondly, as a

necessary consequence of this mistake, it greatly hurries Tostig’s

movements, making him go to Flanders, leave his wife there, and hasten

to Normandy, whereas we know that he left England on November 1st,

1065, and stayed with Baldwin the whole winter (see vol. ii. p. 501).

Thirdly, it represents Tostig’s first expedition as not reaching

England at all, whereas we know that he landed and harried the coast

at several places (see p. 326). But, except the first mistake, which

we know how to account for and to correct, these are not very fatal

difficulties. Tostig did reach England, but he did nothing there of

any moment, and a foreign writer might easily speak of an expedition

which so utterly missed its mark, as if it had never touched English

ground at all. And, small as the point is, it is worth noticing as an

undesigned coincidence that Orderic makes Tostig set sail from the

Côtentin, while the English Chronicler makes him land in the Isle of

Wight. I have therefore not hesitated to accept the main outline of

Orderic’s story, and to represent Tostig’s first expedition, in May,

1066, as undertaken with at least the connivance of William. Tostig

must have had some force, Norman or Flemish, adhering to him during the

whole time. The presence of Flemings at Stamfordbridge is beyond doubt.

See p. 371.

What follows next in Orderic and William of Jumièges is far harder

to reconcile with our own Chronicles. They both make Tostig, after

struggling in vain against many winds (“Zephyro Notoque aliisque ventis

alternatim impellentibus angores multos pertulit,” Orel. Vit. 593 C),

make his way at last to Harold Hardrada in Norway. “Post plurimos

labores ad Heraldum Regem Nortwigenarum, qui Harafagh cognominabatur,

accessit,” says Orderic. So William of Jumièges (vii. 32); “At ille

non valens salubriter Angliam introïre, neque Normanniam, quia ventus

obstabat, redire, Heraldum Herfagam, Northwegæ Regem, adiit.” There is

nothing about his going to Scotland or to Denmark. Wace indeed takes

him to Denmark, but seemingly only through confounding Denmark and

Norway.

“Tosti, ki mult s’en coroça,

En Danemarche trespassa,

Daneiz è Norreiz amena,

Deverz Euroïc ariva.”

(vv. 11803.)

So Benoît, who carries Tostig to Norway in v. 36842 (“vers Northwege

l’estut sigler Par merveilles orrible mer”), calls the force which he

brought into England “ceus de Norwege” in v. 37065, and “Daneis” in

37103. None of these writers know anything of the double negotiation,

first with Swend, then with Harold, which is so prominent in Snorro.

Again, the Norman accounts take Tostig and Harold Hardrada straight

from Norway to Yorkshire. The “erroneus exsul” pleads his cause before

the tyrant, as Orderic (493 D) himself calls Harold, though Tostig

is made to address him by many respectful titles (“Sublimitatem

vestram, magnifice Rex”—see vol. i. pp. 63, 286—“supplex adeo, et

me servitiumque meum Majestati vestræ fideliter offero”). He tells

how his younger brother has risen against him and deprived him of

the honours—whether the Earldom of the West-Saxons or the Empire of

Britain—which were due to him by hereditary right (“ut possim restitui

per vestrum suffragium honori ex paternâ successione debito. Nam

Heraldus frater meus, qui jure mihi, utpote primogenito, debuisset

parere, fraudulenter insurrexit contra me”). He goes on to enlarge on

his brother’s perjury (“regnum Angliæ perjuriis præsumpsit usurpare”),

an argument which, however telling with William, sounds strangely out

of place when addressed to Harold Hardrada. He proposes to Harold of

Norway to overthrow Harold of England, and to occupy his Kingdom,

granting half of it to Tostig in fief (“proterviam perfidi fratris

bello proterite, medietatem Angliæ vobis retinete, aliamque mihi, qui

vobis inde fideliter serviam dum advixero, retinete”). Harold consents,

he occupies six months in preparations, and sets sail in August.

Orderic therefore conceived that Tostig’s banishment, his journeys

to Flanders and Normandy, his attempt on England, and his escape to

Norway, all took place in the course of January and February. In

August then Harold and Tostig set sail together and sail straight for

Yorkshire (“mense Augusto Heraldus Noricorum Rex cum Tostico et ingenti

classe immensum pelagus intravit, et, Aparciate seu Boreâ flante, ad

Angliam applicuit et Eboracensem provinciam primitùs invasit,” 499 D,

500 A).

It is clear that this account differs in some respects from that of

Snorro, which I have given in the text. Snorro makes Tostig leave

Harold in the spring (see p. 333) and go and collect English and

Flemish troops in Flanders, with whom he meets Harold at some point of

his voyage. The stoppage in Orkney again (see p. 344) is left out by

Orderic, which is not very wonderful.

When we turn to our own Chronicles, we see that whatever amount of

truth the stories of Orderic and Snorro may contain, their chronology

at least is wholly wrong. Tostig’s first expedition to England, which

Snorro leaves out, and which Orderic places at some time in January

or February, did not happen till May (see above, p. 708). After its

failure, Tostig went, not to Denmark or Norway, but to Scotland, and

stayed there all the summer (see p. 327). The question now comes, which

I left doubtful in the text, whether he ever went to Norway at all. Let

us look at the different accounts.

The Abingdon Chronicle, which is followed by Florence, having mentioned

the summer sojourn of Tostig in Scotland, the preparations of Harold

of England in the south, and the return of his fleet to London (see p.

338), goes on; “þa ða scipu ham coman, þa com Harold cyning of Norwegan

norð into Tínan on unwaran ... and Tostig eorl him com to mid eallum

þam þe he begiten hæfde, _eallswa hy ær gesprecen hæfdon_” (“ut priùs

condixerant,” Fl. Wig.).

The Worcester and Peterborough Chronicles record the flight of Tostig

to Scotland, and at once connect it with the Norwegian invasion. “And

he [Tostig] for to Scotlande mid xii. snaccum, and hine gemette [hine

gemette þær. Wig.] Harold se Norrena cyng [cyng of Norwegon. Wig.] mid

ccc. scipum; and Tostig him to beah [him to beah and his man wearð.

Wig.], and hi bægen foran into Humbran oð þæt hi coman to Eoferwíc.”

This version is followed by William of Malmesbury (ii. 228); “Tostinus

... versus Scotiam vela convertit: ibi Regi Noricorum, Haroldo

Harvagre, obvio manus dedit, qui cum ccc. navibus Angliam _aggredi

meditabatur_. Ambo ergo consertis umbonibus terram Transhumbranam

populabantur.”

These two accounts are clearly independent. Abingdon puts the meeting

of Harold and Tostig in the Tyne. Worcester and Peterborough seem to

put it in Scotland. But their words might be taken as leaving the

place uncertain. Nor is there any contradiction in the more important

question whether the expedition had been already planned between Harold

and Tostig. This is directly asserted by the Abingdon Chronicle. The

two others would certainly, taken by themselves, be understood to

imply that Harold Hardrada had already set out on his own account, and

that his meeting with Tostig was not the result of any agreement. This

appearance becomes still stronger in William of Malmesbury, from his

use of the verb “meditabatur.” But there is no word exactly answering

to this in the Chronicles, and the difference in the two accounts may

be simply one of omission. The words “eallswa hy ær gesprecen hæfdon”

may in themselves mean anything, from a mere agreement to join forces

in the Tyne made after an unexpected meeting in Scotland up to the

voyage to Norway spoken of by Snorro and Orderic. The question is

whether the chronology will admit of that voyage. Snorro and Orderic,

as we have seen, place it early in the year. If we give up the story of

Tostig’s journey to Normandy and his concert with William, it would be

easy to take Tostig into Norway before his first attack on England, at

any time between January and May. But it is plain that he did not go to

Norway immediately on the failure of that expedition, for he went to

Scotland and stayed there all the summer. And it is hard to find room

between the end of summer and September 25th for a voyage of Tostig to

Norway, for the preparations of Harold Hardrada, and for his voyage.

A communication by messengers is more possible, as that may be spread

over all the time from May to September. But, if we make Tostig visit

Norway so late in the year, it could not have been his visit which

first suggested to Harold to invade England. Indeed the invasion could

hardly have been first suggested by letters or messages sent so late as

May.

We must then either reject the partnership between William and Tostig

in the May expedition and carry Tostig into Norway early in the year,

or else we must suppose that Harold Hardrada was already planning an

attack on England, and that all that any visit or message of Tostig

did was to strengthen and hasten a purpose already formed. On the

whole I incline to this last view, because I cannot see why any Norman

writer should have invented a connexion between Tostig and William, if

it never happened. But if we reject the Norman story, we can accept

nearly the whole tale in Snorro. Tostig goes to Denmark and Norway

early in the year; he then returns to Flanders and collects a force.

Snorro does not say what he did with it till he met Harold in the

autumn. The gap will thus be filled by the May voyage to England and

the summer in Scotland. I am quite content to leave the point open, but

I would remark that it is at least as hard to reconcile the Norman and

Norwegian accounts with one another as to reconcile either with the

English account.

The Hyde writer, as usual, gives (292) an independent account which is

worth a passing notice.

“Frater ejus [Haroldi], nomine Tostius, genere et animo temerarius,

mox ut fratrem regium honorem usurpâsse vidit, nutu Domini, qui

perjurium undique persequebatur, quâdam simultate inter eos ortâ,

Angliâ discessit, atque cum multâ manu et thesaurorum suorum copiâ

multitudinem Flandriam ad Sanctum Odmarum, ut aiunt, devenit, ubi

commendatâ thesaurorum suorum copiâ navem ascendens insulam Norweiam,

quondam Scanciam dictam, et ut Gothorum historia testatur, multarum

gentium officinam, petivit; quam ingressus, Regem ejus Haroldum,

cognomento Hervard [Harfragi], id est, crine formosum, erat enim et

staturâ corporis et formâ decorus, tum precibus tum promissionibus ita

illexit, ut congregato exercitu et classe paratâ, cum eodem Angliam

ad debellandum Regem Haroldum festinus adveniret. Denique Angliam

ingressi, Eboracam opulentissimam civitatem et archiepiscopatûs sedem

obsidione cingunt.”

We have already (see vol. ii. p. 231) seen this writer talking about

the “Isle of Norway,” when, by the way, he really meant Denmark.

We here see where he found it, namely in the opening chapters of

Jornandes, especially the well-known passage in c. iv. (Muratori, i.

193); “Ex hâc igitur Scanziâ insulâ, quasi _officinâ gentium_, aut

certè velut vaginâ nationum, cum Rege suo nomine Berig, Gothi quondam

memorantur egressi.”

NOTE Y. p. 313.

ARNOLD OF ARDRES.

I get the account of these adventurers from the “Historia Comitum

Ardensium” in Bouquet, xi. 305. The office held is described as the

“villicatura sive præpositura Sancti Bertini in terrâ Ghisnensi,” which

had been held “hæreditario jure” for some generations. Arnold came

“opitulante Boloniensi Comite Eustachio,” and Geoffrey seems to follow

him at William’s own summons—“vocatus ab eodem Rege Willelmo.” Their

rewards are thus described; “Servientes igitur ambo fratres, Arnoldus

videlicet et Gaufridus, jam dicto Regi, tantam ejus adepti sunt gratiam

quod, præter quotidiana stippendia et munuscula, quæ ipsis contulit

innumerabilia, contulit etiam eis et in perpetuitatis concessit

feodum, Stebintoniam et pertinentias ejus, Dokeswordiam, Tropintoniam,

Ledefordiam, Toleshondiam, et Hoilandiam.” All these, as far as I can

identify them in Domesday, are possessions of Eustace, but in two cases

only do I find Arnold as under tenant. These are at “Dokeswordia,”

in Domesday “Dochesuuorde” (196), and Trumpington (ib.), both in

Cambridgeshire. In the former we read, “hanc terram tenet Hernulfus de

comite Eustachio,” and under Trumpington we have still more distinctly,

“tenet Ernulfus de Ardâ sub Comite.” Stebingtonia, in Domesday (205)

Stebintune, is held of Count Eustace by Lunen, and the lands in Essex,

Selefordia, Hoilandia, and Toleshondia, in Domesday Toleshunta, now

Tolleshunt, are held of Eustace (Domesday, ii. 32, 33) by Adelolfus.

This may be an English Æthelwulf; but, as the name also occurs in

Flanders (see Cart. S. Bertin, 142, 153 et al.), he may equally well

be a foreign follower of Eustace. Arnold however appears again as

Ernulfus de Arde, as a tenant under Count Eustace of various places in

Bedfordshire (211), and one might almost guess that he is the same as

Arnulfus de Hesding (no doubt Hesdin in Ponthieu) who holds (205 _b_)

Upford in Huntingdonshire of the King. Arnold and Arnulf are, I need

not say, names whose various forms are often and easily confounded.

This is a fair specimen of the way in which men came to William from

all parts of the world for whatever they could get.

NOTE Z. p. 315.

THE DEATH OF CONAN.

The only place that I know of where William is directly charged with

poisoning Conan is in the speech (Ord. Vit. 534 B) at the bride-ale of

1076, where the charge is coupled with the kindred charge of poisoning

Walter and Biota (see p. 207). The revellers are made to say, “Conanum

quoque, strenuissimum Consulem, veneno infecit, quem mortuum Britannia

tota pro ingenti probitate ineffabili luctu deflevit.”

The text of William of Jumièges (vii. 33) is as follows;

“Tempore quo Willelmus Dux disponebat Angliam adire, et armis eam

sibi vendicare, audax Chunanus Comes Britanniæ nisus est eum, missâ

legatione hujusmodi, terrere: Audio te, inquit, nunc velle trans mare

proficisci, et Angliæ tibi regnum nancisci. Inde multum gaudeo, sed

ut mihi Normanniam reddas obsecro. Robertas autem Dux Normannorum,

quem tu fingis esse patrem tuum, iturus in Hierusalem, Alanno patri

meo, consobrino scilicet suo, commendavit omnem suam hæreditatem. Tu

autem cum complicibus tuis Alannum patrem meum apud Winmusterium in

Normanniâ veneno peremisti, et terram ejus, quam ego quia puer eram

possidere nequibam, invasisti; et contra fas, cum sis nothus, hucusque

tenuisti. Nunc igitur aut mihi debitam redde Normanniam, aut ego tibi

totis viribus bellum inferam. His auditis, Willelmus Dux aliquantulum

territus est. Sed mox eum Deus, frustratis inimici minis, eripere

dignatus est. Unus enim ex proceribus Britonum, qui utrique Comiti

juraverat fidelitatem, et hujusmodi legationem inter eos ferebat,

lituum Chuningi, et habenas, atque chirothecas intrinsecus livit

veneno. Erat quippe cubicularius Chuningi. Tunc idem Comes Britonum

in Andegavensi Comitatu Castellum-Guntherii obsederat, et oppidanis

militibus sese illi dedentibus suos intromittebat. Interea Chuningus

chirothecas suas incautè induit, tactisque habenis, manum ad os

levavit. Cujus tactu veneno infectus est, et paullò post omnibus suis

lugentibus defunctus est. Hic multum sagax fuit et probus, ac amator

justitiæ. Qui si diu vixisset, multa bona ut fertur fecisset, ac ad

regendum honorem utilis fuisset. Proditor autem conscius sui reatûs,

mox de expeditione aufugit, et mortem Chuningi Willelmo Duci mandavit.”

This story, in the way in which it is brought in, looks very like an

interpolation, and the message of Conan sounds very like a romance.

And it is certainly most remarkable that it seems to be a purely

Norman story. At least I have not been able to find it in such Breton

and Angevin chronicles as I know anything of. The Breton and Angevin

writers record Conan’s war with Anjou and also his death, and they

place both in 1066. But they say nothing which at all lays his death

to the charge of William. Of three Breton chronicles in the collection

of Morice (Mémoires pour servir de Preuves à l’Histoire de Bretagne),

the first in the collection says merely, “1066. Cometa apparuit.

Obiit Conanus Dux Britanniæ filius Alani. Normanni Angliam ceperunt.”

Another, the Chronicle of Saint Brieuc (p. 36), mentions the war with

Anjou. Conan “quum territorium Andegavense devastâsset, in eodem

territorio, paullò ante destructionem Heraldi Anglorum Regis, sine

liberis morte præventus est anno Domini 1066.” A third Chronicle (p.

102) tells us how, in “1066, Comes Britannorum Conanus juvenis et

malitiosus, Andegavorum terram adorsus, superbæ pervasioni suæ in ipsâ

Andegavorum terrâ _morte subitâ_ præreptus est.” The Angevin Chronicle

which I have quoted at p. 642, after its account of the Comet and of

the invasion of England, mentions the death of Conan in nearly the same

words as the third Breton Chronicle just quoted. These accounts connect

the death of Conan in some way, if only by way of coincidence, with the

Conquest of England, yet not one of them breathes the least suspicion

against William. Conan’s death was sudden; but a sudden death need not

be a death by poison, and a death by poison need not have been brought

about by the devices of William. I cannot think that we have evidence

enough to charge the great Duke with so infamous a crime.

NOTE AA. p. 338.

THE OPERATIONS OF THE ENGLISH FLEET IN 1066.

Did the English fleet, or any part of it, ever encounter the Norman

fleet or any part of it? The general run of our narrative would lead

us to say, No; but there are some passages which look the other way.

Thus the Peterborough Chronicler, immediately after describing Harold’s

election, says, “And þy ylcan geare þe he cyng wæs, he for út mid

sciphere togeanes Willelme, and þá hwile com Tostig eorl into Humbran

míd lx. scipum.” And this seems to be followed by Henry of Huntingdon

(M. H. B. 762 A); “Quod audiens Rex Haraldus, vir bellis acerrimus, cum

navali exercitu contra Willielmum Ducem in mare profectus est.” These

expressions do not necessarily imply a battle, but they seem to point

to some operations beyond merely watching the coast.

Of the entries in Domesday referred to in the text, one, that about

Æthelric of Kelvedon, distinctly asserts a battle, but without

mentioning its date. It occurs under Essex, ii. 14 _b_. Æthelric held

Kelvedon T. R. E. The Survey adds, “Hic supradictus Ailricus abiit in

navale prœlium contra Willelmum Regem.” This seems to imply an actual

engagement, though of course it need not have been a general engagement

between the whole of the two fleets, which seems quite impossible.

The entry goes on to say that Æthelric on his return—when the fleet

returned to London in September?—fell sick, perhaps from a wound, and

left his lands at Kelvedon to Saint Peter at Westminster. “Quum rediit,

cecidit in infirmitate, tunc dedit Sancto Petro istud manerium.” The

words which follow in Domesday have an importance of another kind,

which I shall discuss in a future volume.

The other Domesday entry referred to is less distinct than that of

Æthelric, but it looks the same way. In Norfolk, ii. 200, we find

mention of one Eadric, described as “Rector navis Regis Edwardi.” On

William’s accession he was outlawed and fled to Denmark (“postquam Rex

W. venit in Angliam fuit iste Edricus exlex in Daciam”). One may guess

that Eadric commanded in the engagement or skirmish in which Æthelric

was concerned. And in connexion with this East-Anglian entry, we may

take the statement of John of Oxenedes (293), about Ælfwold, Abbot of

Saint Benet’s; “Huic a Rege Haraldo marina committebatur custodia.”

There are some other passages which might seem to imply naval

operations at a later time. Of the losses of William’s fleet during

the voyage, and of the affair of Romney, whenever it happened, I have

spoken in the text, pp. 410, 534. A deed in the Cartulary of the Holy

Trinity at Rouen (pp. 453, 454) looks the same way. One Roger, the son

of Turold, who was going to join William’s expedition (“ultra mare

cum Willelmo Comite navigaturus”), gave lands to the monastery, but

died on the voyage before the gift was complete (“in eâdem navigatione

morte præventus, hoc confirmare non valuit”). We must also remember

the account given by William of Poitiers (131), where he describes

Harold’s march into Sussex, and says that an English fleet of seven

hundred ships was sent somewhere or other to cut off the Norman

retreat (“ne perfugio abirent, classe armatâ ad septingentas naves in

mari opposuerat insidias”). Guy of Amiens (319) puts nearly the same

statement into the mouth of one of the messengers between William and

Harold;

“Per mare, per terram, prœlia magna parat.

In mare quingentas fertur misisse carinas,

Ut nostri reditûs præpediatur iter.”

But there is no sign of this great fleet doing anything, and William

and Guy are so careless of chronology that they are quite capable of

meaning the fleet which went back to London in September. As for the

affair of Romney, it is not likely that Thegns from Norfolk and Essex

would be concerned in an action so purely local. And the story of

Æthelric would seem to imply that he died before the end of Harold’s

reign.

NOTE BB. p. 357.

THE MARCH OF HAROLD TO YORK.

The words of some of the Chroniclers, taken literally, might imply that

the first news of the landing of the Northmen was brought to Harold

of England after the Battle of Fulford. The Peterborough Chronicle

describes that battle, and adds “and se Norrena cyng ahte siges

geweald.” It then goes on, “And man cydde Harolde cyng hu hit wæs þær

gedón and geworden, and he com mid mycclum here Engliscra manna, and

gemette hine æt Stængfordes brycge.” So too the Worcester Chronicle

describes the battle, and adds “ac þa Normen ahte sige.” It then goes

on in the same way; “Man cyðde þa Harolde Engla cynge þæt þis wæs þus

gefaren; and þis gefeoht wæs on Vigilia Sc̃i. Mathei. Ða com Harold

ure cyng on unwær on þa Normenn, and hytte hi begeondan Eoforwic æt

Steinford brygge, mid micclan here Englisces folces.”

The literal meaning of these accounts would certainly be that the news

of the defeat of Fulford was the first news of the Norwegian invasion

which reached Harold, and that he started for his Northern march on

hearing it. But this is simply impossible. The Battle of Fulford was

fought on Wednesday, and the Battle of Stamfordbridge was fought on the

Monday following. As the Worcester Chronicler emphatically says, “þas

twa folcgefeoht wæron gefremmede binnan fif nihtan.” Now for news of a

battle fought close to York to reach London, for an army, including men

from distant shires, to be collected and to march to Stamfordbridge,

and all in the space of five days, would need an age of railways and

telegraphs. The news must have been brought, and the march must have

begun, before the Battle of Fulford was fought. In fact our remaining

Chronicle gives us a hint that that battle was fought while Harold was

already on his march. The Abingdon narrative runs thus;

“And foran þa begen [Tostig and Harold Hardrada] mid eallum þam liðe

andlang Use up to Eoferwic ward. Ða cydde man Harolde cynge be suðan,

þa he of scipe cumen wæs, þæt Harold cyng on Norwegan and Tostig eorl

wæron up cumene neh Eoferwic, þa for he norðweard dæges and nilites,

swa hraðe swa he his fyrde gegaderian mihte. Þa ær þam þe se cyning

Harold þyder cuman mihte, þa gegaderode Eadwine eorl and Morkere eorl

of heora eorldome swa mycel werod swa hi begitan mihton.”

Then follows the Battle of Fulford. The same account is followed by

Florence;

“In loco qui Richale dicitur applicuerunt. Quod ubi Regi Haroldo

innotuit, versus Northhymbriam expeditionem properè movit. Sed

priusquam Rex illuc veniret, duo germani Comites,” &c.

Here it is not the news of the Battle of Fulford, but the news of the

landing at Riccall, on hearing of which Harold sets forth. This is at

least possible, as we have no distinct statement how long a time passed

between the landing and the battle. But the story certainly reads as

if the battle followed very fast upon the landing, and as if Harold

must have been on his march, not only before the battle but before the

landing. And indeed some news must have reached him of the approach of

the Norwegian fleet, of the muster in the Tyne, and of the ravage of

the Yorkshire coast. One cannot help thinking that the Chroniclers,

even the Abingdon Chronicler, have fallen into a certain inaccuracy

of expression, and that Harold must have known of the approach of the

Northern enemy at a much earlier time than their words would imply.

And yet, after all, the inaccuracy is hardly a literal one. News both

of the landing and of the battle would reach the King on his march and

would stir up him and his army to still greater exertions. The great

march of Harold is in itself one of the most wonderful things in our

wonderful history. But, if we take the words of the Worcester and

Peterborough Chronicles in their literal and grammatical sense, the

march becomes not only wonderful but miraculous.

NOTE CC. p. 363.

THE DETAILS OF THE BATTLE OF STAMFORDBRIDGE.

Years ago, when I first began these studies, one of my greatest

difficulties was that Harold of England is described, in all the

ordinary histories, as furnished with a strong force of cavalry and

archers at Stamfordbridge, while he was utterly destitute of both

arms at Senlac. The haste of his march southwards would not of itself

account for the difference; for if he could have collected cavalry

and archers for the one campaign, he could doubtless have collected

them again for the other. I soon saw that the only authority for the

usual description of the fight at Stamfordbridge was the Saga of

Harold Hardrada, and I gradually came to the conclusion that that part

of the Saga was mythical. The whole conception of the English army

was clearly taken from an English army of Snorro’s own age, of which

horsemen and archers undoubtedly formed the most important part. That

is to say, the English had by that time adopted the Norman tactics.

Indeed some of the incidents in Snorro’s account of Stamfordbridge

seem very much as if they had been transferred thither from Senlac.

The defeat of the Norwegian army, just like that of the English army

at Senlac, is owing to their breaking the line of the shield-wall, and

Harold the son of Sigurd is killed by the chance shot of an arrow,

just like Harold the son of Godwine. But though the account of the

Battle of Stamfordbridge is clearly mythical, the like is not the

case with the whole of the story. The writer shows a knowledge of the

Yorkshire coast, and his narrative seems quite trustworthy up to the

Battle of Fulford. His account of that battle quite agrees with the

appearance of the site (see p. 350). He seemingly confounds Waltheof

with Eadwine (see p. 351), but then he utterly confounds all English

genealogies and personalities (see vol. ii. p. 553). It is only when

he gets to Stamfordbridge that he begins wholly to break down. For

instance (see p. 354) he fancies that place to be close under the walls

of York, whereas it really is eight miles off. May not the difference

in value between these two parts of his narrative be explained by the

circumstances of the case? A division of the army remained at Riccall

(see p. 348), and never went to Stamfordbridge at all. All the men of

this division (see p. 375) went back safe to Norway, while hardly any

fugitives escaped from Stamfordbridge. It was therefore only natural

that the story of the former part of the campaign, taking in the Battle

of Fulford, should be much better known in Norway than the details of

the greater battle itself. The Saga-maker therefore had trustworthy

tradition to go by for one part of his story, while for the other he

had to draw largely on his imagination.

I have drawn my own ideas of this, as of other battles, from an

examination of the ground compared with the accounts of the original

writers. I have twice visited the field of Stamfordbridge, in July and

in December 1867, the former time in company with Archdeacon Jones and

Mr. J. R. Green, when I also examined the site of Fulford with the

Archdeacon. In December I also visited Aldby and the ground between

Aldby and Stamfordbridge. I have compared the impressions thus formed

with the short accounts in the Chronicles, and with those in Henry of

Huntingdon and William of Malmesbury. The narrative of Henry has a

special value. As soon as he reaches the actual fight, his narrative,

hitherto meagre and inaccurate, suddenly lights up, and becomes

minute, poetical, and evidently founded on an accurate knowledge of

the spot. That is to say, his description here, as in so many other

cases, is founded on contemporary and local ballads, of whose words

distinct traces may be recognized in his narrative. An English ballad

of Stamfordbridge must have been absolutely contemporary with the

event—made perhaps to be sung at King Harold’s feast of victory. Such

a relic, did we possess it in full, would be almost more precious than

the songs of Brunanburh and Maldon.

The accounts in Lappenberg, Thierry, and St. John seem to have been

written without any knowledge of the ground. Lappenberg puts the

single-handed defence of the bridge quite at the end of the battle.

This is perhaps merely an attempt to patch on this incident to the

account in the Saga, or it is perhaps because the story comes at

the end of the Abingdon Chronicle. But it comes at the end of the

Chronicle, simply because it is an addition by another hand, and the

words in which the anecdote is told show that it did not take place at

the end of the battle. Any one who compares the ground with the account

in Henry of Huntingdon will easily see that the defence of the bridge

was more than a mere incident after the battle was decided. It is, I

feel sure, the central point of the whole fight. Henry’s account begins

(M. H. B. 762 B);

“Pugna igitur incepta est, quâ gravior non fuerat. Coeuntes namque

a summo mane usque ad meridiem, quum horribiliter ruentes utrimque

perseverarent, maximus numerus Anglorum Norwagenses cedere sed non

fugere compulit. Ultra flumen igitur repulsi, vivis super mortuos

transeuntibus, magnanimiter restiterunt.”

Then follows the defence of the bridge, as I have quoted the account in

p. 370, and the narrative goes on thus;

“Transeuntes igitur Angli Haroldum Regem et Tosti occiderunt, et

totam Norwagensium aciem vel armis straverunt vel igne deprehensos

combusserunt.”

Here are two distinct acts of the battle, fought on opposite sides

of the Derwent. As the English were coming from York, the first act

must have been on the right bank of the river, and the second on the

left. The crossing of the Derwent is the main point, and the crossing

of the Derwent was for a while hindered by the valour of this single

Northman. And the most hard-fought and decisive part of the battle is

clearly placed on the left bank, after the defender of the bridge was

slain. Up to that time the Northmen, in Henry’s words, “gave way, but

did not fly.” It was after the crossing of the river that the great

slaughter took place; but this was not a mere slaughter of flying men,

but the most stoutly contested part of the battle. For it was then

that Tostig and Harold Hardrada were slain, and they assuredly were

not slain flying. There was fighting then on both sides of the river,

but the great and decisive struggle took place on the left side, the

further side from York. We must here take into account the statements

of so many writers, from the Chroniclers onwards, that the English

came on the Northmen “unawares,” that the Northmen were without their

breast-plates, and the like (see p. 369). This has to be reconciled

with the fact of the hard fight which was kept on for so many hours.

When we once understand the topography, the explanation is easy. The

events naturally arrange themselves as I have given them in the text.

The Norwegian army is spread abroad on both sides of the river, Harold

Hardrada and Tostig with their main strength being on the further side.

The English come “unawares” on the unprepared division on the right

side, and drive them back. The single hero defends the bridge, and

gives time for the main army beyond it to form. Then comes the great

fight in which the two leaders are slain and the whole Norwegian army

is at last cut to pieces.

The only point on which I have any doubt is as to the hours of the day.

Henry of Huntingdon makes the battle begin in the early morning, “summo

mane;” the first fight lasts till noon; the defender of the bridge

withstands the passage of the English till three in the afternoon.

Then comes the second fight, and, after all this day’s work, Harold of

England is back at York the same evening, and the same evening hears

at dinner—or rather supper—of the landing of William (see p. 376).

The reckoning of time is in itself suspicious, and it is clearly not

without a reference to the sacred hours of the Church. The first and

last reckonings can be shown to be wrong. It is possible that Harold

may have returned to York on the night of the battle. But he certainly

did not hear that evening of William’s landing, because William had

not yet landed (see p. 400). Neither could the battle have begun very

early in the morning. The English army got no further than Tadcaster on

the Sunday evening (“com Harold ... on ðone Sunnandæg to Táða” Chron.

Ab.). On Monday morning they marched from Tadcaster, through York, to

Stamfordbridge (“fór þa on Monandæg þurh ut Eoferwic”). A march of

about seventeen miles, with doubtless some, though not a very long,

halt in the city, could not be accomplished so as to make the battle

begin very early on a September morning. Then it is quite inconceivable

that the resistance on the right side lasted from early morning till

noon, and the defence of the bridge from noon till three o’clock. A

three hours’ defence of the bridge by one man is impossible. The affair

was probably an affair of minutes, though at such a moment minutes

would seem like hours. Most likely the hours have got into the wrong

places. From noon till three would be a very likely amount of time for

the whole of the actual fighting. The march and the pursuit have to be

added at each end to make up the whole day’s work.

But this mistake as to the mere reckoning of hours need not throw any

doubt as to the main facts of the one intelligible and consistent

account of the battle. Henry’s account also exactly agrees with the

two accounts in the Abingdon Chronicle. These two accounts must not

be read as a consecutive narrative. They come from two different

hands (see p. 369), and they contain an apparent, though not a real,

contradiction. The first tells the story in general terms;

“Ða com Harold Engla cyning heom ongean _on unwaran begeondan þære

brycge_, and hi þær togædere fengon, and swyðe heardlice lange on ðæg

feohtende wæron. And þær wæs Harold cyning of Norwegan and Tostig eorl

ofslagen, and ungerim folces mid heom, ægðer ge Normana ge Englisca,

and þa Normen flugon þa Englisca.”

This is a complete story by itself; then comes the supplement;

“Ða wæs þer an of Norwegan þe widstod þet Englisce folc, þet hí ne

micte þa brigge oferstigan _ne sige gerechen_. Þa seite an Englisce

mid anre flan, ac hít nactes ne widstod. And þa com an oþer under þere

brigge, end hine þurðstang en únder þere brunie; þa com Harold Engla

chinge ofer þere brigge, and hys furde forð mid hine, and þere michel

wel geslogon, ge Norweis ge Flæming, and þes cyninges sunu Hetmundus

let Harold faran ham to Norwéie mid alle þá scípe.”

This story is clearly the same as that of Henry of Huntingdon, and it

even more distinctly sets forth that the victory was still uncertain

when the single Northman defended the bridge. Up to that time the

English had the better, but the victory was not complete, and the

defence of the bridge hindered them for a while from making it complete

(“ne sige gerechen”). That the fighting began on the York side, and

ended on the further side, is manifest. But it might be thought from

the words of the first account, “com Harold ... heom ongean on unwaran

begeondan þære brycge,” that the surprise was made on the further side

of the bridge; but this, in the case of an army coming from York, is

impossible. We must therefore look on the expression as elliptical and

in some measure inaccurate. The English came upon them unawares on the

York side of the bridge, but the main fight took place “begeondan þære

brycge.” In the brief language of the Chronicler these two ideas are

run together.

The other accounts throw little light on the matter. The Worcester and

Peterborough Chroniclers give no account of the details of the battle,

though the Worcester writer becomes rather minute as to the fate of the

Northmen after the battle (see p. 375). Florence follows Worcester.

William of Malmesbury (ii. 228) gives no details except in his account

of the defence of the bridge, which he introduces with the words,

“Angli superiorem manum nacti, Noricos in fugam egerunt; sed tantorum

et tot virorum victoriam (quod forsitan posteritas difficile credat)

unus Noricus multâ horâ interpolavit.” This almost sounds as if William

had read the two accounts in the Abingdon Chronicle as a consecutive

narrative; his “in fugam egerunt” seems to come from the “Normen flugon

þa Englisca,” followed by the account of the defence of the bridge. It

is clear that it is from this account of William of Malmesbury that the

idea arose that the defence of the bridge took place in the very last

stage of the battle.

The three Kings whom Lambert (see above, p. 641) conceived to have been

killed at Stamfordbridge must be Harold Hardrada, the Irish King (see

p. 372), and, I suppose, Tostig, mistaken for a King.

I have in the text (see p. 354) suggested that the neighbourhood of

Aldby may have been one of the attractions which led Harold Hardrada to

Stamfordbridge. It may however be thought an objection that Aldby is on

the York side of the river, while I conceive the main strength of the

Norwegian army to have been on the other side. If however the bridge

which now crosses the river at Aldby had a predecessor in those days,

this difficulty is got rid of. But in any case I do not insist on the

connexion with Aldby as any essential part of the story. It seems to me

to have been a probable motive, but if it is thought inconsistent with

the one intelligible view of the battle, it must be given up.

Let us now see how the great victory of Stamfordbridge looked in the

eyes of Norman and Normannizing writers. It is universally looked

on as a wicked fratricide. William of Poitiers (126) refers to the

Northumbrian campaign only in an incidental way. William landed

easily, because Harold “in Eboracensem pagum recesserat, cum fratre

suo Tostillo et Heraldo, Noricorum Rege, dimicaturus.” This was a

first-rate opportunity for reviling Harold, and he accordingly goes on

with a fierce declamation, to some of the particular expressions of

which I have already had to call attention (see above, p. 635, and vol.

ii. p. 540);

“Nec mirere quod germanus permotus injuriis, invasi honoris æmulus,

arma externa adduxit in Heraldum, quem germana quoque, illi moribus

absimillima, quum armis non valeret, votis impugnabat et consilio,

luxuriâ fœdum, truculentum homicidam, divite rapinâ superbum,

adversarium æqui et boni.”

William of Jumièges (vii. 34) thus speaks of the battle, to which by

the way he gives quite a wrong date;

“In quo conflictu prædictum fratrem suum peremit ac Heraldum regem

Northwegæ qui Tosticum juvare venerat. Hæc pugna nonis Octobris in die

Sabbati facta est in quâ penè totus Northwigenarum exercitus ab Anglis

cæsus est. Inde victor Heraldus Lundoniam rediit, sed de fratricidio

diu gaudere vel securus esse non potuit, quia legatus ei Normannos

adesse mox nuntiavit.”

Two chapters on (vii. 36), when he describes the battle of Senlac, he

says;

“In die Sabbati mulctavit [Omnipotens Deus] multa millia Anglorum,

qui longè ante innocentem Aluredum injustè necaverunt, ac præcedenti

Sabbato Heraldum Regem et Tosticum Comitem aliosque multos absque

pietate trucidaverunt.”

Orderic too tells us (500 C) how “Anglicus Tyrannus, effuso fratris et

hostis sanguine, lætus intumuit, et peractâ multiplici strage victor

Lundoniam rediit.” Presently he uses the exact words of William of

Jumièges about the “fratricidium.”

Guy of Amiens also (Giles, 129) makes his elegiacs as fierce as he can.

I have already (p. 373) quoted two lines of him; the whole passage runs

thus;

“Rex Heraldus enim sceleratus ad ultima terræ,

Fratris ad exitium perfida tela parat.

Non modicam regni partem nam frater adeptus,

Tecta dabat flammis et gladiis populum.

Marte sub opposito currens Heraldus in hostes,

Non timuit fratris tradere membra neci.

Alter in alterutrum plus quam civile peregit

Bellum; sed victor, proh dolor, ipse fuit.

Invidus ille Caïn fratris caput amputat ense,

Et caput et corpus sic sepelivit humo.

Hæc tibi providit qui debita regna subegit,

Criminis infesti quatenus ultor eas.”

The Hyde writer has also his stone to fling at the fratricide. First we

read (p. 291), “Haroldus, Rex Anglorum, in borealibus Angliæ partibus

constitutus, atque apud Eboracum civitatem contra fratrem dimicans,

fratricida infeliciter evasit.” Again (p. 293), “Haroldo itaque apud

Eboracum constituto, et post multum laborem detestandumque fratricidium

modicum respirante, fama Normannorum advolat.” Lastly, William of

Malmesbury, who in his account of Stamfordbridge had spoken as an

Englishman, turns about and muses in this fashion (iii. 239); “Interea

Haroldus de pugnâ Noricorum revertebatur, suâ æstimatione felix quod

vicerat; meo judicio contra, quod parricidio victoriam comparârat.”

The force of party prejudice can really not go further than this kind

of talk. We can better forgive the Welsh writer who (Brut y Tywysogion,

1066) tells us how “Harold, King of Denmark, meditated the subjection

of the Saxons; whom another Harold, the son of Earl Godwin, who was

then King in England, surprised, unwarned and unarmed, and by sudden

attack, aided by national treachery, struck to the ground and caused

his death.” Still the Welshman’s notions of national treachery must

have been strange, and this lament or invective is oddly thrust into

the colourless narrative of the Annales Cambriæ. On the other hand

Snorro is never carried away in this sort. His mythical details

represent Harold as offering quarter to his brother and to his enemies

over and over again. Thus even fable bears witness to the general

character of our great King, and William of Malmesbury had himself once

(ii. 228) praised Harold’s clemency in his dealings with his conquered

enemies; “Rex Harvagre et Tostinus interempti; Regis filius cum omnibus

navibus domum clementer remissus.”

And now, for the last time, we come back for a moment to our old

companion, the Biographer of Eadward. His direct narrative has long

since failed us, but in one of his poetical flights (p. 426) he has a

very distinct allusion to the fight of Stamfordbridge. He thinks the

whole thing very wicked, but the subject of William and laureate of

Eadgyth takes care not to commit himself between Harold and Tostig

personally. He spares the Lady’s feelings the details of the warfare

between her brothers, but one or two of his expressions are remarkable;

“Quis canet æquoreo vastum fervore tumentem

Humbram congressum Regibus æquivocis?

Sanguine barbarico per millia multa marinos

Tinxisse fluctus, flente polo facinus,

Quis demum scribet? quo mens languescit et horret

Auditus, tanti fama pudet sceleris.”

Presently (p. 427) the Muse warns him;

“Si non describis hostilia bella Griphini,

Vel busam vetitum corporibus fluere.”

The idea that the _busses_ or keels could not pass for the dead bodies

is the same poetical common-place which we have met with several times.

See pp. 351, 369. We find it also, of all places, in Arrian, ii. II.

11; Λέγει Πτολεμαῖος ὁ Λάγου, ξυνεπισπόμενος τότε Ἀλεξάνδρῳ, τοὺς μετὰ

σφῶν διώκοντας Δαρεῖον, ὡς ἐπὶ φάραγγί τινι ἐν τῇ διώξει ἐγένοντο, ἐπὶ

τῶν νεκρῶν διαβῆναι τὴν φάραγγα. Cf. Polybios, xii. 20, where there is

something like a discussion of the subject. Grote, Hist. Greece, xii.

167.

NOTE DD. p. 411.

WILLIAM’S RAVAGES IN SUSSEX.

The ravages of William’s army in Sussex stand confessed in the Norman

writers, and there can be little doubt that they were systematic

ravages done with the settled object of bringing Harold to a battle.

The lasting nature of the destruction wrought at this time is shown

by the large number of places round about Hastings which are returned

in Domesday as “wasta.” As many of these as can be identified I have

marked in the map.

On the other hand Mr. Hayley, a South-Saxon antiquary, who is quoted

by Sir Henry Ellis (i. 314) and Mr. Taylor (Wace, 262), strangely

attributes the harrying of those places which lie at all near the

line of Harold’s march to the English, and not to the Norman army.

This notion would hardly have needed any answer except from the sort

of sanction given to it by the two writers who quote Mr. Hayley. I do

not suppose that any army of any age ever passed through a district

without doing some damage, but to suppose that Harold systematically

harried his own Kingdom, and not only his own Kingdom, but a shire

specially attached to his house and which contained a large portion

of his private estates, does seem to me the height of absurdity. A

King who was, as William of Poitiers tells us (see p. 412), hastening

to save the country from ravage, who, as Wace tells us (see p. 437),

indignantly refused to inflict the slightest unavoidable damage on

any of his people, was certainly not likely to mark his course by

systematic devastation. And, what is more, on such a hasty march as

Harold’s evidently was, Swend himself could not have done the sort

of permanent damage which is implied in the lands being returned as

“wasta” twenty years after. The ravaging must have been something

complete and systematic, like the ravaging of Northumberland a few

years later. Such ravaging could only have been done by an army

permanently encamped in the country, as William’s was at Hastings. Also

if Harold had ravaged, he would have ravaged along his whole line of

march, and not have waited till he was within a few miles of Senlac.

But Mr. Hayley does not produce a single instance of a return of

“wasta” along the early part of Harold’s march; all the points are near

either to Hastings or to Senlac. I have no doubt that all these entries

record ravages inflicted by the army of William.

NOTE EE. p. 425.

NAMES OF ENGLISHMEN AT SENLAC.

I have risked the conjecture that the Ansgardus of Guy of Amiens

(690 et seq.) is no other than Esegar the Staller, the well-known

grandson of Tofig the Proud. In this conjecture I find that I have been

forestalled by M. de Bonnechose (ii. 287). At least I presume that

he means Esegar by “le riche personnage dont le nom est accompagné

du titre de Stellarius [sic] (_Comes stabuli_) ou connétable dans le

Domesday book.” Thierry, in the second note to his fourth book, takes

Ansgardus for the name of an office, the _Hansward_, which he fancies

to be the title of some magistrate, seemingly the chief magistrate of

the City of London. But I know of no municipal magistrate bearing the

name of _Hansward_, and the chief magistrate of London in these times

is always called the Port-Reeve. Ansgardus is clearly a proper name,

and Esegar, who was evidently a man of great importance at the time,

bears a name which comes nearer to the form used by Guy than that of

any other eminent Englishman. Indeed in Domesday, 129 _b_, he appears

as “Ansgarus.” Esegar moreover was Sheriff of Middlesex, which makes it

still more likely that he should have been in command of the forces of

London. He is addressed (Cod. Dipl. iv. 211) in a writ of Eadward for

Middlesex along with Bishop William, Earl Harold, and all the Thegns

of the shire. In another writ (iv. 221) his connexion with London is

still more distinctly marked. “Eadward King gret Ælfwold Bisceop and

Esgár Stallere and alle mine burhðegnes on Lundne freóndlíce.” He was

therefore Staller, and seemingly Sheriff, as early as 1045. See vol.

ii. p. 63.

The other names which I have introduced come from entries in Domesday.

These entries are of course quite incidental, but, like the mention

of Æthelric (see above, p. 717), they have another kind of importance

which I shall discuss in another volume. Most of the men spoken of were

tenants of religious houses, but this does not seem to have been the

case with the two nameless Hampshire freemen, whose land at the time

of the Survey was in the hands of a King’s Thegn, an Englishman named

Ælfwig. The entry, as far as we are now concerned with it, runs thus

(Domesday, 50); “Alwi filius Turber tenet de Rege Tederlec. Tres liberi

homines tenerunt in alodium de Rege E.... Duo ex his qui tenuerunt

occisi fuerunt in bello de Hastinges.”

The case of Ælfric of Huntingdonshire (Domesday, 208) is very clear;

the entry is as follows; “Terram Alurici de Gellinge et Emingeforde

testantur fuisse Sancti Benedicti.... Ipse autem Aluricus occisus fuit

in bello apud Hastinges.” The nameless Norfolk man (Domesday, ii. 275

_b_) seems to have been a case of the same kind. But Breme of Suffolk

was a freeman of King Eadward, and there is no mention of any connexion

of his with any religious house. The entry (Domesday, ii. 409 _b_) is

as follows; “In Dagaworda tenuit Breme liber homo regis E. qui fuit

occisus in bello Hastingensi.”

Godric the Sheriff and Thurkill of Berkshire are better ascertained

persons. Their deaths are recorded in the history of Abingdon (vol.

i. p. 484, and again p. 490). Of Thurkill we read, “Quidam dives

Thurkillus nomine, sub Haroldi Comitis testimonio et consultu, de se

cum suâ terrâ quæ Kingestun dicitur, ecclesiæ Abbendonensi et Abbati

Ordrico homagium fecit” (see vol. ii. p. 42, and on _commendation_

vol. i. p. 129). The place is Kingston Bagpuze in Berkshire, of which

we read in Domesday (60 _b_), “Stanchill tenuit T. R. E.,” whom Sir

Henry Ellis (ii. 227) is no doubt right in identifying with Thurkill.

It is singular that Thurkill should also have held of the King another

lordship of the name of Kingston in the same shire (see Domesday, 61).

Godric the Sheriff held various possessions in Berkshire, partly of

the King, partly of the Abbey (see Domesday, 60 _b_, where he appears

as “Godricus Vice-Comes”). He is also addressed in a writ of Eadward

for Berkshire (Cod. Dipl. iv. 200) along with Bishop Hermann and Earl

Harold and all the Thegns of the shire. The possession specially spoken

of in the Abingdon History is Fifhide or Fifield, near Abingdon, where

an ancient manor-house of the fourteenth century no doubt marks the

site of Godric’s dwelling. Fifield was granted to the Abbey by King

Eadgar (see the charter in Hist. Ab. i. 323), and was held by Godric on

the common tenure for three lives. Domesday says (60 _b_), “Godricus

Vice-Comes tenuit de Abbate et non potuit ire quolibet cum istâ terrâ.”

As Thurkill had another Kingston, so Godric had another Fifhide, held

of the King. Of another Berkshire Godric (60 _b_), “Godricus unus liber

homo,” probably the Sheriff’s son, I shall have to speak elsewhere.

The mention of Eadric the Deacon comes from Domesday, ii. 449; “In

Kanavadisc [Cavendish in Suffolk] tenet Radulfus de Limesi, unus liber

homo Heroldi, quam tenuit Edricus Diaconus, qui fuit mortuus cum eo

in bello.” Surely the words “unus liber homo Heroldi” ought to be

transposed so as to apply to Eadric.

The presence of the Abbots Leofric and Ælfwig is well known. The

following is the local account (Mon. ii. 437) of the coming of Ælfwig

and his twelve monks. The first words I have quoted already in vol. ii.

p. 644.

“Rex Haraldus habuit avunculum, nomine Godwynum, qui adduxit secum

contra Willielmum Bastard in suo adventu in Angliam in subsidio nepotis

sui Haraldi, de domo suâ duodecim monachos et viginti milites, pro

servitio; quibus occisis et spoliatis, inventi sunt memorati Abbas et

monachi sub armis militaribus in habitu monachili, et de Novo Wintoniæ

Monasterio, videlicet de Hidâ, cœnobitas esse.”

NOTE FF. pp. 400, 437.

THE DATES OF THE EVENTS BETWEEN THE TWO GREAT BATTLES.

The day of William’s landing seems distinctly fixed by the testimony

of the Worcester and Peterborough Chronicles. The former says, “Ða com

Wyllelm eorl of Normandige into Pefnesea on Sc̃e Michaeles mæsse æfen,

and sona þæs hi fere wæron, worhton castel æt Hæstinga port.” That is,

they landed on the morning of Thursday, September 28th, and, as we may

suppose, reached Hastings the next day. This becomes still clearer from

the words of the Peterborough Chronicler, who says, “And þa hwile com

Willelm eorl upp æt Hestingan, on sc̃e Michaeles mæssedæg.” That is, he

leaves out the landing at Pevensey, but brings William to Hastings on

the day when he must have come there according to the other account.

Orderic is therefore wrong when he says (500 B), “Normannicus itaque

exercitus iii. Kal. Octobr. mare transfretavit, nocte quâ memoriam

Sancti Michaelis Archangeli Catholica Ecclesia festivè peragit.” The

mistake arose from some confusion between Saint Michael’s mass-day and

Saint Michael’s eve.

On the other hand, there is no doubt as to the day of the Battle of

Senlac. The Worcester Chronicle says expressly, “þis gefeoht wæs gedon

on þone dæg Calesti pape.” So Orderic (501 A), “Bellum secundo Idus

Octobr. horâ tertiâ commissum est.” It is strange that so accurate a

writer as Florence should have given a wrong date, placing the battle

on the 21st or 22nd, “xi. Kal. Novembris Sabbato.” William of Jumièges

(vii. 36) gives the right date, “Pridie Idus Octobris.” But he makes

(vii. 34) the strange mistake of placing the Battle of Stamfordbridge

only one week before the Battle of Senlac (“Hæc pugna Nonis Octobris

in die Sabbati facta est”). I have no doubt that Harold reached Senlac

the day before the battle, that is on Friday, October 13th (see p.

446). William was thus a fortnight at Hastings, which agrees with the

“quindecim dies” of William of Malmesbury (iii. 238).

Of the dates of Harold’s movements during this time our accounts

are much less certain. We are told on authority which is not first

rate that Harold spent five or six days in London whilst his troops

were coming in. “Deinde per sex dies innumeram multitudinem Anglorum

contraxit,” says William of Jumièges (vii. 35). So Gaimar (5257), “Cinc

jurs i mist al asembler.” The statement however is probable enough,

and, in default of any better authority, we may accept it. We have then

to arrange the other events accordingly. We may give two days to the

march from London to Senlac, making Harold leave London on Thursday the

12th. He would thus have reached London on the 5th. This puts Harold’s

arrival in London exactly a week after William’s landing at Pevensey,

allowing three days for the messenger’s hasty ride from Pevensey to

York, and four days for the King’s somewhat slower march from York to

London. Sunday, October 1, would seem to have been the day on which

Harold heard the news of William’s landing. The speed with which

events followed one another is almost miraculous, but that is the main

characteristic of these two wonderful campaigns.

The following may serve as an approximate calendar of these events;

Wednesday, Sept. 20. Battle of Fulford.

Sunday, ” 24. Surrender of York.

Monday, ” 25. Battle of Stamfordbridge.

Wednesday, ” 27. William sets sail.

Thursday, ” 28. William at Pevensey.

Friday, ” 29. William at Hastings.

Sunday, October 1. News brought to York.

Thursday, ” 5. Harold in London.

Wednesday, ” 11. Harold leaves London.

Friday, ” 13. Harold at Senlac.

Saturday, ” 14. Battle of Senlac.

NOTE GG. p. 431.

THE MESSAGES BETWEEN HAROLD AND WILLIAM.

I have spoken in the text of the extraordinary confusions and

contradictions which are found in the accounts of the messages which

are said to have passed between Harold and William before the arrival

of the English army at Senlac.

According to William of Poitiers (128), a monk, sent as an ambassador

from Harold, reached William’s camp at Hastings while the Duke was

inspecting his ships (“Dum custodiam navium viseret Dux, indicatum est

fortè spatianti prope navalia monachum Heraldi legatum adesse”), which

therefore, it is plain, were not burned. William talks with him, and

pretends to be the Duke’s seneschal, saying that the messenger cannot

obtain an interview with the Duke except through him. He bids the monk

tell his story to him, promising to bring it to his master’s ears. The

monk obeys, and is hospitably received and lodged that night. The next

day the monk is brought before a gathering of the Norman chiefs, among

whom he finds the supposed seneschal of yesterday to be no other than

the Duke himself. William bids him (“In crastino discumbens in medio

primatum suorum, cucullato advocato dixit”) tell his story to the whole

company. He then delivers Harold’s message, which is much the same as

I have given in p. 432. Now, this message of Harold is obviously out

of place as the first of a series. Harold would never put arguments

into William’s mouth in the way in which he is made to do in this

account. But it is equally obvious that the latter part of the speech

is thoroughly in place as an answer to a great part of the Norman case.

It is clear that the order of the messages has been transposed, and

that the first message was sent by William to Harold, and not by Harold

to William. And indeed, to say nothing of the particular arguments in

either message, it was far more natural for the claimant to send a

first message to the actual possessor than for the actual possessor to

send a first message to the claimant. And this is actually the order

in which the story is told in Wace, whom I have therefore not scrupled

to follow. In his account (11891 et seqq.), as soon as William hears

that Harold has reached London, he sends the monk of Fécamp, Hugh

Margot, of whose speech I have given the substance in p. 431. Harold

is represented as being kindled almost to madness at the message, and

as being kept back from personal violence to the messenger only by

the interference of Gyrth. This is doubtless a mere piece of Norman

scandal akin to the other stories which I have mentioned in p. 436.

The alleged violence is quite out of character with all that we know

of Harold, and the introduction of Gyrth, to whose exaltation Wace is

so strangely devoted, casts a further doubt on the story. But these

mythical details in no way affect the probability of the order which

Wace gives to the messages. When Hugh Margot is gone, Harold sends his

own messenger, an Englishman who could speak French (11949);

“Donc a Heraut pris un message

Ki de France sont li langage.”

The speech put into his mouth is an answer to the Norman claims, but it

takes a rather different line from the speech in William of Poitiers.

While the latter chiefly deals with the respective claims of William

and Harold to the Crown, the speech in Wace chiefly deals with the

question of the oath, which Harold maintains to be of no force, as

having been obtained by compulsion (11956);

“Se jo li ait fet folement,

Se jo unkes rien li pramis,

Por ma délivrance le fis;

Por mei délivrer li jurai,

Quant k’il me quist li otréai.

Ne me deit estre reprocé,

Quer nel’ fist nient de mon graé;

La force ert soe, si cremeie,

Se sa volonté ne faseie,

Ke jo jamaiz ne revertisse,

Et toz tems là remainsisse.”

The message winds up with the challenge for the battle on Saturday. It

is added that William treated the messenger well, and gave him a horse

and garments (“cheval è dras li fist doner,” 12026), on which Harold

regretted his own ill-treatment of Hugh Margot.

I ought however to mention that Guy of Amiens (197 et seqq.) gives a

version of these messages in which their substance differs altogether

from the version either of William of Poitiers or of Wace, but which

agrees in its order with William of Poitiers. Harold’s messenger is

sent from York. At the meeting of the English captains, which I have

described in p. 420, the King determines, as the first step, to send a

messenger to William. An eloquent monk is chosen by the common voice of

the assembly (203);

“Æquo consultu majorum necne minorum

Providus eloquio monachus eligitur.”

The message which he carries is simply a rhetorical demand that William

shall leave the country. Peace is offered if he will go quietly, and

restore his captives and plunder; otherwise Harold threatens war. The

last words enlarge on the vast numbers at Harold’s disposal, which he

could not, if he would, keep back from battle. England contained six

hundred thousand fighting men (221), all eager for fight.

“Militiam vix ipse suam populumque coercet:

Gens est quæ nullum novit habere modum.

Nam, Dominum testor, bis sex sibi millia centum

Sunt pugnatorum, prœlia qui sitiunt.”

William’s answer is also little more than a rhetorical statement of

his own right, and of Harold’s perjury, but it contains one expression

which is worth notice. William thus (231) sets forth his rights;

“Excessi puerum, leviter nec regna petivi

Defunctis patribus debita jure mihi.”

This strong expression of William’s hereditary right may perhaps be

taken in connexion with the strange boast which the poet afterwards

puts into the mouth of another messenger of William (331);

“Normannos proavus superavit, avusque Britannos;

Anglorum genitor sub juga colla dedit.”

William’s answer winds up by offering mercy to Harold if he will

repent and submit, and promising him his father’s Earldom on his again

becoming William’s man (243);

“Si quærit pacem, si vult delicta fateri,

Indulgens culpæ parcere promptus ero;

Terram quam pridem tenuit pater, hanc sibi reddam,

Ut meus ante fuit si meus esse velit.”

Now Wace clearly distinguishes between these messages, which he

describes as being exchanged while Harold was still in London, and

other messages, which he describes as being exchanged after Harold

had already encamped on Senlac. It is probable that messages would be

interchanged at both stages; when William of Poitiers rolls the two

stages into one, he only displays his usual disregard of chronology,

while Guy seems equally careless of geography. Harold is first at York

and then at Senlac, without a word about the march or the sojourn in

London. The Archdeacon makes his monk, who is evidently the same as

Wace’s Hugh Margot, go to Harold, with the statement of William’s

rights which I have given in vol. ii. p. 302, and with the offer

which I have given in p. 431. But he also offers, in the interests

of humanity, a decision of the quarrel by single combat (“at si

conditionem hanc repudiaverit, non duco justum ut homines mei vel

sui concidant prœliando, quorum in lite nostrâ culpa nulla est. Ecce

paratus ego sum capite meo contra caput illius asserere, quod mihi

potiùs quam illi jure cedat regnum Anglicum”). The Archdeacon now

bursts forth into a panegyric on his master’s skill in argument and

on his hatred of bloodshed; he then gives us Harold’s answer. His

description is certainly graphic. For a while Harold cannot speak

(“stupore expalluit, atque diu ut elinguis obticuit”); when he does

speak, the monk, to repeated questions, gets no answer beyond threats

of immediate battle (“pergimus continenter,” “pergimus ad prœlium”).

At the final offer of the single combat, Harold lifts up his face to

heaven, and says that God shall judge between him and William (“tum

levato Heraldus in cœlum vultu, ait: Dominus inter me et Willelmum

hodie quod justum est decernat”). All this happens while Harold is not

far off from Hastings (“mandata Heraldo appropinquanti per monachum

sunt relata”), and the battle seems to begin almost directly after.

The same kind of confusion prevails in Guy’s account. The message which

I have already quoted is sent by Harold from York; but immediately on

the departure of its bearer we find a state of things implying that the

English army has already reached Senlac. When the monk is gone, William

makes a speech to his followers, whom he addresses (250) as

“Francia quos genuit nobilitate cluens.”

And among them, besides Apulians and Calabrians (see p. 305), he does

not forget (258) the men of his great continental conquest;

“Viribus illustres Cenomanni, gloria quorum

Bello monstratur per probitatis opem.”

He expects a sudden attack of the English upon his camp, it being,

according to this account, the custom of the victor of Stamfordbridge

to conquer, not by force, but by fraud (264);

“Ejus enim mos est non vi, sed vincere fraude,

Spondendoque fidem porrigit ore necem.

Ergo cavere decet ne decipiamur ab illo,

Ni simus risus ludus et in populo.

Mandamus vobis quapropter castra tueri,

Irruat in castris ne malus ille latro.”

He therefore sends a monk, seemingly half as spy, half as ambassador,

who reaches the English camp just as Harold was setting out for a night

attack on the camp of William (281);

“Rex acies armare jubet, Ducis atque latenter

Mandat ut invadant agmina, si valeant.

Æstimat in vigiles prosternere fraudibus hostes

Fallere dum quærit, fallitur atque ruit.”

The monk now once more sets forth to Harold how William had been

appointed heir to the Crown by Eadward with the assent of the Witan,

and how Harold had himself been the bearer to William of a sword and a

ring as witnesses of William’s election by King and people (291);

“Hoc quia perplures testantur, et asserit idem

Assensu populi, consilio procerum,

Etguardus quod rex ut ei succederet hæres

Annuit, et fecit teque favente sibi.

Annulus est illi testis concessus et ensis,

Quæ per te nôsti missa fuisse sibi.”

Harold not unnaturally returns (301) an answer as indignant as that

which Wace puts into his mouth on the earlier occasion. God shall judge

between him and William on the morrow. All this is therefore conceived

as happening on the night of Friday, October 13th;

“Heraldus vultu distorto colla retorquens,

Legato dixit, ‘Vade retro, stolide.

Judice cras Domino, regni pars justa patebit,

Dividet ex æquo sacra manus Domini.’”

The monk goes back to his master and gives him a report of what he had

seen in the English camp, some expressions of which I have already

quoted here and there. It is remarkable also (323) for speaking of the

English in a contemptuous way of which there is no trace when Guy comes

to the actual battle, and which oddly enough forestalls the description

which we have of Norman fashions in the next generation (see Ord. Vit.

701 A; Eadmer, 23);

“Fors numerum metues: numerus sed viribus expers

Plurimus a minimo sæpe repulsus abit.

Est sibi milities unctis depexa capillis,

Fœminei juvenes Martis in arte pigri;

Et quot sunt, ovibus totidem sunt æquiparandi,

Ut vulpes pavidi fulguris ad sonitum.”

These two descriptions of the final message and the final answer of

Harold are evidently the same as those which Wace (12254 et seqq.)

describes as taking place after the English were encamped on the hill.

The accounts are essentially the same; both contain the same offer of

single combat, which seems more appropriate now than before. I have

therefore followed Wace in making two sets of messages, one exchanged

in London, the other (see p. 447) on the day before the battle. William

of Malmesbury also (iii. 239–240) brings in a message and an answer

at this stage. But he also brings in here the proposal of Gyrth that

Harold should fall back on London (see p. 434). He adds also, like

Guy, some expressions borrowed from the earlier message in William of

Poitiers, the talk namely about the grant of the Crown by Eadward with

the consent of the Earls, and also the story of the hostages. Both Wace

and William make the Duke offer Harold a choice of three things, the

single combat being the last alternative. The only difference is that

in Wace the offer that Harold should hold the Kingdom under William

(“ut [regnum] sub eo regnaturus teneret”) is made at a second and final

message, after Harold had refused any of the three alternatives. The

division of the Kingdom between Harold and Gyrth, as I have described

it in p. 448, is clearly marked in Wace, 12340;

“E li Dus à Heraut manda,

Se son covenant li teneit,

Northonblonde tut li donreit,

E kank ultre le Humbre aureit,

Ki à cel regne aparteneit;

E poiz donreit à Guert son frere

La terre Gwigne lor pere.”

In both accounts there is a mention of the Pope and his clergy, but

with the very important difference which I have noted in pp. 449–450.