THE BATTLE OF STAMFORD BRIDGE.
"Look thou yonder! Look, O Ned, the son of Webb!" exclaimed Father
Brian.
"Banners!" responded Ned, almost breathlessly. "Horsemen! Who can they
be? Is it the army of Harold, the King of England? Tostig and Hardrada
think he is away at the southern shore, watching for Duke William of
Normandy. Why, he can march right on into the city!"
"He will do more than that," replied the Irishman, with a very knowing
look. "My boy, mark thou well now! Not a horn nor a trumpet soundeth
among yonder horsemen, and they ride rapidly. Stand still here and
keep thine eyes open. We are safe at this place. Then will we go on
with them, and I think we shall see the springing of the great trap of
Harold, with which he hath caught the Vikings."
"I ought to go ahead at once and warn Tostig the Earl!" said Ned.
"If thou in thy armour art able to go faster than will the horsemen of
the King of England," half laughed the missionary, "thou mayst be sure,
also, that thousands of swords are on guard along the walls, watching
well that no man shall get out on the Derwent side to carry news of
this thing."
"I'll get the news correctly, first, and then I'll see what I can do
with it," said Ned, stubbornly, but he instantly became absorbed by his
inspection of the arriving host of the Saxon king.
Right onward rode fast its vanguard of mounted men, and Ned quickly
perceived that these were unlike anything that he had seen before.
Their arms and armour were so nearly of a pattern that it was as if
they were in steel uniform. Their horses were large and strong, and
there was no disorder to be seen in their trained and disciplined
movements. Minutes passed by, and then he heard a man who stood near
him exclaim, loudly:
"Yea, my friend, these are the thingmen. They are the house-carles of
the king. There are no other men like them. They are the picked ax-men
of all England."
Already, Ned had heard a great deal about these fighters. First among
the Kings of England, it was said, Harold had organised and maintained
a considerable standing army, selecting for it the best men he could
find, and making them personally devoted to himself.
"None of Hardrada's troops march as these do," thought Ned, as a column
of house-carles on foot followed the foremost detachment of cavalry.
"Our best city regiments can't beat it. None of our militia would care
to carry so much iron, though. Not in hot weather. What tremendously
big fellows they are. Hullo! There comes the king! Hurrah! I always
wanted to see Harold. Isn't he splendid! He isn't as tall as Hardrada
of Norway. He's a giant."
His sudden explosion of enthusiasm was joined in by all around, and it
won for him many kindly looks and sayings, for the people of York were
going wild with joy at their unexpected deliverance from the Vikings
and from the cruel revenges of Earl Tostig. They could hardly believe
their ears and eyes that this was, indeed, their hero monarch.
Splendid, indeed, was Harold, the son of Godwin, riding bareheaded
into the city, which might be called one of the two capitals of his
kingdom. London was the other capital, and in many respects it was the
more important, but all the north of the kingdom was to be ruled, in a
manner, from York.
The handsome, thoughtful face of Harold was somewhat pallid from
recent illness, but he seemed to Ned, the son of Webb, one of the most
powerfully built men that he had ever seen, even in Norway.
"They say," he was thinking, "that not many men living can stand before
him in single fight. I shouldn't wonder if my conquest of England is
going to be cracked to pieces, right away. If that's so, I'm going to
be one of Harold's men and fight Duke William. Harold is a better man
than Tostig. But what on earth am I going to do about Lars and Vebba?"
He was afraid that Father Brian was right, and that he had now no
chance for returning to them or to the earl, and a strange wave of new
feeling was sweeping through him. He did not now wish to fight these
Englishmen who were defending their country, and a great admiration for
Harold the hero was taking possession of him.
Great men often seem to have a magnetic power for drawing all other men
to them, and the last of the Saxon kings was a very strong magnet. At
his side now rode his brother, Leofwine, not so tall, but reputed to
be almost as good a warrior. On behind them poured steadily the long
columns of the Saxon army. Not by any means all of its forces, however,
were as thoroughly disciplined and equipped as were the house-carles of
the king.
"I think thou canst now understand this matter, my boy," remarked
Father Brian. "Thou seest with thine own eyes that all things were
ready for their coming, and that they march through the city without
halting for a moment. None will hinder their going out at the Derwent
gate, and not a man beyond the wall on that side knoweth of their
coming. This will be a bad day for all of Hardrada's men that are on
this side of the Derwent. They will be surprised and outnumbered, and
small mercy will be shown to them."
"Come on!" exclaimed Ned. "I want to get there. I may do something yet."
Around by other streets, necessarily much more slowly than the mounted
men, the two friends made their way across the city. When at last they
reached the Derwent gate, however, there was nothing to prevent their
marching out at once with the foot-soldiers of King Harold.
"Father Brian," inquired Ned, "dost thou suppose that Edwin and Morcar
knew of this all the while?"
"They did," he responded. "A swift messenger came to tell them how much
time they must save in their bargainings. He was a Saxon priest, and no
man suspected his errand. Push on, now. Some of Hardrada's troops were
expecting to march in and garrison the city at this hour. Then the King
of Norway and Earl Tostig were to hold a court here and give a great
feast. Very little more good eating are they likely to do, this day."
The Saxon army pressed forward steadily, and its several divisions were
evidently under clear instructions; for, as they marched, they spread
out on the right and left into a compact battle-array, with a broad
front, the centre of which consisted of the house-carles.
Hardly had the foremost lines advanced half-way from the city walls to
the river Derwent when they were suddenly confronted by the strong body
of Vikings which had been sent to take possession of York in accordance
with the terms of surrender. It was swinging along fearlessly,
joyously, without any thought of meeting a hostile force.
Ned, the son of Webb, and his companion had walked their very best to
keep with the advance, and they were now away at the right of the Saxon
army front, for there was no possibility of getting through it.
"Hark!" suddenly exclaimed Father Brian. "The trumpets of the
house-carles! They are sounding the charge! Hearest thou not also that
braying of Viking war-horns? Forward, over this ridge, my boy. Thou and
I are to see something now."
"There they go!" shouted Ned. "The whole line is making a rush. Quick!
I want to see that charge. I wish I knew where Lars is. I hope he's
beyond the river."
They were only just in time to see. The warriors of Norway had no time
at all given them to form in order of battle. The narrow front of their
astonished column was instantly shattered by the charge of the mounted
house-carles. Behind these, closing around upon their flanks, clashed
forward the Saxon footmen with ax and spear.
Hardrada's men were veterans, and they fell back, fighting furiously
and struggling to keep their ranks.
All things were against them, however,--the surprise, the superior
numbers, and the flanking, encircling tactics of King Harold's men.
"Look!" said Father Brian. "All this part of them are in the trap. All
that are behind are turning toward the bridge. Only such as reach it
while these are fighting will ever get away. The rest must die."
"It's as awful as the Fulford fight," said Ned. "Hardrada lost men
enough there, and now another large slice of his army is gone. He will
have to give up the idea of conquering England."
"He lost that at Fulford," said the missionary, "and he threw away all
that was left him when he let the earls cheat him into waiting for
Harold."
The slaughter now going on was pitiless. Much the larger part of
Hardrada's remaining strength, nevertheless, was still upon the other
side of the Derwent, and considerable numbers were escaping across the
bridge to join it.
"It is our time to go ahead, my boy," said Father Brian. "We must get
to the bank of the river, if we can. I want to see how the Saxons will
manage to cross the bridge. Hardrada can easily hold it against them."
"We can't cross it ourselves," replied Ned. "So far as I can see, we
must stay with the English army, whether we like it or not."
"Thou hast no errand, now, for Tostig the Earl," growled the
missionary. "He hath no more need for anything that thou couldst tell
him. Ho! Boats! Two of them. One will do for us, and that is what I was
looking for. We need no bridge."
"There's a fellow getting into one of them," said Ned. "We'll take the
other."
Down they went, and in a minute more they were pulling away over the
Derwent, taking little notice of the occupant of the other boat, except
to see that he was a heavily armoured spearman of the house-carles.
Their eyes were too busy to care for him, for they were watching the
rush of the fugitives across the bridge. For life, for life, they were
crowding along the narrow passage which was their only escape from
the steel of the Saxons. It was beginning to look as if all who could
escape were already over, when Ned, the son of Webb, almost yelled out:
"Sikend! Sikend the Berserker! Look at him! He is holding the bridge
all alone. Row on! I want to get nearer!"
A few strokes of the oars carried them upstream to within fifty yards
of the spot where the Berserker stood. Clad still in full armour, his
tremendous form seeming broader and more powerful than ever, mad with
all the battle fury of his race and nature, ax in hand and shield on
arm, he defied the rush of his antagonists with a prowess that appeared
to be more than human.
Loudly and mockingly laughed the fierce champion of Norway as he caught
spear after spear and arrow after arrow upon his broad, bright shield.
Louder yet was his shout of vindictive triumph as his resistless ax
cleft helmet after helmet and shoulder after shoulder. There he must
die, and this he knew right well, but his was to be no cow's death.
Little did he care for its coming, so that he might slay many foemen,
and fall surrounded by their dead bodies.
Brave as they were, the Saxons fell back for a moment from before this
awful shape. It had happened that the first of them to cross the bridge
were not of the thingmen of Harold.
These were still busily destroying the remainder of the Vikings on the
York side of the river. Again a rush was made, and again Sikend drove
it back. It was afterward said that not less than forty warriors fell
dead under the terrible blows of the Berserker.
"Yonder is King Harold, on the bank," said Ned, the son of Webb, "but
look at that Saxon in the boat under the bridge! He is after Sikend!
He is stabbing upward with his spear, through the cracks between the
planks!"
"They can't be wide enough," said Father Brian. "Ha! Sikend is hurt! He
is down upon one knee! He can stand and fight no longer!"
"I'll stop that man!" shouted Ned, pulling hard upon his oars. "Sikend
is a friend of mine--"
"Let thou alone!" exclaimed Father Brian. "It is no affair of thine!"
He was too late, for Ned had now arisen, in his sudden excitement, and
his angry yell had drawn upon him the attention of the house-carle.
Louder was the response of the tall Saxon, and as he shouted he hurled
at Ned the long javelin with which he had smitten the Berserker.
"Thou hast it!" gasped the missionary.
"On my shield," said Ned. "It went through it as if it had been
cardboard, but my mail stopped it. There! He is over! I need not spear
him!"
"Praise the saints!" muttered Father Brian. "He hath upset! But for me
thou wouldst have done the same."
That was not strictly correct. The Saxon's boat was floating well, but
the very energy of his furiously angry spear-throwing had tipped his
tiny punt and sent it out from under him, plunging him into the swiftly
eddying current of the Derwent.
"Can he swim," whispered Ned, "with all his armour on?"
"That is the last of him!" remarked Father Brian. "He will throw no
more javelins. He is gone!"
Not even once did the overweighted house-carle come to the surface. He
may indeed have been no swimmer. In the meantime, however, with wild
hurrahs, the Saxons on the bridge had charged forward, and thrust
after thrust had been given to the prostrate body of the wounded
Berserker. He had fallen as he had wished to fall, a hero defying a
whole army.
"King Harold's men are pushing across the bridge," said Ned, as his
boat drifted out from under it. "Why on earth did the Vikings leave it
to be defended by one man?"
"It is only one more of Hardrada's blunders," replied the missionary.
"He is only a sea king, and not a good general on the land. A man may
be the biggest pirate in all the world and not know enough to handle
an army. He hath done little more than to fight hard and to blunder
all the while, ever since he landed. Seest thou now? The mounted
house-carles gallop forward. Behind them the Saxon army will form on
the other bank, and then Hardrada's army is doomed. Thou and I will
cross quickly, that we may obtain a good place from which to watch the
shutting of this death-trap."
"The Vikings that are left will be awfully outnumbered," said Ned. "Oh,
how I wish I could do something for Lars and Vebba and our men!"
"The invading host hath no hope," said his friend. "They are to be
struck by one of the best generals in the world, leading the best
fighters. Thou canst do nothing at all for thy friends."
"It's too bad!" groaned Ned. "I like Lars."
The boat was soon left behind them. Not a great while afterward they
were standing upon a moderate elevation of rocky ground, at the right
of the level upon which the Saxon forces were rapidly forming in order
of battle, under the eyes of their king. They were doing so at this
precise place, for the reason that immediately in front of them were
assembled all that was now left of the forces of King Hardrada.
"My boy," exclaimed the missionary, "both sides are looking
splendidly. I am glad to be where I can see, but any man running
in between those two fronts would be like a corn of wheat between
millstones. See thou! All of the house-carles are dismounting. They
will fight on foot. They do not mean to lose too many horses. I would
not, if I were they, with mayhap a long ride near to come."
"William of Normandy's horses wear armour," said Ned. "I have seen
pictures of them,--as much armour as a man weareth."
"Not many of them," replied Father Brian. "Here and there one, perhaps,
if the owner of the horse can afford that kind of harness. Not many
can, for armour costeth money. The man that made the pictures may have
had some of that armour in his head."
"Thou meanest in his eye," said Ned. "There were loads of it, anyhow,
and if a horse loaded like that were to stumble and fall, he'd be
likely to stay down."
"Any man that goeth down to-day will stay down," responded the
missionary. "The Northumberland levies that follow in the rear have
come to take revenge for the slaughter at Fulford. It is a cruel,
heathenish business, from first to last. I will be glad when the whole
world shall be civilised, as it is around Clontarf."
The great invasion of England by the sea king was already a complete
failure. He and his brave but now dispirited Vikings had rallied to
make their last stand against the unexpected and now overwhelming host
of the hero King of England. Upon that very day, Hardrada of Norway
and Tostig the Earl were to have entered York as conquerors. Here they
were, instead, at a little after midday, confronting sure ruin and
probable death.
All the remaining fighting strength of York and its vicinity had
zealously joined King Harold, so that all the while the Stamford
bridge was still thronged with marching men. The marvel that Tostig
or Hardrada had not ordered it to be burnt or chopped away was on the
tongues of many. They may have vainly thought of again using it to
recross the Derwent, and, if so, this was one more bad blunder, for
they had left it in the hands of King Harold, and he was a general.
The army front presented by the Northmen was exceedingly dangerous
looking, nevertheless. They had formed in close order with the raven
standard, the Land Waster, near the centre. In front of this, at
first, were the sea king, himself, and Tostig the Earl, but their
duty as leaders shortly called upon them to ride to and fro among
their half-disheartened followers, uttering loud sounding words of
encouragement and hope. Norwegians were very brave men, and they
responded with loud shouts and the braying of thousands of war-horns,
while every harp among them sounded.
There was yet a wide open space between the two army fronts. Into
this rode out from that of the Northmen a herald sounding a parley.
The agreement for one being made at once, from the same side rode out
Tostig the Earl, accompanied by Vikings of rank, and he was met about
half-way by a similar party of Saxons.
"What terms," asked Tostig, "will Harold of England offer, if Harold
Hardrada and Tostig, the son of Godwin, will now make peace with him?
What will he offer to the earl, and what part of England will he
surrender to the King of Norway?"
A loud, ringing voice from among the Saxon horsemen at once responded:
"To Tostig, the son of Godwin, full pardon and an earldom. To Harold
Hardrada of Norway, seven feet of English ground for his burial. Or,
since he is said to be taller than other men, he will be allowed twelve
inches more."
"Then tell thou him," replied the earl, "that Tostig will not desert
the comrades who have trusted him, and that he will fight to the last."
Back rode both of the embassies to their own friends, and Hardrada, who
had heard all of the loudly uttered questions and answers, exclaimed to
Tostig:
"Good was thy speech, my friend; but who was the man who heard and
answered thee?"
"He was Harold, the son of Godwin," replied the earl.
"What?" shouted the angry king. "Then he should never have gotten back
in safety to his own!"
"Not so," said Tostig, sadly. "I have erred much, but my royal brother
I might not betray to thee and thine."
Other things were said on both sides, but none of them was heard by
Ned, the son of Webb. It was indeed no time for any quarrel between
Tostig and Hardrada, for the war-horns were sounding and the Saxons
were advancing along their whole line. Firmly, steadily, with desperate
courage and magnificent prowess, they were met by the close array of
the Northmen.
Although these were not so well disciplined, and were inferior in
numbers, they were, individually, equally skilled in arms, and they
were fighting for their lives. They fought on with almost an appearance
of possible success until the resistless pressure of the trained
thingmen broke their front and disordered them. Even then they would
not yield, and all who afterward told stories of the battle had
wonderful things to relate concerning the feats of arms performed by
the sea king himself, and by Tostig the Earl, and by many of the heroes
of the Vikings.
Under the Land Waster standard at last an arrow slew the King of
Norway. There, also, fighting valiantly, fell Tostig the Earl, and with
their slaying the battle ended, for the remaining Northmen lost heart
and fled.
Then, to the surprise of some, Harold the King forbade further
following, and commanded that his forces should once more come into
close order. It may be that he was not quite assured as to how many
Vikings might yet remain, at the shore or on the ships. At all events,
there were excellent reasons why he should be willing to waste neither
men nor time at that place, and why he should offer generous terms to
the remnant of the invaders. That he intended doing this was to be made
known somewhat later, and now he sat upon his horse, not far from the
raven standard, giving directions concerning the bodies of his brother
Tostig and of King Hardrada.
Ned, the son of Webb, was not a great many yards away, for he and the
missionary had followed the charge of the Saxons and had been almost
in the front of the battle. He was now staring around him at the gory
evidences of how hard the fight had been. Almost at his feet lay
a heap of slain Norwegians, and from under one edge of it somebody
appeared to be struggling out.
"Lars, the son of Vebba!" shouted Ned. "Come here, Father Brian. Thou
and I must save him! Get up, Lars!"
"No man will harm him now," shouted back the priest. "Is he badly
wounded?"
"I have not a cut," responded Lars himself. "I was knocked down by
a mace, that is all, and these others fell upon me. O Ned, the son
of Webb! We are ruined! Ruined! There will be sad mourning among the
fiords of Norway!"
"Vebba!" exclaimed Ned. "Where is he?"
"I saw him escape to the ships among the first," replied Lars, almost
weeping.
"Go thou after him, thyself," said Ned. "Harold the King hath commanded
that all like thee may go. Tell Vebba that I am to stay here. Run if
thou canst! Get on board a ship."
"Thou art right to stay," said Lars. "This is thine own country. Thou
hast lost thine Earl Tostig, but mind not that too much. There are
always plenty of earls."
"Good-bye!" said Ned, and in a moment more Lars was walking away
briskly.
He was safe from spear or blade, for the commands of Harold the King
would surely be obeyed by all his men.