Chapter IV.

The Saxon And Danish Kings.

The Conquest Of England By The Normans (901-1066).

One hundred and sixty-five years elapsed between the death of

Alfred and the Invasion of England by William the Conqueror. Two

dynasties reigned during that period in England: first, the

Saxon, which numbered ten sovereigns, and secondly, the Danish,

which was represented by four princes. The first of the Saxon

kings, Edward, the son of Alfred, did not enjoy a very brilliant

reign, but contrived to make his authority recognized, with the

help of his sister Ethelfleda, widow of Ethelred, the viceroy of

Mercia. He drove back the Danes into their territory, a portion

of which he conquered, and, at the death of his sister, he

annexed Mercia to his states, which he left thus augmented, to

his son Athelstan, when he died, in 925.

This young prince was brave as well as able. He placed the Welsh

tribes, always ripe for revolt, under subjection, and imposed

upon them an annual tribute of gold, silver, and cattle; he

repelled the people of Cornwall, who had never been thoroughly

subjected by Alfred. But the Danes had not accepted their defeat.

King Olaf, who was established in Northumbria, and who had

recently pushed his conquests so far in Ireland as to capture the

town of Dublin, ascended the Humber with more than 600 vessels:

the Scots at the same time attacked the frontiers, and the

Britons from Wales once more revolted. So many enemies rising

suddenly did not daunt Athelstan.

{60}

He triumphed over his opponents: five Danish kings remained on

the soil, as well as the king of Scotland's son. They all retired

into their territories, there to remain until the end of the

reign of Athelstan, whose court attained a degree of luxury

hitherto unknown to the Saxon kings. It was there that Louis

d'Outre-Mer took refuge when driven from France, and it was

thence that he was recalled to the throne at the death of Charles

the Simple. All England recognized the laws of Athelstan, and he

had taken the title of king of the Anglo-Saxons, instead of the

less assuming one of king of Wessex, when he died in 940, at the

age of forty-seven years, leaving the throne to his brother

Edmund. The reign of the latter, like that of his brother Edred,

presents nothing remarkable with the exception of a series of

battles with the Danes, who were sometimes daring and victorious,

and sometimes beaten and repulsed. At the death of Edred, in 955,

the Danes of Northumbria were apparently almost entirely

subjected; their chiefs had lost the title of kings, and their

territory was governed by an earl chosen by the Saxons. The

progress had been great since the time of Alfred.

Young Edwy, the son of Edmund, was only fifteen years of age when

he succeeded to the throne. The Danes left him in peace; but he

commenced a struggle against the clergy of his kingdom, enemies

more powerful than the "Sea-Kings." He had married Elgiva, a

young and beautiful princess whose family was related to his own

within the degree of kinship prohibited by the Church, and he

refused to abandon his wife, as also to submit to be reproved by

the archbishop of Canterbury, Odo, who was supported by the

famous abbot of Glastonbury, Dunstan, renowned throughout England

for his austere mode of living. On the occasion of the coronation

of the young king, Dunstan, being annoyed, retired during the

banquet. Edwy flew into a passion, and threats were so quickly

followed by action, that Dunstan was obliged to make his escape

and was immediately pursued by the emissaries of the king, who

were instructed to burn out his eyes.

{61}

Archbishop Odo, however, had remained in England at the head of

the austere party of the Church. The disagreement between the

king and the clergy was growing more and more serious, when a

revolt of the Danes took place in Northumbria and extended into

Mercia. Soon afterwards Edgar, a younger brother of Edwy, until

then king of Mercia, was declared the independent sovereign of

the two provinces. Family afflictions assailed the young king at

the same time: his wife had been seized in one of his castles by

a wandering band of soldiers, and carried to Ireland, where her

beautiful face had been disfigured by red-hot irons. Dunstan had

just reappeared in England after a short period of exile, at the

time when the young queen, who had been tended and looked after

by the friends whom she had made in Ireland, and had now

recovered from the effects of her disfigurement, was returning to

England to rejoin her husband. She was stopped, however, near

Gloucester by her implacable enemies, who no doubt credited her

with a fatal influence over her husband. She was so cruelly

mutilated by them that she died a few days afterwards. Edwy

survived her but a short time, and died at the age of nineteen in

958 The beauty of his personal appearance had gained him the

title of Edwy the Beautiful.

When Edgar ascended the throne of his brother Edwy, Dunstan

shared it with him, and whatever may have been the part played by

him in the events of the last reign, the authority of the king

bore, in the hands of the monk, the fruits of order and justice.

The Danes, attached to young Edgar, who had been brought up

amongst them, submitted voluntarily to his authority.

{62}

Their territory was divided and placed under the rule of several

earls; the fleet, greatly augmented, kept the "Sea-Kings" in

constant fear, and the young sovereign of England, assisted by

his able minister, who had become archbishop of Canterbury,

traversed his state every year, presiding at courts of justice

and gathering around him the principal chiefs of each province.

Ardent and ambitious, Dunstan was at the same time of a firm

disposition and character; his practical knowledge was as

conspicuous as his religious zeal. He was one of that great race

of priests, whose influence, preeminent in the middle ages, was

the source of much good and evil alike, until the period when the

magnitude of their pretensions and the abuse of their power

brought about the great revolt of the Reformation. It was under

King Edgar that the Welshmen saw their annual tribute of gold and

silver commuted for an annual presentation of three hundred

wolves' heads, a measure which insured the destruction of these

ferocious animals, who were very numerous in England.

King Edgar, who was under the authority of Dunstan, contrived,

however, sometimes to escape from his influence and to indulge in

all kinds of excesses; but the archbishop on such occasions would

reprove him severely. He imposed upon him as a penance, for a

serious transgression, the disuse of his golden crown during a

period of seven years--a severe punishment for the vain Edgar,

who dearly loved to bestow upon himself titles as pompous as

those of the Oriental princes. Death soon put an end to this

penance. Edgar died in 975, leaving two sons. The elder, Edward,

who succeeded him, had been born of his first wife; the younger,

Ethelred, was the son of the beautiful but treacherous Elfrida,

for whom the king had conceived a violent passion, and whom he

had married after the death of her husband. Edgar was even

accused of having wilfully killed the latter in the

hunting-field.

{63}

Whatever crime may have been committed by the king in order to

gain the hand of Elfrida, the expiation fell to the lot of his

children. From the commencement of his reign, the young Edward,

although supported by Archbishop Dunstan, sat very insecurely

upon his throne, which was undermined by intrigues in favor of

his brother Ethelred. Three years after his accession, Edward was

hunting one day in Dorsetshire, when he conceived the fatal idea

of paying a visit to his brother, who was then residing in Corfe

Castle. It may be, that on his arrival he was struck with a

terrible presentiment at the sight of his step-mother Elfrida,

for he refused to dismount, and asked only for some refreshment

in order to drink to the health of the queen. A goblet was

brought to him; but, while he was carrying it to his lips, a

dagger was plunged in his back. His body quivered with agony, and

the horse, alarmed, rushed away, carrying across the forest the

body of the young king, held fast by the stirrups. When the body

was found, it was disfigured by the shrubs and stones of the

roads, and the long fair hair of the martyred king was clotted

with blood and dirt. Queen Elfrida had accomplished her object,

but not without trouble; for the young Ethelred, grieved at the

death of his brother, burst in tears, which irritated his mother

to such a degree that he nearly fell a victim to her blows. There

remained no other heir to the throne; Dunstan and his friends

decided, not without some reluctance, to recognize the claims of

the son of Elfrida; but in crowning him, Dunstan, it is said,

gave utterance to some sinister predictions concerning the

misfortunes which threatened his reign, and it was he who gave to

this young king that title of "careless," which the latter seemed

only anxious to justify.

{64}

For several years the Danes, who were established in England,

seemed to have identified themselves with the Saxon race; the

invasions of the Norsemen had ceased, occupied as they were with

devastating the coasts of France, which were but badly defended

by the feeble Carlovingians. But a new dynasty was about to be

established in France, more powerful and more warlike than the

descendants of Charlemagne. Already the Danes began to return to

their old habits, and to turn their vessels towards the English

coasts. The son of the king of Denmark, Prince Sweyn, resolved to

seek his fortune in foreign lands. A band of bold adventurers

gathered round him, and after several little preliminary

expeditions, they landed in 991 on the coast of East Anglia,

between Ipswich and Maldon. They hoped to find friends there

among the Danes who had formerly settled in that territory; but

Earl Brethnolte who was in command there, although a Dane by

birth, remained faithful to his new country and religion; he

fought valiantly against his brothers from across the seas, and

was killed in battle. King Ethelred became frightened; he sent

offers of money to the Norsemen. The latter accepted ten thousand

pounds of silver which they stowed away in their long vessels;

and carrying with them the head of Count Brethnolte, they started

to return to their own country. But the plan of defence, so often

resorted to by the Carlovingian kings in France, was a sure means

of bringing back the "Sea-kings" the following year. Soon

Ethelred found himself compelled to establish a regular tax which

was known as "danegelt" (Danish money), and which served to pay

the ever-increasing tribute exacted by the pirates. In 993, the

Danes of Northumbria and of East Anglia rose up to support their

countrymen in invading the country.

{65}

Sweyn had become king of Denmark, and had the whole forces of

that country at his command. In 994 his ships appeared off the

English coasts, accompanied by the vessels of Olaf, king of

Norway, his ally. The invaders encountered no resistance from the

king, nor any serious opposition from his subjects. Silver was

again offered, but this time, as though to lessen the humiliation

of the treaty, the Saxons demanded the conversion of the Danes to

Christianity. Sweyn did not hesitate to accede to this: he caused

himself to be baptized, a ceremony which was considered very

unimportant by the majority of the pirates, some of whom openly

boasted that they had been washed twenty times in the baptismal

water. But Sweyn's ally, King Olaf, who was sincerely touched,

and moved, no doubt, by the grace of God, made a vow never to

return to invade England, and kept his promise. Sweyn reappeared

alone the following years. In 1001 the Danes overran the country,

from the Isle of Wight to Bristol, without meeting with the

slightest resistance. The price of their withdrawal that year

amounted to twenty thousand pounds of silver.

The Danes had disappeared; but the unlucky king of England had

become involved in fresh difficulties, through his quarrels with

Richard, duke of Normandy. A fleet was being raised against him

on the Norman coast when Richard died, leaving to his son Richard

II. the burden of carrying on the war. The interference of the

Pope put an end to the quarrel, which was followed by the

marriage of Ethelred with the Countess Emma, sister of Richard,

who was called the "flower of Normandy." Ethelred already had six

sons and four daughters by his first wife.

{66}

The young queen had just arrived in England, and the rejoicings

were scarcely at an end, when a prolonged cry was heard

throughout the country. Either by a spontaneous movement, or in

consequence of secret orders, the Saxons had risen in every

direction and had slaughtered the Danes who were established in

their midst, and whose reiterated insults had become unendurable.

"A Norseman is equal to ten Saxons," the Danish lords haughtily

said; but the ten Saxons united had triumphed over the Norsemen.

Taken by surprise on the 13th of November, St. Brice's Day,

"women, old men, and children, good and wicked, big and little,

pagans and Christians," succumbed under the effects of the

popular hate and revenge. The sister of King Sweyn, Gunhilda, who

had embraced the Christian faith in order to marry Palric, Earl

of Northumbria, a chief of Danish extraction, saw her husband and

children murdered before her eyes, and afterwards encountered the

general fate herself. "My brother will drown your country in

blood when he revenges me," she exclaimed when dying.

Gunhilda had not been mistaken. Already the news of the crime

which had been committed in England had spread to Denmark; an

immense fleet was being prepared. The Norsemen, actuated this

time by their thirst for revenge as well as by their natural love

of plunder, were gathering eagerly round their king; not a serf,

not a freedman, not an old soldier was admitted into this chosen

band; the freemen, in the flower of their youth and strength,

alone had the privilege of avenging their brothers slaughtered in

a foreign land.

The ships of the Sea-kings were resplendent with the golden and

silver ornaments with which they were decked, from prow to stern,

when the great Dragon, with King Sweyn on board, was the first to

land, in the neighborhood of Exeter. The defence of the town had

been entrusted to a Norman, Count Hugo, who had come from France

with Queen Emma. He betrayed King Ethelred, and gave up the town

to the invaders.

{67}

Having pillaged and burnt down Exeter, the Danes spread

throughout Wiltshire. On arriving at a farm or at a house, or a

village, they would order the trembling inmates to prepare a

meal; then, having satiated their appetites with meat and mead,

they would murder the inmates upon the threshold of their huts,

which they would then burn down, and remount their horses to go

forth and extend their fearful ravages.

The Saxon king, meanwhile, was organizing an army; but he had

entrusted the command of it to the Mercian Elfric, the chief who

had already upon a previous occasion betrayed him, and whose

son's eyes had been put out in consequence as a punishment.

Arrived before Sweyn and his army, Elfric declared that he was

taken ill, and recalling his soldiers, who were prepared for the

struggle, he allowed Sweyn to pass with the enormous booty that

he was going to place on board his ships before descending upon

the Eastern Counties, which all suffered in the same manner. When

the Danes returned into their country, in 1004, they were

escaping, not from the Saxon arms, but from the famine which

their ravages had brought upon England.

In vain did King Ethelred solicit the help of his father-in-law,

Richard, the Norman duke; the disdain which he evinced towards

his young wife had irritated the Normans to such a degree that

their duke had caused to be thrown into prison all English

subjects who happened to be within his dominion. Ethelred

therefore found himself alone and a prey to the pirates, who

reappeared in 1006 upon the English coasts. England was

exhausted. Scarcely had the Danes left a house, after exacting a

ransom for each member of the family and for each head of cattle,

than the king's collectors would follow in their steps, demanding

the sums necessary for paying off the invaders, and imposing a

fresh penalty for the punishment of the unhappy wretches who had

given money to the Danes.

{68}

While the Saxon king was plundering his subjects in order to pay

an ever-increasing "danegeld," while the people, exhausted, were

writhing under the double extortion of the conquerors and of the

legitimate sovereign, an old man was enabled, single-handed, to

resist the demands of the proud Danes. The archbishop of

Canterbury, Elphege, had for twenty days defended his town

against the reiterated assaults of the enemy, when a traitor

opened the gates to the Danes. They rushed into the place, mad

with anger and thirsting for revenge. They sent for the old

archbishop, who had not sought refuge in any hiding-place. He was

brought forth, bound in chains, before their chief, Thurkill.

"Buy your life," cried the chief, touched with compassion. "I

have no money," the archbishop calmly replied. The Danes were

beginning to close round him. "He is a servant of God," said

Thurkill; "perhaps he is poor." And he suggested a small sum as

ransom for the archbishop. "Prevail upon your king to collect

together the value of all his property, so that we may leave

England," he added. The old man looked at him impassively. "I

have not the money which you ask for," he repeated, "and I shall

not urge the king to further oppress his people in order to

purchase your departure." The eyes of the Dane flashed with

anger; he no longer endeavored to protect the archbishop against

his soldiers. But the firmness of the old man had produced a

wonderful effect upon them: he was led into prison without

suffering the slightest injury. Towards dusk, when he was alone,

his brother found a means of reaching him; he brought the sum

fixed upon for the ransom of the archbishop. "No," the latter

said, "I cannot consent to enrich the enemies of my country." The

Danes came hourly, urging the old man to purchase his freedom.

"You will urge me in vain," at last said Elphege; "I am not the

man to provide Christian flesh for pagan teeth, by robbing my

flock to enrich their enemies."

{69}

The pirates had lost all patience; it was late; they were already

heated with drink; they dragged the old man out of prison. "Gold,

bishop! Give us gold!" they all cried together, and they closed

round him threateningly. The old man was silent; he was praying.

Hustled, beaten, wounded, the archbishop fell upon a pile of

bones, the remains of the rude banquet. His enemies seized these

primitive weapons, and he fell under their blows. A Dane, to whom

he was still preaching the Gospel an hour before, and whom he had

baptized with his own hands, at length took a hatchet and put an

end to the old man's agony.

While Elphege was resisting and dying, Ethelred was submitting

and paying an enormous sum of money, abandoning at the same time

several counties to the Danes. Thurkill settled in England, after

swearing fidelity to the Saxon monarch. His conquests excited the

envy of Sweyn. In the following year a large fleet appeared in

the Humber, and landed near York. This time the invaders planted

their lances in the ground or threw them into the rivers, to

intimate that they took possession of the soil. The Saxons

offered no resistance. Sweyn had overrun all the Midland and

Northern Counties, and, leaving the fleet to the care of his son

Canute, he marched towards the South. He was stopped near London,

where the king had taken refuge, and where the brave citizens

stood firm behind their massive walls. Sweyn did not attempt to

conquer their town; he turned towards the West, and all

Devonshire received him with open arms. He was proclaimed king at

Bath. Ethelred was gradually losing the little power which he

still retained. He suddenly left London, which surrendered soon

afterwards, and he took refuge in the Isle of Wight.

{70}

From thence he sent his wife Emma to Normandy with the two sons

whom she had borne to him, Edward and Alfred. In spite of his

disagreements with his brother-in-law, the duke Richard received

his sister with so much kindness that Ethelred soon followed her,

and arrived at Rouen while Sweyn was taking the title of King of

England (January, 1013).

Titles are easily taken, but conquests are sometimes difficult to

keep. Six weeks after the flight of the Saxon king the Danish

king died suddenly at Gainsborough, and the power was slipping

from the hands of his son Canute. The nobility and people of

England had recalled Ethelred to the throne; they added, however,

the words "providing that he will govern us better than

heretofore." The king did not rely entirely upon the promises of

his subjects. He sent his son Edward to negotiate with the

principal chief. When he re-entered London his first care was to

declare that no Danish prince could have any pretensions to the

throne; but Canute had already been proclaimed king by his army

and by the Danes established in England, and the war had

recommenced. Ethelred died in the year 1016, in the midst of all

this confusion, and at the time when the Danes were preparing to

lay siege to London.

Three sons by his first wife yet remained to Ethelred. One of

them, Edmund, called "Ironsides," on account of his strength and

prowess, had already commanded the armies during the lifetime of

his father; he was proclaimed king. But the country was divided:

the Danes established throughout the kingdom were powerful and

numerous; treason crept even into the most intimate councils of

the new king. Twice he delivered London when besieged; he fought

five pitched battles, and repulsed on several occasions the

Danes, driving them northwards.

{71}

At length he proposed to Canute that they should decide their

pretensions to the crown by the fate of arms in a single combat.

Unlike the majority of his race, Canute was not tall, and he was

quite unfitted to sustain a struggle against the gigantic stature

of Edmund. "Let us rather divide the kingdom, as our ancestors

did before us," he said. The two armies received this proposition

with acclamation. The North of England was allotted to Canute,

and Edmund contented himself with the South, with a nominal right

of sovereignty over the whole kingdom. One month afterwards, the

Saxon king was dead, and Canute, convoking the "wittenagemot" of

the South, protested that the treaty contained no stipulation in

favor of Edmund's heirs. The chiefs declared themselves of the

same opinion; the Dane was proclaimed King of all England, and

the children of Ironsides were placed in his hands.

Canute had proclaimed an amnesty; but on seizing power, he

immediately proscribed all the partisans of Edmund whom he did

not put to death. "Whoever brings me the head of an enemy shall

be dearer to me than a brother," said he. Many heads were brought

to him. The wittenagemot which had until then excluded from the

throne all the Danish princes, voted the same sentence against

the Saxon princes. Canute, however, had not assassinated the

children of Edmund; he sent them to his ally, the king of Sweden;

no doubt, with sinister intentions; but the innocence and beauty

of his victims touched the heart of the proud Scandinavian: he

could not keep them by his side, and he therefore sent them to

the court of the king of Hungary, St. Stephen, who received them

kindly and brought them up carefully. One of them, Edmund, died

early; the second, Edward, subsequently married Agatha, daughter

of the emperor of Germany, and we shall see his children reappear

in history.

{72}

The Duke Richard of Normandy did not protest, in the name of his

nephews against the elevation of Canute; on the contrary, he even

offered his sister, widow of Ethelred, in marriage to the Dane.

Canute accepted this offer, and the Norman princess found herself

placed for the second time on the throne of England, which was so

dear to her heart that, in order to reach it, she stifled all her

natural instincts. As soon as she had borne a son to Canute, she

lost all affection for the children whom she had left in France,

and who became more and more Normans by habit during their

prolonged absence from England.

Power has different effects upon different men: it hardens and

corrupts some, while it humanizes and exalts others. Canute made

good use of his power, and when he was delivered from the enemies

whom he dreaded most, his government became less severe and more

regular than that of the recent Saxon kings. The English followed

their new chief in all his wars, and fought valiantly at his side

to secure to him the crowns of Denmark, Sweden and Norway. The

viceroy of Wales refused to render homage to Canute, whom he

treated as a usurper; Malcolm, king of Scotland, upheld the

rights of the descendants of Ethelred to the throne of England.

The Normans did not lend any help in these demonstrations, and

Canute triumphed over the Welsh and the Scotch.

The influence of the Christian religion was slowly but surely

producing a good effect on the fierce Danes. Sweyn had been

baptized, but he had afterwards sunk again into pagan practices.

His son constructed churches and monasteries, and made a solemn

pilgrimage to Rome, on foot and with a wallet on his back to

obtain forgiveness for the crimes which he had committed.

Already, in the midst of a warlike life, a sense of justice

seemed to have developed itself in his soul; he had been guilty

of killing a soldier in an outburst of passion; he descended from

his throne, convoked his chiefs, and asked them to impose a

penalty upon him.

[Image]

Canute By The Sea-shore.

{73}

All remained silent. The king insisted, however, promising not to

be offended. The chiefs left it to his own discretion, and Canute

condemned himself to pay a fine of three times as much as the sum

fixed by the Danish law, as the penalty for murdering a soldier,

adding at the same time nine golden talents as compensation.

Having returned to England after his pilgrimage to Rome and a

journey to Denmark, Canute applied himself to the administration

of the laws which he had promulgated, "I will have no money

acquired by unjust means," he had said in a letter to Archbishop

Elfric. The latter portion of the reign of the Dane was not

characterized by any crime or act of oppression. Canute had

learnt that there was a tribunal above to which he owed respect

and submission. One day as his courtiers were overrating his

power, the king ordered that his throne should be placed upon the

margin of the sea. The tide was rising: Canute, seated on the

beach, ordered the waves to stop in their onward course. "Ocean,"

he said, "the earth upon which I sit, is mine; you form a portion

of my dominions; do not rise as far as my feet; I forbid you."

The sea still continued rising; it was already bathing the king's

mantle, when he turned to his flatterers. "You see," he said,

"what human power is compared to that of Him who says to the sea:

'Thou shalt go no further.'" And, depositing his golden crown in

the cathedral of Winchester, he refused thereafter to wear that

emblem of sovereignty.

{74}

Canute died in 1035, leaving three sons: Harold and Sweyn, born

of a Danish mother; and Hardicanute, son of Princess Emma. He had

divided his states among his children, leaving England to Harold,

Denmark to Hardicanute, and Norway to Sweyn. These two last

princes already, no doubt, exercised some authority in their

dominions, for both were in the North when their father died. But

England was wont to have a voice in questions of succession, and

Canute left behind him a powerful favorite, who was inclined to

further the interests of Hardicanute. This favorite was Earl

Godwin, a nobleman of Saxon extraction, formerly but a simple

herdsman in the county of Warwick. During the struggle between

Edmund and Canute, a Danish chieftain, named Ulf, had lost his

way in a forest, in the evening after a battle. He had walked in

vain all night when, at daybreak, he met a young countryman who

was driving a herd of cattle. "What is your name?" asked the

Dane. "I am Godwin, son of Ulfuoth," said the young man, "and you

are a Danish soldier." The warrior hesitated. "It is true," he

said at length. "But could you tell me the way to my countrymen's

ships, on the sea coast?" Godwin shook his head. "He is a very

foolish Dane," he said, "who expects a favor from a Saxon." And

he hurried on his cattle. Ulf insisted. "There are many of my

country men close to us," replied the herdsman; "they would spare

neither me nor you if they should meet us." The chieftain

silently offered him the heavy golden ring which he wore on his

finger. Godwin looked at him. "I will accept nothing from you,"

he said; "but I will try and show you the way."

They came to Godwin's hut. He invited the Dane in. "Remember,"

said the herdsman's father to the Dane, "that he is my only son,

and that he sacrifices his safety for you. Try and find

employment for him at your king's court." Ulf promised to do so,

and kept his word.

{75}

Canute took a fancy to the young Saxon, who had attained the rank

of governor of a province when the king died. He immediately

declared himself in favor of the son of Emma, who was not so

thoroughly Danish as his brothers. Leofric, governor of Mercia,

took up the cause of Harold, in common with all the Northern

chiefs. The town of London followed their example. War was about

to break out; but the Wittenagemote convoked at Oxford allotted

all the provinces North of the Thames to Harold; and those on the

South to Hardicanute.

While Queen Emma and Godwin were thus striving to secure the

power for the young king of Denmark, the latter lingered in his

Northern possessions, and had not yet set his foot in England.

His Norman brothers, sons of Ethelred and Emma, had been more

prompt. Scarcely had the news of the death of Canute reached

Normandy, when the elder of the two princes, Edward, who

subsequently became Edward the Confessor, landed at Southampton

with a few ships. But Queen Emma's natural affection was confined

to her son by Canute: she raised the country against her eldest

child, who was obliged to retire precipitately. His ill-success

did not discourage his brother Alfred, and, the following year

(1037), the two princes received a letter, coming, it was said,

from their mother, urging them to come secretly to England, where

the people were anxious to have a king of Saxon origin to rule

over them. Alfred immediately embarked for England, followed by

some troops from Normandy and Boulogne.

He landed in the neighborhood of Herne Bay. Godwin had come to

meet him and appeared friendly; but, either from premeditated

treason, or from annoyance at seeing the strangers who

accompanied the prince, Godwin altered his mind, and took Alfred

to Guildford, lodging the Normans in the houses of that town.

{76}

In the dead of night, while the little band of soldiers were

asleep, Harold's soldiers surrounded Guildford; the Normans were

made prisoners, Godwin meanwhile not appearing on the scene to

defend them, and a fearful massacre took place at daylight. Six

hundred men, it is said, were slaughtered in cold blood, and the

unhappy Alfred was dragged to London, from whence Harold sent

him, bound hand and foot, to the isle of Ely. He appeared before

a Danish council of war, and was condemned to have his eyes put

out, as a disturber of the public peace. He died a few days

afterwards. Harold soon sent Queen Emma into exile, and Godwin

having sworn allegiance to him, he was proclaimed king of all

England, not, however, without some dissatisfaction on the part

of the Saxons. The archbishop of Canterbury, Ethelnoth, who was a

Saxon, refused to crown him. Depositing on the altar the royal

emblems, he exclaimed: "I will not give them to you. I do not

forbid you to take them, but I refuse to bestow my benediction

upon you, and no bishop shall consecrate your throne." It is said

that, thereupon, Harold seized the crown, and placed it upon his

head with his own hands. Some chroniclers state that he

subsequently found favor with the archbishop; but the Dane was

more than half pagan; he had abandoned the Christian Church. When

divine service was being celebrated, when the bells were ringing,

and the priests were mounting the altars, he would let loose his

dogs, and start for the forest to enjoy the pleasure of hunting

or racing; a fondness for which pastimes won him the name of

"Harefoot." He died in 1040, at the time when his brother

Hardicanute had just repaired to Flanders, where Queen Emma had

taken refuge, to consult her preparatory to attempting an

invasion of England. Soon afterwards an embassy of Danish

chieftains and English counts came unsolicited and offered him

his brother's throne. He thereupon came to England with his

mother.

{77}

Hardicanute, like his predecessors, was thoroughly Danish by

nature; he gave himself up to the pleasures of the table,

surrounding himself at the same time by the chieftains whom he

had brought over with him from the North; despising and

oppressing the Saxons, from whom he still exacted danegelt, as in

the old times of the invasions. He had attributed his brother's

misfortunes to Godwin; but the count had been able to justify

himself before a council, in spite of public opinion which

condemned him. The presents which he had offered to the king had

had the effect of putting an end to the prosecution. Hardicanute

had accepted from him a magnificent ship covered with burnished

metal, ornamented with gold, and manned by eighty warriors

furnished with every kind of weapon. By degrees power had

returned entirely into the hands of Godwin and Emma, when, in

1042, Hardicanute, at a banquet, fell a victim to the excesses of

every kind to which he was accustomed.

The Saxon earl had resolved to deliver his country from the

Danish yoke. He immediately sent for Prince Edward, who was still

in Normandy, and was more a monk than a prince. The popular

feeling in his favor which enabled Edward to return to England,

was shared and fostered by the very man to whom he attributed his

brother's death; but the new king was powerless and a stranger in

the country which recalled him after an exile which he had

endured during nearly the whole of his lifetime. He dissembled

and accepted the hand of Edith, daughter of Godwin, a good and

gentle princess, who "was born of Godwin as the rose is born in

the midst of thorns," the chroniclers say. Edward was always cold

towards her, and he manifested something more than coldness

towards Queen Emma.

{78}

He could not forget how she had repulsed him, and how she had

failed to do anything to defend her son Alfred--even if she had

not actually allured him to his ruin. He ordered her to remain

within her domains, which had been greatly reduced, and refused

to see her any more.

The power which Edward had regained was, however, scarcely more

than nominal. The "Great Earl," as Godwin was called, had exacted

the value of his services. He and his six sons held possession of

nearly all the South of England. Besides this, his rival, Earl

Leofric, was all powerful in Mercia. Siward held the whole of the

North, from the Humber to the frontiers of Scotland. Happily for

the king, all these chieftains were opposed to each other. Edward

took advantage of their rivalries, trying from time to time to

redress the wrongs of the people, who were oppressed and deprived

of all power. But in vain did he suppress the danegelt; in vain

did he inspire an almost superstitious veneration towards himself

in his subjects by reason of the austerity of his life: the

English never forgave him for the affection which he manifested

towards the Normans and his preference for them, which induced

him not only to surround himself with the friends of his younger

days, but to lavish all the favors on them which he had at his

disposal. The king's ordinary conversation was carried on in the

Norman language; he dressed in Norman fashion; he raised to

clerical dignities the Norman priests who had come over with him,

and thus contrived to excite considerable jealousy in the people,

all which increased the influence of Godwin.

{79}

An event happened which caused their animosity to break out

openly. Eustace of Boulogne, the brother-in-law of King Edward,

who had married the latter's sister, the Lady Goda, landed in

England with a numerous suite of troops from Boulogne and

Normandy. He was received in a very friendly manner by the king,

and loaded with presents. He was returning home, when, on

arriving at Dover, some of the inhabitants resisted the action of

the strangers in unceremoniously taking up their quarters in the

town. Eustace's soldiers, greatly incensed, killed those who

closed the gate at their approach. The whole town rose against

them in consequence of this act; they were beaten and routed.

They took refuge in Gloucester, where King Edward was staying,

who ordered Earl Godwin to impose a punishment on the inhabitants

of Dover. Godwin told the king to inquire into the affair.

Edward, however, summoned Godwin to appear before him. The earl

was in no hurry to do so. Uneasy at the king's projects, he began

to raise troops throughout his dominions, and his son Harold did

likewise. Godwin soon found himself at the head of a considerable

force. The king summoned to his aid Leofric, Count of Mercia, and

Siward, Earl of Northumbria. These two great rivals of Godwin

immediately advanced with an army; but the old hatred between the

Danes and the Saxons had almost worn itself out. The soldiers

from the North considered themselves English as well as those

from the South, and they all murmured at the idea of coming to

blows. It was agreed to lay the subject before the Wittenagemot;

but, in the meanwhile, before the meeting of the assembly,

Godwin's soldiers, who were nearly all volunteers, were slowly

dispersing, while the king had collected together a numerous

army. When the Wittenagemot began to sit, the earl and his sons

were summoned to appear and establish their innocence. They

hesitated, however, being unwilling to trust to the impartiality

of the judges; and, in consequence of the decision which was come

to in their absence, they were banished, driven from England

within five days, and condemned to have all their goods

confiscated.

{80}

Godwin, his wife, and three of their sons sought refuge at the

court of Flanders. Harold and his brother Leofwin fled to

Ireland. Edward consigned to a convent the only person of

Godwin's family remaining in England, Queen Edith. "It is not

advisable," said the Norman courtiers, "that she should live in

luxury and with wealth at her command, while her relations are

suffering from such misfortunes."

Delivered of the ambitious and powerful Godwin, Edward was

beginning to feel himself a king in reality. He took advantage of

this to surround himself with those persons only who were

personally devoted to him. Among others whom he wished to see at

his court was the Duke of Normandy, William the Bastard, as he

was called, his mother being the daughter of a tanner at Falaise.

Edward was still an exile in Normandy, when the Duke Robert,

William's father, conceived the idea of making a pilgrimage to

Jerusalem to obtain forgiveness for his sins. These expeditions

were of frequent occurrence among the Normans. The barons

represented, however, to the duke that it would be inexpedient to

thus leave his dominions without a ruler. "By my faith," answered

Robert, "I will leave you no lord! I have a little bastard son

who will grow up, please God; select him in the meanwhile, and I

will appoint him my successor afterwards." The Normans did as the

duke proposed, "because it suited them to do so," the chronicle

says, and all the chiefs came, one after the other, and placed

their rough hands between those of the child, swearing allegiance

to him.

But scarcely had the duke, his father, started than the murmuring

began. The Normans were proud, restless, unmanageable; it was

repugnant to their feelings to live under the dominion of a child

and a bastard; a war soon broke out; the partisans of young

William carried him off, but the King of France came to their

aid.

{81}

When the child had reached manhood he soon manifested rare

courage and a strong and ungovernable will, as well as that

ambitious disposition which was destined to make the fortune of

himself and his partisans. He was twenty-seven years old when he

came to England in 1050 to the court of King Edward.

He might almost have imagined that he was not really out of his

dominions; a Norman was in command of the fleet near Dover;

Norman soldiers were in possession of a fort near Canterbury; and

as he advanced into the country, other Normans, priests and

laymen, gathered round him. King Edward received him in a very

friendly manner, and made him presents of arms, horses, dogs, and

hawks; it is not known whether William was incited by any hint

from Edward to claim the inheritance of this rich kingdom which

was to be without a master at the death of the king. Edward did

not mention it, and the duke could keep his secrets.

He had just returned to Normandy, when Count Godwin appeared upon

the coast of Kent with three ships; he had sent some emissaries

to his numerous friends, and the entire population had risen in

his favor. At the same time his sons Harold and Leofwin, coming

from Ireland, joined him with a small army.

The father and his sons sailed round the coast, and everywhere

met with followers. When they at length landed at Sandwich,

nobody ventured to resist them. King Edward was in London,

collecting together his warriors, who came forward very slowly.

Godwin's vessels had ascended the Thames and found themselves

under the very walls of London. They soon passed the bridge, and

landed their troops. The king meanwhile did not stir.

{82}

Godwin had arrived at the capital without discharging an arrow or

unsheathing a sword; he sent a message to the king in which he

demanded the remission of the sentence which had been pronounced

against him. Edward was aware of the desperate state of his

affairs, but he was incensed at the daring of the earl and

refused to listen to his demands. Several other messages were

delivered. The king at this critical moment was still surrounded

by his Norman favorites. He could not order his vessels to attack

those of Godwin, as the former had been seized by the insurgents;

but Edward remained inflexible. The Normans who were with him

foresaw the issue of the conflict, and feared the vengeance of

Godwin. They began to fly. The archbishop of Canterbury, Robert,

and the bishop of London, William, mounted their horses and

fought their way to the seacoast, where they embarked. The king

at length surrendered; a Wittenagemot was convoked and the

sentence of banishment pronounced against Godwin and his sons was

annulled and transferred to the Normans, who were in their turn

expelled from England. Queen Edith reappeared in her husband's

palace. Godwin and his family regained their honors and property.

The younger of the sons and one of the grandsons of the great

earl were the only hostages given to the king, who confided them

to the keeping of the duke of Normandy. Sweyn, in expiation of

his former sins, gave up both his titles and his wealth to

perform a pilgrimage barefooted to Jerusalem. He died long before

reaching the Holy Land.

{83}

Peace seemed re-established in England, but the king still

nourished the bitterest hatred against Godwin. The peace would

probably not have been of long duration had not the death of the

earl, which took place in 1053, put an end to their rivalry. The

Norman chronicles relate that he was seated at the royal table,

when a servant, accidentally losing his balance, supported

himself by leaning against another. "There," said Godwin,

laughing, "that is how brother helps brother." "Yes, certainly,"

said the king, "one brother requires the help of another, and I

would to God that mine were still alive." "King," cried Godwin,

"how comes it that at the slightest remembrance of your brother,

you always look so fiercely at me? If I helped to cause his

misfortune even indirectly, may the Lord of Heaven prevent my

swallowing this piece of bread." At that moment, while carrying

the bread to his mouth, the earl had a fit of choking and fell

back "struck down by the hand of Providence." He died a few days

afterwards, almost at the same moment as his old rival, Siward,

count of Northumbria. The latter was ill and bedridden, when he

said, "Lift me up, that I may die standing, like a soldier, and

not lying down like a cow; give me my cuirass and helmet, that I

may die armed." It is this old Siward whom Shakspeare represents

in _Macbeth_, uneasy in his mind, before mourning the death

of his son, about the situation of the fatal wounds, and

consoling himself amidst his grief with the thought that they had

all been inflicted in front and that his son had died like a

brave warrior.

The son whom Siward left was too young to succeed him in the

government of his vast dominions, which were presented to Tostig,

one of Godwin's sons. Harold had all the estates of his father

left to him, and although very loath to do so, he gave up the

command of the Eastern territories which he had hitherto held, to

Elfgar, son of Leofric of Mercia.

{84}

King Edward was much attached to Harold, the bravest and best of

Godwin's sons; and the English people shared this affection with

him. Tostig, on the contrary, soon caused himself to be detested

in Northumbria. The people organized an insurrection in 1066, and

he was driven from his territories. The king instructed Harold to

quell the insurrection, but the latter knew his brother well, and

understood the grievances of the people whom he had oppressed. He

made proposals to the Northumbrians of a conference for peace,

endeavoring at the same time to exonerate his brother and

promising that the latter's conduct should be more worthy in

future. The insurgents refused haughtily. "A proud and

overbearing chief is unendurable to us," they said; "we have

learned from our ancestors to live free or die." Harold himself

conveyed the message of the Northumbrians to the king, and

Morcar, son of Elfgar, was elected in place of Tostig, who took

refuge at the court of Flanders.

Edward was growing old, and he had no children. His devotion was

becoming day by day more fervent. He thought of making a

pilgrimage to Rome, but the Wittenagemot opposed it. For the

first time the king thought of his nephew Edward, son of Edmund

Ironsides, who was still in Hungary, where he had been brought

up. He sent for him. Edward Atheling, as he was called,

immediately set out with his wife, daughter of the emperor of

Germany, and also with his three children, Edward, Margaret, and

Christiana. The English people were delighted. The memory of

"Ironsides" had remained popular and his son was received with

acclamation. But this was only by the people, for the king, who

had sent for his nephew with the evident intention of making him

his heir, never saw his face. By reason of some intrigues,

probably of Harold, the interview was delayed, and before it

could take place the prince died in London, where he was buried,

in St. Paul's Cathedral. Godwin's son was rapidly approaching the

throne.

{85}

For more than ten years, Harold's brother, Wulfuoth, and his

nephew Heaco had been in Normandy, entrusted to the care of the

Duke William, as Godwin's hostages. The count conceived a desire

to go and set them free. The old king tried to persuade Harold to

abandon his project, either on account of his esteem for him or

because he had, as some chroniclers say, made a will in favor of

the duke of Normandy, and consequently wished to prevent Harold

from making his acquaintance. "I will not hinder you," said the

king, "but if you go, it is not by my wish, for your journey will

assuredly bring down some misfortune upon our country. I know the

Duke William and his astute mind; he hates you, and will grant

you nothing, unless he sees some advantage for himself in doing

so; the way to make him give up the hostages would be to send

somebody else."

Harold was young and presumptuous; he did not heed the advice of

the old king, but embarked at a port in Sussex near Bosham, with

his companions. The wind was unfavorable, and the two little

ships were dashed ashore at the mouth of the river Somme, in the

dominions of Guy, count of Ponthieu. According to the usage of

the time, the crew were taken to the count, who was entitled to

claim them, and they were shut up in the citadel of Beaurain,

near Montreuil.

Harold had declared himself to be the bearer of a message from

the king of England to the duke of Normandy, and William claimed

the prisoners; but the count of Ponthieu only parted with them

for a ransom. Harold was taken to the duke at Rouen. The latter

received the Englishmen magnificently, and at once gave up to

them the hostages, only asking Harold to prolong his stay in

Normandy. The Saxon consented to do so, finding ample amusement

in observing the luxury and civilized customs which he met with

for the first time among the Normans.

{86}

The Duke William had conferred upon his guests the spurs of

knighthood, and he proposed that, in order to enable them to

display their prowess, they should accompany him on an expedition

into Brittany. As long as the war lasted, Harold and William

lived under a single tent and dined at the same table. On one

occasion, after the Saxons had distinguished themselves by their

warlike feats, the two chiefs were returning home together on

horseback. William was speaking of his old relations with King

Edward. "When Edward and I lived like brothers, under the same

roof," he said, "he promised me, that if ever he should become

king of England, he would make me heir to his kingdom. Harold,

help me to get this promise fulfilled. If by your help I should

obtain the kingdom, rest assured that whatever you ask for, I

will immediately grant." Harold, astounded, did not know what to

answer. He stammered a few words. William was resolved to get his

consent. "Since you consent to serve me, you must undertake to

fortify Dover Castle," he said, "to construct a well there for

obtaining a supply of spring water, and to surrender it up to my

soldiers. You must give up your sister to me, whom I will give in

marriage to one of my barons; and you shall marry my daughter

Adela. I also wish that, when you go, you would leave one of the

two hostages whom you have claimed; I will take him back to

England when I go over there as king." Harold shuddered inwardly.

He was at the duke's mercy, and he agreed to all that he desired,

mentally resolving not to fulfil his promises. He did not know

the Norman and his farsighted schemes.

{87}

They were at Avranches (some say at Bayeux), and the Norman

barons were convoked in a great assembly. The Saxon was there by

the side of the duke; a massbook was brought and placed upon a

stool covered with a golden cloth. Suddenly William exclaimed,

"Harold, I call upon you, before this noble assembly, to confirm

on oath all that you have promised to do to help me to obtain the

kingdom of England after the death of King Edward." The

Englishman was again taken aback, and was in great peril. He

advanced slowly, and swore with his hand on the book, to perform

the promises made to the duke, provided that he were alive and

that God should help him to do so. All the Normans cried out,

"May the Lord help him!" Then at a sign from William, the rich

cloth was removed and the Saxon discovered that he had sworn upon

a receptacle filled with precious relics which had been brought,

by order of the duke, from all the neighboring convents. William

did not detain Harold any longer. He left the country, taking his

nephew with him; but his brother remained in the power of the

Normans.

"Did I not warn you that I knew William?" said the old king

Edward when Harold related to him what had happened; and he added

sadly, "May none of these misfortunes happen in my lifetime!"

The death of the king was destined to be the signal for England's

misfortunes to recommence, and he was becoming weaker every day.

Sinister reports had been circulated. Old prophecies were

recalled which threatened England with invasion and subjugation

by a foreign people. The king himself, constantly occupied with

his devotional practices, saw fearful visions in his dreams and

would cry out, with a vague remembrance of biblical imagery, "The

Lord has stretched His bow, He has unsheathed His sword; He moves

and brandishes it like a warrior; His wrath shall be manifested

through fire and by sword."

{88}

His servants shuddered at these threatening prophecies; but the

Archbishop of Canterbury, Stigand, only laughed. "Dreams of the

sick old man," he would say.

It is said that, before dying, Edward designated Harold to the

members of the Wittenagemot as his successor; other chroniclers

(the Norman writers) maintain, on the contrary, that when Harold

and his relations presented themselves in the king's chamber, the

latter said in a feeble whisper, "You know, my thanes, that I

have bequeathed my kingdom to the duke of Normandy; do I not here

see men who have sworn to uphold his rights?" Whatever the dying

man may have wished, the opinion of the English chiefs was not to

be mistaken. Scarcely had Edward the Confessor been buried in

Westminster Abbey, which he had built in place of performing the

pilgrimage to Rome, when the Wittenagemot proclaimed as king of

England, Harold, the son of Godwin, and the grandson of the

herdsman Ulfuoth, overlooking in his favor the rights of Edgar

Atheling, son of Edward Atheling, and grandson of Edward

Ironsides, as well as the more formidable pretensions of the duke

of Normandy.

Harold's first care was to eradicate from the kingdom all traces

of the Norman innovations introduced by King Edward; the ancient

Saxon signature replaced, in the acts, the seals introduced from

Normandy, and the Norman favorites whom Edward affectionately

protected to the last, were deprived of their offices, though

without being exiled or having their property confiscated. It was

through them that the Duke William heard of the death of Edward

and of the election of Harold. He was in a park, near Rouen,

trying a new bow, when the important news reached him. He stopped

immediately, gave his bow to his servants and went back to Rouen.

He walked up and down the great hall in his palace, sat and rose

alternately, and was quite unable to remain still.

{89}

His friends looked at him in silence without daring to accost

him. At length one of them, who was on more familiar terms with

him than most of the others, approached him. "My lord," he said,

"of what use is it to keep your news from us? It is rumored in

the town that the king of England is dead and that Harold has

taken possession of the kingdom, unfaithful to his plighted word

to you." "That is true," answered the duke, "and my grief is

caused as much by the death of Edward as by the wrong which

Harold has done me." "There is no remedy for Edward's death,"

replied the Norman, "but there is for Harold's infidelity; yours

is the willing arm and yours are the willing soldiers; a thing

well begun is half done."

William's courtiers were not the only persons to advise him to

support his pretensions by force of arms. Harold's own brother,

Tostig, who had been driven from Northumbria, and whom his

brother had failed to reestablish in his government, came from

Flanders to offer his help to the duke of Normandy in attempting

the conquest of England. William was too prudent to undertake the

invasion without premeditation; he presented ships to Tostig, who

went to Denmark to seek the support of King Sweyn. Upon meeting

with a refusal from the Dane, Tostig repaired to Norway. The king

of that country was Harold Hardrada, son of Sigurd, a great

voyager and corsair, who had formerly extended his excursions as

far as the seas of Sicily, and who on one occasion on his return

had married a Russian princess. He was a poet and would sing on

board his black vessel, laden with his warriors, who were a

source of great terror to all peaceful people. Tostig approached

him with flattery. "The whole world knows," he said, "that there

is not in the North a warrior who is your equal; you have only to

wish it, and England is yours." The Norwegian allowed himself to

be seduced and promised to put to sea as soon as the ice should

thaw and make the ocean navigable.

{90}

While Tostig was trying his strength on the coast of Northumbria

with a band of adventurers, William, careful to have on his side

all the appearances of right, sent a message to Harold as

follows:--"William, duke of Normandy, reminds you of the oath

which you swore with your own lips and with your hand upon good

and holy relics." "It is true," answered Harold, "but I swore

under constraint, not being free, and I promised what did not

belong to me; besides, my services belong to my country, and I

could not give up my position to anybody else without its

consent, nor marry a strange woman. As to my sister, whom the

duke claims for one of his chiefs, she died during this year.

Does he wish me to send her body to him?" A second message, still

calm and moderate, urged Harold at least to marry the Norman

princess; but the king answered that he would not do so, and soon

afterwards he chose a Saxon wife, a sister of Edwin and Morcar,

the two sons of Elfgar, count of Mercia. William's anger at

length burst forth, and, reproaching Harold bitterly for his

perjury, he declared that he would come before the end of the

year to exact payment of the whole of his debt and to pursue the

perfidious Saxon even into the places wherein he considered his

hold to be firmest. While awaiting the help of his allies from

the North, William was aware of the importance of conciliating

public opinion in Europe, or at least in that portion of Europe

where the people were not altogether ignorant of what was

happening in England and in Normandy. No influence was stronger

than that of the Church for obtaining the good will of the

people. The English were not in favor at Rome.

{91}

They had refused to receive Robert of Jumièges, a Norman priest,

brought up in Canterbury by Edward the Confessor, who had been

appointed to a high position by the Pope, and the Saxon Stigand,

who was still under excommunication from Rome, under pretence

that he had been guilty of simony, was chosen in his stead. The

Saxon Church had often shown itself to be somewhat undisciplined,

and the clergy had been accused of laxity in performing their

duties. William caused these facts to be represented at Rome,

besides employing many other arguments. He had sent Lanfranc

there, a priest of Italian extraction, whom he had made abbot of

St. Stephen's at Caen, and who by reason of his clever and

prudent mind was enabled to render important services to his

master. Harold had sent no ambassador to this tribunal, whose

jurisdiction he did not recognize in temporal affairs; his

perjury was strongly denounced there, and Pope Alexander II.

declared that William of Normandy, cousin of King Edward, and

consequently his heir, could legitimately style himself king of

England and seize upon the kingdom. The king received this

permission sealed by the Pope, with a holy standard and a ring

containing a hair of St. Peter enclosed in a diamond.

Strong in the support of the Pope, to whom he had promised to

place England again under the authority of the Holy See and to

cause the Peter's pence to be levied there annually, as Canute

had done, William began his preparations for the conquest. The

Normans were a free people; they were still conscious of their

rude origin, but nevertheless accustomed to be consulted in their

own affairs. The duke called together all his most intimate

friends, his two maternal brothers, Odo, bishop of Bayeux, Count

Mortaign, and the friend of his childhood, William, son of

Osbert, the seneschal of Normandy. All encouraged him in his

project "But," they said, "you must ask help and advice of the

majority of the inhabitants of this country, for it is right that

whoever pays should be invited to consent to the expenditure."

{92}

William was hot-tempered and haughty, but prudent and sensible.

He convoked at Lillebonne a great assembly of men from every

state of Normandy, the richest and most esteemed of their class.

He unfolded his plans to them, and they retired to discuss them

at their ease, out of the presence of the duke.

The excitement was great and the opinions various. William, son

of Osbert, appeared in the midst of the groups. "Why do you

discuss together?" he exclaimed. "He is your lord, and he has

need of your services; your duty would be to make offers to him,

and not to wait until he asks for anything. If you fail him, and

he attains his object by the will of God, he will not forget it;

show, therefore, that you love him and support him with a will."

Low murmurs were heard; the opposition was beginning to burst

forth. "No doubt he is our lord," they said; "but is it not

enough for him that we should pay his taxes? We do not owe him

any assistance for his foreign excursions; he has already

oppressed us too much by his wars; if his new enterprise should

fail, our country would be ruined." The offers accordingly were

few, when Osbert's son was instructed to communicate them to

William.

The assembly re-entered the room wherein the duke sat. The

seneschal advanced. "Sire," he said, "I do not think that there

are in the world men more zealous than these. You know how many

burdens they have already borne for you? Well, they propose to

add another, and to follow you to the other side of the sea as

they do on this side. Push onward, then, and fear nothing;

whoever has hitherto only supplied you with two good soldiers on

horseback is willing to bear double the expense."

{93}

The seneschal was interrupted by a hundred voices crying "We did

not commission you to make such an answer as that. Let him remain

in his own territory, and we will serve him as we should do; but

we are not compelled to help him to conquer another people's

country. Besides, if we were for once to do him this service, he

would expect it as a right ever afterwards, and would thereby

oppress our children; it shall not be." And the assembly

dispersed in anger.

The duke sent for the noblemen, one after the other, as well as

the abbots and the merchants: he showed his plans to them, asked

for their support as a personal favor which should not compromise

their liberty in any way in future, and by degrees he obtained

what he wanted. The merchants promised vessels and armed

warriors, the priests gave money, and the barons placed

themselves and their vassals at his disposition. The preparations

began forthwith in all the Norman towns; adventurers were

everywhere crowding round William, "who slighted nobody,"

according to the chronicles, "and was always ready to oblige

people as far as he was able." He promised lands, castles, women,

plunder; he even sold an English bishopric to a certain Rémi, of

Fécamp, for a ship and twenty warriors.

While the noise of hammers was resounding throughout all the

shipyards of Normandy, the ice had thawed in the Baltic, and

Harold Hardrada had set sail with his sea-serpents; he had been

joined by Tostig, and had ascended the Humber and the Ouse,

causing great destruction on his way. A certain number of

Englishmen had rallied round the standard of Tostig. Edwin and

Morcar marched to oppose the allies, but they were repulsed with

loss. The citizens of York, fearing an assault, promised to

surrender. The Norwegians were already celebrating the victory in

their camp.

{94}

It was in the early morning, and Hardrada and Tostig, with a

small body of troops, were advancing towards York to hold an

interview with the chiefs of the town. Counting upon the terror

which they inspired among the peaceful citizens, they were but

half armed; Harold Hardrada had left his halbert in his tent, and

wore a blue tunic embroidered with gold and a helmet ornamented

with precious stones. Suddenly a cloud of dust, which was rising

in the horizon, cleared away and revealed a forest of lances. It

was King Harold whom the invaders believed to be in the South

watching the movements of the Duke of Normandy, and who had come

by forced marches to encounter them. The golden dragon of Wessex

was displayed on his standard.

The position of the Norwegian, Hardrada, was critical, but his

courage did not desert him. Planting in the ground his banner,

the motto on which was "The despoiler of the world," he drew up

around it all his forces at the foot of Stamford Bridge; he was

riding backwards and forwards in front of his soldiers, when his

horse stumbled and he fell. "A good omen!" he cried when he saw

the faces of the pirates darken. His soldiers, resting their

lances on the ground, with their points in the direction of the

enemy, awaited the onslaught of the English. Hardrada was

marching along the ranks, singing an improvised "skald." "Let us

fight," he said, "let us march, although without any

breast-plates beneath the edges of the blue steel; our helmets

glisten in the sun; they are sufficient for brave warriors."

{95}

The English were contemplating these valiant preparations. A

small band of men had detached themselves from the body of the

army. "Where is Earl Tostig, son of Godwin?" asked one of the

warriors clad in steel. "He is here!" cried Tostig himself,

stepping out from the ranks. "Your brother salutes you," rejoined

the Saxon; "he offers you peace, friendship, and your former

honors." "This is a sensible offer," said Tostig, "and if my

brother had made it a year ago he would have spared the lives of

many brave men. And what does he offer to my noble ally, King

Harold, son of Sigurd?" "Seven feet of English soil," haughtily

replied the warrior, contemplating the Norwegian's huge person;

"a little more, perhaps, for he is taller than most men." "Then,"

cried Tostig, "my brother. King Harold, may prepare for the fray.

It shall not be said that the son of Godwin abandoned the son of

Sigurd."

The Saxons retired slowly. Tostig was still looking fixedly at

his antagonist. "Who is the warrior with such a proud tongue?"

asked Hadrada. "King Harold, son of Godwin," said Tostig. "Why

did you not tell me so" cried Hardrada; "he would not have lived

to boast of having defeated us." He then added, "He is little,

but he sits firmly in the saddle." At the same moment, King

Harold was asking his companions whether this gigantic warrior

clad in blue was really the formidable sovereign of the seas. It

is the same, they told him. "He is a powerful man," replied

Harold thoughtfully, "but I think his good fortune has deserted

him."

The battle began--Hardrada was killed almost immediately by an

arrow which stuck in his throat. Tostig took command of the army.

Harold sent proposals for peace a second time for Tostig and the

Norwegians. "We will owe nothing to the Saxons," cried the

Norwegians, and the struggle recommenced. Tostig was killed in

his turn, and great havoc was made among his men. The "despoiler

of the world" was now surrounded but by a small number of

warriors.

{96}

They at length pulled up their precious standard, and slowly,

defending themselves step by step, they regained the road leading

to their vessels. A stout Norwegian had taken up his stand upon

Stamford Bridge, covering the retreat of his comrades. They had

nearly all passed the bridge, taking with them young Olof, son of

Hardrada, when an English soldier, pushing his lance through a

crevice in the timber, killed the valiant defender. The

Scandinavian vessels unfurled their sails, and returned to Norway

to spread the sad news of a defeat, indicated beforehand by the

gloomy predictions of the soldiers, who had seen in their dreams

a woman of gigantic stature seated on a wolf, and rushing along

their ranks, making at each step a fresh corpse for the ferocious

animal to devour.

Harold did not attempt to pursue the Norwegians on sea; he was

recalled southward by the near approach of his great peril.

William had assembled all his forces on the coast of Normandy,

almost without any foreign help. The king of France, Philip I.,

had refused to give him any assistance, although the Duke had

proposed to do homage to him when he should obtain possession of

England. "You know," the French barons had said to the king, "how

little the Normans obey you now; they will obey you still less if

they conquer England, and if they fail in their enterprise,

having assisted them we shall make enemies of the English people

for ever afterwards."

The fleet and the army had been lying together for more than a

month at Dive; the wind was unfavorable, and it was impossible to

sail out of port. The south wind at length rose, and drove the

vessels to Saint-Valéry-en-Caux, and then the bad weather began

again. Several ships were dashed to pieces and their crews

perished. In the army the men were murmuring.

{97}

"There has been no fighting," they said, "and yet there are

already some men killed." The Duke caused the sands to be

watched, in order that the dead bodies thrown up by the sea might

be buried immediately; and he allowed good cheer to his soldiers

to induce them to wait patiently. He sent for the relics of the

wrecks from Saint-Valéry, which were carried through the camp

with great pomp. At length a propitious wind arose; all the sails

were unfurled, and four hundred large ships and a thousand

transport vessels sped away from land. The Duke's ship was at the

head of them, bearing on the foremast the banner sent by the

Pope; the sails of various colors were flying in the wind. The

Duke's vessel soon left all the others behind; at daybreak he

found himself alone. He sent a sailor to the foremast. "I only

see the sky and the sea," cried the sailor; but a short time

afterwards he reported four vessels in sight, and the Duke had

not taken his breakfast before a forest of masts and sails was

discovered.

It was a fine morning, on the 28th of September, 1066. Harold's

vessels, which had been cruising along the coast during a whole

month, had put in to land on the previous evening, being short of

provisions. The fleet of the Normans approached, therefore,

without resistance, and landed in Sussex, at Bulverhithe, between

Pevensey and Hastings. The archers landed first, then the

horsemen, and lastly the pioneers carrying their tools and wood

ready prepared for making trenches round their camp. The Duke was

the last to set foot on English soil, after superintending the

disembarking of his men. Immediately upon stepping down, he

stumbled and fell, smearing his hands with dirt. A shudder ran

along the ranks. "What ails you?" cried the Duke, who had

instantly sprung to his feet. "I have seized the land with my

hands, and by the grace of God, throughout its length and

breadth, it is yours." They were reassured at these words; a camp

was at once planned and fortified with wooden trenches, after the

French fashion, and bands of soldiers overran the neighborhood,

ravaging and laying waste the country.

{98}

Harold was still at Stamford, resting after the fatigues of the

campaign against the Norwegians, when a messenger in an exhausted

and breathless condition, burst into the room where he was at

supper. "The enemy," he cried, "the enemy has landed!" Harold

rose, for daybreak had arrived. He knew William and the Normans

sufficiently well to feel confident that the struggle would be

fierce and prolonged.

Time was precious. Harold was accustomed to make forced marches,

and he accordingly started for London, ordering on his road all

the earls and free men to rally round his standard. The whole

country rose at his command, and large forces were being

organized in different parts. "In four days the Saxon will have a

hundred thousand men at his side," William was informed by one of

those Normans formerly established in England during the reign of

King Edward, who served him as spies. But some time was necessary

to bring together these confused masses of men and to assemble

them at a given point. Harold, in his haste, had not given them

time to do so. He had arrived in London; his mother Gytha found

his army worn-out and very small for opposing so formidable an

enemy. "Do not risk a battle, my son," she said; "let the Normans

pursue their ravages in the country, and famine will rid you of

them." Harold trembled with indignation. "Would you have me ruin

my kingdom?" he said. "By my faith, it would be treason; I prefer

to put my trust in the strength of my arm and the justice of my

cause." His young brother, Gurth, persisted, for the oath made to

the Duke William weighed upon his conscience.

[Image]

William the Conqueror Reviewing His Troops.

{99}

"Either under constraint, or by your own free will," he said,

"you swore, and your oath will paralyze your arm during the

conflict. We have promised nothing; leave us to defend the

kingdom. You shall avenge us if we should be killed." Harold

smiled bitterly at the remembrance of the Duke's perfidy, but he

was inflexible, and he started the same day for Hastings with a

force very much less than that of William.

King Harold's first idea was to suddenly attack the enemy, who

had been intrenched during a fortnight in their camp; but the

Normans were well defended; their trenches had been skilfully

constructed, and the Saxon therefore abandoned his project, and

selecting also a strong position upon a hill near Hastings, he

fortified it in the fashion of his country with a line of stakes

of about a man's height, and with a rampart of latticed branches,

which was to protect the bulk of his army when the first line

should have passed outside the stakes to defend the approaches to

the camp.

Harold was uneasy; very few troops had had time to join him, and

the Norman army was as strong as it was well disciplined. He,

however, laughed aloud when three Saxon spies, who had penetrated

into William's camp, came and informed him, that having been

recognized and taken over the camp by order of the Duke, they had

seen more priests than warriors in the Norman army. They had

mistaken for priests all the warriors who had closely shaven

faces and short hair, for the English at that time wore long

flowing hair and long moustaches. "All these priests are good

warriors," said the king, "and you will shortly see them at

work."

{100}

William did not yet begin the attack. A Norman monk presented

himself in Harold's camp. "The Duke William makes three

proposals," said he; "first, to give up your kingdom to him;

secondly, to submit his claim to the arbitration of the Pope; or,

lastly, to decide the quarrel by single combat." "I will not give

up my kingdom, I will not put the matter in the hands of the

Pope, and I refuse the challenge to fight," replied Harold

curtly. The monk returned to the Norman camp; but he soon

reappeared, bearing another message: "if you will be faithful to

your compact with him, the Duke will allow you to keep possession

of all the country north of the Humber, and will give to your

brother Gurth the land which was formerly held by Godwin. If you

refuse, you are a perjurer and a liar, and all who fight for you

shall be excommunicated by the Pope."

The Saxon chiefs looked at each other; but the love of liberty

was stronger than their religious fears. "The Norman has given

away everything beforehand to his soldiers," they said, "both

land and goods. Where should we go, if we should lose our

country?" And they resolved to die fighting to the last.

The night of the 13th of October, 1066, was passed very

differently in the two camps. William's strict discipline only

allowed religious music or devotional practices. After the

fashion of the ancient Saxons and of the Danes, whose blood had

become mixed with theirs, the English soldiers were eating,

laughing, and singing warlike songs. At daybreak, after holy mass

had been celebrated, the Normans issued from their camp. They

were divided into three bodies, all preceded by archers. The duke

was mounted on a Barbary horse which he had brought from Spain.

He bore on his neck, in a golden casket, one of the relics upon

which Harold had sworn the oath, as a silent witness of the

latter's perfidy. By his side a young cavalier, Toustain le

Blanc, was holding up aloft the standard sent by the pope. Odo,

bishop of Bayeux, was marching through the ranks mounted upon his

great white horse, and wearing a breastplate and helmet.

{101}

"See how well he rides," said the Norman, looking at William. "He

is a graceful Duke, and will be a graceful king." And they

advanced joyfully behind him.

At seven o'clock the attack on the Saxon camp began. Taillefer,

the knight-minstrel of the Norman army, was marching in front,

singing the song of Roland. The Normans cried, "Our Lady, help

us!" The monks who had come with them to the field of battle had

retired to pray.

Three times the Normans were repulsed. It was noon. In spite of

the arrows of the archers, which inflicted great losses on the

Saxon, and one of which had destroyed Harold's left eye, the

English camp held good at all points. The duke's horse had been

killed during an assault; a rumor had gone forth that William was

dead; but immediately taking off his helmet, and showing himself

bareheaded to his affrighted soldiers, he cried out, "Here I am!

Look at me; I am living, and I will conquer, with God's help."

Some were already taking to flight; these he held back with his

long lance, and reconducted to the attack on the enemy's camp.

All the defenders of the rampart were killed, but the twig

hurdles still protected the bulk of the Saxon army. The Normans

pretended to fly; the Saxons rushed forth in pursuit of them and

were all killed. The remainder could no longer resist; the

Normans therefore beat down the barrier and entered sword in

hand.

{102}

Around Harold's banner, his chosen warriors had formed themselves

into a compact circle, the "ring of death" as the Danes called

it. Harold was there with his two brothers, Gurth and Leofwin.

The fight recommenced furiously between the Normans and these

brave men; not one of them receded; the heaps of bodies of the

slain Normans formed a rampart for them, when twenty of their

foes advanced together. They had sworn to cut a passage through

the English or to perish to a man. Ten of them fell, but the

ranks of the Saxons remained unbroken. William rushed to the

attack, followed by his best warriors. The English soldiers were

dying at their posts, immovable as the oaks in their forests.

Gurth was dead, Leofwin was dying, bathed in blood, and Harold

alone was still fighting at the foot of his banner. At sunset he

fell, in his turn, and the standard of the pope replaced the

golden Dragon of Wessex. All the English earls were stretched

upon the field of battle, and the few Saxons who still remained

were slowly retreating; yet so dauntless were they, even in

defeat, that the Normans did not dare to disperse while it was

still dark. Eustace of Boulogne, speaking to Duke William, was

struck down by an unexpected blow.

On the morrow, at daybreak, Godwin's widow, whom William's

pretensions to the English crown had deprived of four sons, came

and asked permission to take away the bodies of her relations.

Gurth and Leofwin had fallen together, at the foot of the banner.

No one could find the body of Harold. His own mother could not

distinguish him, but was obliged to send for "Swan-necked" Edith,

whom her son had loved. Edith pointed to a body covered with

wounds and disfigured by sword-thrusts. "That is Harold!" she

said. He was borne with his brothers to Waltham Abbey, where he

was buried beneath a stone bearing simply this inscription:

"Infelix Harold."

{103}