Conquest (26 page)

Every new thought made Harold more and more anxious. He broke camp before dawn the next morning and kicked hard into the Blackmore Vale, in the bosom of his beloved Wessex, and on to Glastonbury.

Harold recalled the army in early November of 1065, but heavy snows later in the month made it difficult for the housecarls to train. With over 3,000 men in camp, Harold’s coffers were depleting rapidly. Reluctantly, as November became December, he issued the order that all but his
hearthtroop were to return home; at least during the dark days of winter, there was little chance of rebellion or invasion.

Braving one of the coldest winters in living memory, the great and good of the land travelled to London for the celebration of Christmastide 1065 in the new abbey church of Westminster. The entire English nobility, both secular and clerical, was summoned, and Harold and Edith decided to open Edith’s house at Ludgate Hill for the celebration.

The King, increasingly incapacitated, held on to life and continued his plans for his Christmas consecration.

14. Circling Vultures

It was a minor miracle that King Edward arrived at his church for his Christmastide Court on Christmas Day, 1065.

He had suffered yet another malady on Christmas Eve and had collapsed into his bed in a state of semi-consciousness. However, the next morning he was there on his throne, sceptre in hand, to preside over the proceedings. The occasion had all the ostentation appropriate for a gathering of England’s finest, yet it was a sombre affair. All eyes darted from a stricken King, barely coherent and unable to stand, to a sturdy Earl of Wessex, the anticipated successor and putative saviour of a threatened land.

The ceremony was conducted quickly, so that Edward could return to his bed. Three days later, Edward rose one last time – a tribute to the King’s obstinate determination to see his emblematic creation consecrated.

As Edward, King of England, looked around his abbey on the twenty-eighth day of December 1065, he declared himself satisfied. The power of God had been reaffirmed throughout the land; the Celts of the west and the Scandinavians of the north were held at bay by the most powerful army in northern Europe; the throne of England was respected by all nations; and scholarship flourished in the abbeys and monasteries in every part of the realm. Most importantly of all, despite not having a direct heir, he had identified a man who would continue his legacy and that
man was waiting patiently in Normandy. It had been a difficult task, but his life’s work was done.

The consecration, splendid, pompous and protracted, took a heavy toll on Edward and within moments of its end, he had to be rushed from the church straight to his bed.

It would prove to be his deathbed.

Stigand, Archbishop of Canterbury, Queen Edith, Earl Harold and several senior courtiers assembled as the King lapsed into a deep coma, from which it seemed he would not recover. However, unexpectedly, he suddenly sat bolt upright with a look of torment on his face. In a rasping but clear voice, he called for pillows to keep him upright and demanded that the room be cleared, except for Stigand, Edith and Harold.

With eyes staring wildly into the distance, he spoke in a trembling and menacing tone. ‘I have seen the apocalypse! The Lord in His mercy has granted me a vision of a terrible fate that awaits the good people of this land.’

He paused for some time, shook his head and gave little whimpers of anguish, as if reliving the vision.

He then took a deep breath. ‘They rejected Duke William as King! God punished them by sword and pestilence; they perished in their thousands. My Lord of Wessex, come close to me.’

Harold stepped forward and the King grasped him firmly by his sleeve, his bony knuckles made white by the powerful grip of a frightened man.

‘Harold, you are the strongest man in England, the people need you.’ He pulled Harold even closer and stared at him like a man possessed. ‘I make you their protector.
You must do this for me. Convince the earls and the thegns, the burghers and the townspeople and the peasants of the land; tell them that their future lies with the Duke of Normandy. He is strong; he will keep Hardrada at bay and put the fear of God into the Scots and the Welsh. He respects you and will let you lead his army as Earl Marshal.’

‘My Lord King, you ask too much. Don’t ask this of me.’

The King continued, undaunted. ‘You must do this for England.’

Harold made one final attempt to dissuade him. ‘Sire, it is the Atheling, Edgar, who should be King, not William.’

Edward bellowed so loudly in reply, it echoed throughout Westminster. ‘I will not hear of it! Do you heed me? I will not have it!’ He then turned to Stigand. ‘You have heard my testament, Archbishop, it is my verba novissima. Mark my words well, as God is my witness.’

They were his final words.

He fell into a deep coma and died seven days later, on 5 January 1066.

In that tortured week between the King’s last words and his death, Stigand, Edith and Harold spoke many times about his verba novissima. They decided to take his words literally: Harold would be declared Protector of England and, as all the earls were still in London, a Witan would be called immediately upon the King’s death, to decide who should succeed.

Edward’s wishes would be made clear to the nobles but, in accordance with hundreds of years of Anglo-Saxon tradition, the assembled nobility would take the decision.

*

Every man who spoke at the Witan understood the gravity of the proceedings and the importance of his contribution. Some spoke for Edgar the Atheling, mainly out of a sense of loyalty to the Cerdician line, but most were firmly for Harold, despite Edward’s wishes. Harold was questioned directly about the oath in Rouen. He acknowledged the question, but asked that his answer be deferred until the Witan was ready to vote on the succession.

By the time Harold spoke, he was King in all but name. Almost to a man, Harold was their choice. They all knew that England faced a perilous future, and that the only man who could lead England was the Earl of Wessex. When Harold got to his feet, there was a hush of expectation.

‘My Lords of England, leaders of our noble race, I stand before you humbled by the circumstances of this gathering. A good and learned King has died. He was a Saxon of the royal blood, who did many great things for his realm, and he deserves our gratitude and respect.’ He paused as ripples of concurrence went around the gathering. ‘But there is a part of his legacy which we should reject without hesitation. He believed that our Saxon ways will hinder our future and said many times that our future lies with, in the King’s words, “Europe’s empires and kingdoms of learning and sophistication”. But do we not have our own ways?’

Harold’s rhetorical question was met by yells of agreement.

‘Europe is beset by bitter rivalries and dominated by the vagaries of Rome and its henchmen, the Normans. And I will have no part of it!’

A great roar exploded from the Witan as Harold paused for breath.

‘Almost two years ago, I swore an oath before papal
witnesses affirming that I would serve as Earl Marshal of this land for its future King, William, Duke of Normandy. I swore that oath at King Edward’s bidding in a moment of weakness.’

Harold was interrupted by several cries of ‘No!’

‘I will not be weak again. On his deathbed, King Edward made me Protector of England and his final testament surpasses my oath to William. He said that God had shown him what we all fear: the destruction of this land in a terrible fight, as the people resisted the rule of Normandy. I am now the guardian of this ancient kingdom and its people. They face the gravest of threats to their safety and prosperity. I now ask you to make your choice. The late King’s request was that I ask you, the wise men of England, to accept William as your King. How do you say?’

‘No! No! No!’ was the unanimous response, as the Witan, to a man, rose to its feet.

‘So be it. Therefore, will you permit me to fulfil my duty to England and confirm me, Harold, Earl of Wessex, as your King?’

A great chorus of ‘Aye!’ filled the hall.

‘I am not of royal Cerdician blood. My pedigree is that of a warrior, descended from ancient Saxon and Danish champions of arms. I will serve as your loyal King for one purpose only – to protect this country from those who would destroy our way of life, lay waste our lands and murder our people. If you will lend me your strength, together we can defeat Hardrada and William. So help me God!’

At this, the earls rushed to Harold and raised him on to their shoulders.

The doors of the Great Hall at Westminster were flung open and King Harold II of England was carried into the midst of the rapturous crowd gathered outside.

The old King was buried the next day and Harold was crowned within hours.

Time was of the essence, for Harold had inherited many problems. Not only did he have William and Hardrada’s looming presence, but he also had a disgruntled brother festering in Flanders. In addition, the whole of the northern aristocracy, led by the earls Morcar and Edwin, were plotting to secede their provinces from the English realm.

Harold had no hesitation in making Hereward Senior Captain of his personal hearthtroop of housecarls. He and Torfida journeyed to Glastonbury to plan the quartering of the army, which would be called to arms as soon as the grip of winter had loosened.

Duke William was out hunting when news of Harold’s succession and coronation arrived. He flew into a terrible rage and demanded the presence of the entire nobility of Normandy at an assembly in Rouen within two days. Apart from the thwarting of his own ambitions, the news nullified the promises he had made to a large group of avaricious relatives and supporters, all of whom wanted one thing: land. Hemmed in by the English Channel on their northern flank and the lands of the French to the south, Normans had been leaving their homeland for decades in search of territory to conquer. Now, the English prey that had been whetting their voracious appetites for years had been snatched from their jaws.

Throughout history, there can have been few gatherings
of men as fearsome as the group that stood before Duke William at his noble conclave. Robert of Mortain, William Fitzborn, Odo of Bayeux, Richard of Evreux, Roger of Beaumont, Hugh of Grandmesnil, Roger of Montgomery, Walter Gifford, Hugh of Montfort and William of Warrene were the most prominent members of a warrior elite based on rigid rules of hierarchy and military prowess. The mood was as solemn as the faces of the assembled warlords. They listened, seething, as William spat out his disdain for Harold – a usurper who had defied the wishes of his predecessor, a liar who had broken his holy oath and a fraud who had misled a weak and frightened people.

As William described his plan for an audacious invasion of England and outlined the massive resources he needed, some murmurings of dismay could be heard.

William identified the doubters and addressed them directly. ‘My noble friend, Richard, Count of Evreux, you seem disconcerted by the task.’ His sarcasm was not in any way disguised.

‘My Lord Duke, I fear no man, nor do I flinch in the face of any army, but Harold is not a weakling and his army is a match for any in Europe. We would need to put many thousands of men on to the battlefield to best him. More importantly, we have no fleet to carry such a force to England.’

William could see that the Count of Evreux’s doubts were shared by many.

‘Your battle-axe is across your shoulder, my friend. Sharpen it; many mighty oaks shall soon fall across this land. We shall build a grand fleet, the like of which has never been seen before!’

Cheering replaced whispers of discontent, as William’s single-mindedness began to rouse his nobles.

‘Helmsmen are easily bought, as are ship’s constables for our war horses. I need two thousand vessels by Midsummer’s Day. We shall sail with eight thousand infantry and bowmen, and two thousand knights and their destriers.’

There were looks of amazement around the room at the scale of William’s ambition.

‘Remember our Viking ancestors – they feared nothing, least of all the sea. They crossed oceans far bigger than the Sleeve to win legendary victories and vast wealth. Glorious conquest and hordes of treasure await us in England. Go to your lands and prepare for war! Prepare for victory!’

The proposed size of William’s armada astonished everyone, but they all knew that such a force would be necessary to defeat Harold. They also knew that nothing on earth would thwart the Duke’s determination.

The cry ‘Hail William, rightful King of England and Duke of Normandy’ rose in unison from the nobles.

Across the Channel, England stood alone. Previous forays into the lands of its Celtic neighbours had created anger and bitterness. It also had long-standing enemies in Scandinavia, in both Norway and Denmark. Other European powers were either allies of Normandy or were embroiled in their own local disputes. The Pope, Alexander II, who had succeeded Nicholas II in 1061, needed Norman support in southern Italy and readily sanctified William’s claim to the English throne.

Harold had only one significant bulwark: the English Channel, which could be capriciously dangerous for even
the most experienced seafarer. If nothing else, it would buy him crucial time to prepare while the Normans built their fleet. If the Channel could not keep William at bay, it would fall to the sturdiness of England’s backbone to save the day – the redoubtable English housecarls.

Day after day and long into the nights of early spring 1066, Hereward and Harold talked tactics and strategy. They concluded that a dual invasion was possible, even a triple one, especially after news arrived that Tostig was travelling from his base in Flanders to court favour not only with William in Normandy, but also with Hardrada in Norway and even Svein Estrithson, King of Denmark.

Much of their discussions focused on the use of cavalry in battle and whether, if attacked on different fronts, the army should use horses to move around the country. They decided to eschew the use of horses, concluding that the great strength of the housecarl was his ability as an infantryman and that the powerful bulwark of the army was its shield wall. Speed would be of the essence to confront a two-pronged or three-pronged attack, and therefore the army should travel as lightly as possible. Horses needed much more care than men, and their fodder was more onerous to transport.