Conquest (28 page)

Hereward felt certain that Harold would have much preferred to have been Earl Marshal to a wise and generous liege, rather than carry the burden of kingship himself.

With every day that passed, Hereward’s admiration for
the King grew. As Harold continued along the coastline into his lands in Wessex, Hereward knew that the time had come to entrust the Talisman to the man for whom he was sure it was destined.

After dinner one warm evening, Hereward reminded the King of its pedigree, and of Torfida’s interpretation of its meaning.

‘I will wear it with honour. Pray that it brings me the wisdom I shall need.’

It was early May when the first skirmish of the calamitous events of 1066 occurred.

Tostig appeared on the Isle of Wight with a modest force of 60 ships and 600 foreign mercenaries. It was a scouting mission, and an opportunity to fill his coffers for bigger expeditions to come. Having plundered as much as he could find in the south, he sailed eastwards to Sandwich in Kent. King Harold’s fleet-footed army was there to meet him and Tostig withdrew, to land later in his old earldom in the north. Again, he was given short shrift, this time by the earls Edwin and Morcar. Tostig’s mercenaries were soon disillusioned by the resolute defenders and withdrew, leaving him to seek refuge with King Malcolm of Scotland and await the arrival of his main ally, Harald Hardrada of Norway.

Fearing it was a feint to a bigger invasion, Tostig’s foray caused Harold to raise the Fyrd, a mobilization not undertaken lightly, given the cost to the Exchequer. The King’s problems were growing: although his rapid-reaction strategy had worked to repel Tostig’s invasion, keeping his elite housecarls and the general fyrd in the field for several
months risked exhausting his granaries and emptying his treasury. Even more worryingly, if Alphonso was right, and the invasion did not come until September, or later, he would have to stand the army down so that the harvest could be collected.

By 8 September, no invaders had arrived and another long hot summer of training had passed, leaving the men tense and lethargic. Harold had no choice but to let the Fyrd go home. He released all but 1,500 of his housecarls and, so that they would not be caught in any autumnal gales in the Channel, ordered his fleet to anchor in the Thames.

It was what William had been waiting for. As soon as he received word of Harold’s decision to stand down his army, he made ready to strike. Within four days, the entire fleet set sail from Dives to St Valéry. At almost the same time as news reached Harold that the Duke’s grand army and great armada were on the move, intelligence confirmed that Hardrada’s horde had also set sail from Norway. The worst possible scenario was unfolding for Harold and England: both of their enemies were gathering on opposite fronts.

Harold called a Council of War at Oxford for all the nobility of southern England. The earls Edwin and Morcar and the northern thegns did not attend because of the imminence of Hardrada’s invasion in the North.

There was a grave silence in the Great Hall at Oxford, as the King read a full and detailed report of Hardrada’s progress. He had called a general muster of his forces on the Isle of Askøy in the Byfjord at Bergen. His fleet had successfully navigated the North Sea and gathered in the Orkneys, where they had been joined by allies from Iceland,
Ireland and all corners of the Norse world. This was to be an invasion of Norsemen reminiscent of the great sagas of old, and Harold’s estimate of the numbers involved made his earls shudder with alarm. It was thought that Hardrada had brought over 300 ships and at least 15,000 men. As the disquiet grew, Harold raised his voice to try to calm the earls. He was in the midst of describing the extent and quality of his preparations over the summer when a herald rushed into the hall, distressed and exhausted, and asked the King for permission to speak.

Harold nodded.

The man drew a deep breath and, in the clear and precise tones of his calling, made his announcement.

‘Sire, I come from the garrison at Nottingham. Yesterday, on the twentieth day of September, there was a great battle at Gate Fulford in Yorkshire. The armies of Edwin, Earl of Mercia and Morcar, Earl of Northumbria, have fallen to the Norwegians, commanded by their King, Harald, known as Hardrada. His royal standard, the Raven Land-Ravager, flies from the Great Hall of York.’

The King bellowed in anger at the herald. ‘Why did I have no reports of the Norwegian ships approaching, or of the landing of their army?’

‘Sire, it appears that the coastal lookouts reported directly to Earl Morcar, and he chose not to inform you. The first news we had in Nottingham was late last night when riders arrived from Tadcaster.’ He then paused and looked directly at the King, knowing that what he was about to add would be particularly hurtful to him. ‘Sire, your brother, the Earl Tostig, is with Hardrada in York.’

Harold was incandescent with anger, but he declined to
comment on his brother’s treachery. He asked a vital military question. ‘What of the housecarls of Earls Edwin and Morcar, how many have survived?’

The herald hesitated for a moment. ‘The battle was fierce and many men died in the bogs and marshes of the river Ouse. Hardrada himself led the main attack. Edwin and Morcar survived and made peace with him, but his berserkers cut down hundreds of their housecarls. Survivors said the Ouse ran red with blood all the way to the sea.’

Harold took a deep breath, thanked the messenger and turned to address the Council. As he spoke, he mostly looked to Hereward for reassurance, especially as he was about to abandon the central tenet of his carefully planned summer strategy.

‘Command your constables to bring horses; we ride to the North immediately. I will take only the fifteen hundred men currently under arms and as many as I can gather on the way. We will revert to the cavalry tactics of my campaigns in Wales and cut down the Norwegians before they know we are among them. We must be there by the twenty-fourth. My brother Gyrth will ride with me, as will the Captain of my Hearthtroop, Hereward of Bourne. Go! Go quickly!’

The Saxon military machine sprang to life with remarkable efficiency. Almost 800 horses were in Oxford within twenty-four hours. A thousand more were gathered on the way north, to put a force of almost 2,000 men in the saddle by the time the Saxon army mustered at Tadcaster at midday on Sunday 24 September. It was a small force, significantly outnumbered by the Norwegians, but they were England’s finest, the embodiment of 200 years of Saxon military tradition.

Harold’s force had covered a huge distance in just three days. No other army in the world could have been assembled with such speed, covered such ground and been in such prime condition to fight. The months of training had paid off handsomely.

Harold called for mass to be celebrated and, as the shadows lengthened from a setting sun at the end of a fine English day, he addressed his men from horseback. Hereward watched from afar as the King spoke, but could clearly see the Talisman around his neck. He felt relieved that his long journey seemed to have had a purpose after all.

As Harold’s voice rose, so did the hearts of every man there. His horse circled and stomped its feet, its gyrations adding emphasis to his message. He sat tall in his saddle, looking every inch a king in England’s gravest hour.

‘Tomorrow we ride into battle. There will be no shield wall to protect us; our defence will be our speed and our guile. If there is a pitched battle, we will engage at pace and withdraw quickly to regroup and strike again. Those of you who have served with me for many years will remember our campaigns in Wales. Surprise will be the key to our victory. Tomorrow we will annihilate the Norwegians, who threaten our families and our future. The chronicles will tell of the day for generations to come. Fight for England! Fight to protect our Saxon blood! Long live our cherished people!’

Beyond the King and his army, the sun was setting behind the trees of the forest, its leaves the vibrant colours of an English autumn.

Hereward looked at Einar, Martin and Alphonso, who had just arrived from Glastonbury.

‘Tomorrow we stay close to the King.’

At that moment, Hereward’s pride in his homeland knew no bounds.

A pivotal chapter in the history of England was about to be written, and these men would determine the outcome.

16. Hardrada

The morning of 25 September dawned bright and clear. The meadows were dank from heavy dew as the rising sun drew swirls of mist from rivers and streams made cool by the chill of night. A warm day beckoned.

Hardrada had been uncharacteristically careless. That morning, buoyed by his reception at York, confident from his comfortable victory over the forces of Edwin and Morcar and feeling certain that King Harold’s army could not be within 100 miles of him, he was in a complacent mood. He had made camp at a small bridge on a tributary of the Great Ouse and was overseeing the taking of hostages from the people of Northumbria. The crossing was called Stamford Bridge, on the River Derwent, a few miles due east of York.

The Norwegians had spent the days since their victory filling their ships with the spoils of war and celebrating their success; they were in no state to fight an elite force of Saxon housecarls. Hardrada had advanced from his main camp to Stamford Bridge with only about a third of his force, perhaps 5,000 men. More significantly, he had allowed them to leave behind their mail coats, shields, helmets and spears. They carried only their swords and axes and their only protection was their leather jerkins.

It was a bedraggled body of men.

Harold’s army could not have offered more of a contrast.
It had left Tadcaster under darkness and in barely three hours was in York, where the locals were shocked to see a Saxon army enter their city so quickly after the defeat at Gate Fulford.

Harold’s housecarls had grown in number. A further contingent of 500 had arrived in the early hours of the morning and swelled his force to close to 3,000 men. Unlike the Norwegians, they were fully armed and well prepared. Harold’s advance had been so rapid that no word had reached the North that the Saxons had even left the Midlands. He halted his men just outside York to wait for his scouts to report on the Norwegians’ position. When he heard of Hardrada’s disposition, he ordered an immediate attack.

This time there would be no final rallying speech.

The first the Norwegians knew of the advancing army of Saxon housecarls was the low rumble of their horses travelling on the wind from the west. At first, they thought it must be more hostages from York. Then, they suspected a double-cross manoeuvre from Edwin and Morcar, surmising that, somehow, the defeated Northumbrians and Mercians had raised a force of cavalry. Only when they saw how many horses were streaming over the hill from Gate Helmsley and heard the rising thunder of thousands of hooves, did they realize that Harold’s army was about to descend on them.

Recognizing the gravity of the situation and knowing how effective his brother’s surprise attacks could be, Tostig shouted at Hardrada, imploring him to organize a rolling retreat, fighting as they went.

The old warrior would have none of it and bellowed
back, ‘We stand and fight. Send messengers to the ships and summon Prince Olaf to come at speed. Raise the Land-Ravager standard; form a shield wall around it. Berserkers come to my side. Men of Norway, stand your ground!’

Harold watched the rapid Norwegian deployment, counted their numbers and, seeing that they had no horses, no armour and few weapons, called a halt to his advance. He summoned a company from his personal bodyguard, twenty-five men in all, and asked Hereward and his three companions to join him. They rode down to the river and sought to parley with Hardrada.

The famous warrior appeared, accompanied by Tostig and a small retinue of berserkers.

‘You sit tall in the saddle for a man of modest height, Harold of England.’

Hereward could not help but be amused by Hardrada’s comment. Although the legendary Norwegian was at least six and a half feet tall, Harold was also a tall man, standing well over six feet.

‘Greetings to you also, Harald of Norway. I will try to observe noble courtesies, despite your presence in my kingdom and your treatment of my people.’

‘My Lord Earl, your occupation of the throne of this land is not legitimate. You are not of royal blood. This land was part of Scandinavia until recently; it will be so again.’

‘We will settle that argument in due course. First, I would like to speak with my brother Tostig.’ He turned to Tostig with a look of contempt. ‘You have invaded your own land seeking vengeance, and in defiance of a decision made by the Witan. Few would forgive your actions.’ Then the King’s face softened. ‘But I will do so. Return with me; bring your
men. England needs you. There is a foe far mightier than these Norwegians approaching our shores. I will restore you to your earldom and increase your lands in the North. After we despatch the Normans, we will campaign in Scotland against Malcolm, your erstwhile ally. When he is defeated you can add Scotland to your domain. We are still brothers and we can be comrades once again to protect our homeland.’

‘It is an interesting offer, my brother, but your brotherly love was absent when I was hounded from my earldom. Today you propose terms because you need my support, but I fight with King Harald and the Norsemen now and I did not bring them all the way to Northumbria to desert them.’

Harold looked sad at his brother’s response, but his expression quickly became stern again. ‘So be it, Tostig, once my brother, once an earl of England. You will die for your treachery. As for you, Harald of Norway, you are ill prepared and caught in the open on English soil. If you withdraw and return to your ships and leave the plunder and hostages you have taken, I will spare you and your men.’

‘You are bluffing, Earl Harold. My force is far superior to yours. I stand on Scandinavian soil. This land is mine through the heritage of my ancestors. If you desire to take it from me, you will have to win it in battle.’

Harold breathed deeply, knowing that many were about to die, and gestured to his men to turn and ride back to the army.