Conquest (30 page)

Harold thanked the Abbot and asked him to pray for him and for England.

Then, in the hoary light of a full moon, he headed for London at a gallop.

Harold and Edith were in Westminster early on the morning of 7 October 1066, where the King immediately called a Council of War.

Hereward, Alphonso and Einar were there with all the captains of the King’s housecarls – over fifty of England’s finest, bravest men. There were at least the same number of thegns and both Harold’s brothers, the Earls Gyrth and Leofwine. Hakon, the young son of Harold’s dead brother, Svein, was there, making the Godwinson family complete.

Harold had invited all opinions and viewpoints.

Leofric, Abbot of Peterborough, spoke first. ‘Sire, the situation is grave and news comes daily of the atrocities committed by the Normans. But I beg you to consider caution. Duke William has nowhere to go; his back is to
the sea. If you take time to gather your forces, you could outnumber him on a substantial scale.’

Esegar, Sheriff of Middlesex, spoke next. ‘William the Bastard’s wickedness knows no bounds. He carries the Pallium of Rome, but he is despoiling it with the blood of the Saxons. Word will soon filter back to Rome and he will lose all support in Europe. He is making a noose for his own neck.’

Godric, Sheriff of Fyfield in Berkshire, suggested a more subtle tactic. ‘Gather your forces on the North Downs, or at Penshurst on the Medway; send small units to harass his army and lay waste to the entire hinterland, forcing him to come north to meet you. In a month’s time you could have a fully armed and prepared force of eight thousand housecarls and twice that number of fyrdmen.’

Earl Gyrth was the last to speak. ‘Godric speaks well. The advice you have heard today, my noble brother and Lord King, is sound. Let me lead the raiding parties. Give me Hereward of Bourne as my second-in-command and we will make life miserable for the Normans and buy you a month to build the greatest army England has ever seen. Do not rush to battle, my brother.’

The King cast a glance at Hereward before he responded. Hereward’s nod in return indicated that he concurred with what had been said. Harold rose slowly and looked around the Great Hall of Westminster before speaking. He looked into the faces of the assembled men; there were over a hundred.

Finally, he spoke.

‘My lords, abbots, sheriffs, thegns of England, brothers in our common cause, I am grateful to you for your wisdom.
I have been king for barely three seasons of a year, but already I am at a crossroads in our history. We have repelled Hardrada at Stamford Bridge, but now we are to confront an even greater threat. The people of England stand on a precipice between ignominy and glory. We have had a Roman Age in this land; we have had the Age of Alfred and the West Saxons; we have had the Age of the Danes. Now we have the chance to create an era that many of my predecessors have yearned for: an English Age for all the people of these islands, be they Saxon, Dane or Celt.

‘Hardrada tried to wrest that opportunity from us; but his daunting frame lies at rest in its shroud, soon to be consumed in a Viking funeral in his homeland. Now another stands in our way: William, Duke of Normandy. He wants this land, not to lead its people, not to protect them or cherish their culture and their traditions, but for himself, to feed his greed and lust for power. I have met this man and ridden into battle alongside him. This is not a man anyone would choose as their Lord. He is vain and capricious, ruthless and cruel. He will murder and maim our people, strip them of their lands, confiscate our abbeys and monasteries and abuse our women. He is an ungodly creature and every moment he spends on English soil is an abomination. We must not delay. This crossroads for our people is lit by a beacon and it lights the way to Pevensey. That is the road we must take. And we must take it without delay!’

Still heaving from the forceful delivery of his rhetoric, he looked into their eyes once more, hoping that his words had persuaded them. It was a stirring speech – his words so powerful, his conviction so firm. By its end, every man
present was prepared to forego his doubts and support his King.

Loud cheers echoed around the hall, as the warriors raised their axes and beat their shields like drums of war.

The King raised his hands, appealing for a final word. ‘I am not deaf to the advice given here today. Your counsel is wise, but I am responsible for every man, woman and child who, at this very moment, is being put to the sword by the Norman butchers. I will wait until dawn on the morning of the eleventh, but no longer. All men who have made it to London by then will muster on Lambeth Fields at first light and we will leave for the coast as soon as the tally is done. Any forces not assembled by then must come on as soon as they can.’

Harold had bowed a little to those who had argued for caution and decided upon a delay of five days for preparation, consolidation and the arrival of fresh men. He had done some very agonizing arithmetic: every day meant more men for his army, but every day brought more death and suffering for the people of the south coast.

His solution to the ghastly equation was five days.

Harold raised his sword in one hand and his mace of kingship in the other. ‘God bless you all. For England!’

‘For Harold! For England!’ came the instant reply.

17. Slaughter on Senlac Ridge

At a tearful gathering on the north side of the old bridge at Westminster on the evening of 10 October, Hereward and his followers said their farewells. They had made elaborate plans for a rendezvous, whether in victory or in defeat, in Glastonbury on the eve of All Hallows, the last day of October. The following day, on the day of celebration for All Saints, they would decide their future and determine whether their destiny had been fulfilled.

Hereward took Torfida to one side to whisper his final thoughts. ‘The King has been very generous; make sure you keep the silver safely hidden. There is enough for all of you for the rest of your lives. If I don’t return, but the King is victorious, you will be able to live out your days here in England. If the King perishes, this land will not be worth living in. Go south; from what Alphonso tells me, Aquitaine, Castile and León are lands to explore. It will be warm there and the girls will grow strong and healthy.’

Torfida looked at Hereward as resolutely as she could, even though her eyes were full of tears. ‘I don’t need any more instructions; I’m not a child. Just return safely. Stay close to the King; he will need you. He is the rightful inheritor of the Talisman of Truth and a noble warrior. Everything he has done in the past nine months has had the sure touch of a wise and gracious monarch.’

The two embraced tightly.

Hereward spoke first. ‘Until All Hallows Eve, my darling.’

‘Until the Feast of the Dead, my brave Hereward – the feast of the Norman dead!’

Hereward, Einar and Alphonso crossed the bridge at Westminster. Martin was already in the midst of danger, scouting the Norman camps.

The other three were about to join him in a battle which would be a fight to the death for Harold and those close to him.

By nightfall on 13 October, the Saxon army had arrived at Caldbec Hill, a well-known landmark within a few miles of the south coast, which the King had specified as the ideal rendezvous point. Martin and the other scouts had made their reports and confirmed that William was well prepared, but that he had exhausted all local supplies and would soon venture beyond his bridgehead. Morale was still high in his army, despite some impatience about the delay in attacking the hinterland and in being denied the booty waiting to be seized.

William first became aware of Harold’s force as it moved from Caldbec Hill at first light the next morning. Realizing that Harold held the higher ground, the Duke despatched a contingent of horsemen and archers to try and prevent the Saxon army reaching Senlac Ridge, a point just beyond Caldbec Hill which would give Harold an ideal defensive position for his shield wall. Harold was alert to the move and immediately ordered a mass advance in battle order, a manoeuvre that was successful, despite some serious losses from the lethal crossbows of Richard of Evreux. The Saxons had never seen crossbows before and some of the
fyrdmen were unnerved by them. Nevertheless, Harold had the ground he wanted and slowly, over the next two hours, the armies got themselves into position.

The English line was about 750 yards long, with housecarls at the centre and fyrdmen on the outlying flanks. The Wyvern Dragon of Wessex and his own personal standard, the Fighting Man, flew from the King’s command position. There were the standards of Leofwine and Gyrth, and banners and colours from burghs and shires throughout the land. Harold’s uncle, Aelfwig, the Abbot of Winchester, had arrived just before dawn. He was nearly sixty years of age and had not wielded a weapon in three decades, but he was determined to fight and had brought twelve monks and a score of men. As befitted their calling, the men of the cloth carried only maces, as the spilling of blood by the sharp edge of a sword was thought inappropriate for men of God. Aelfwig’s arrival meant that there were three generations of Godwins at the battle.

Horns were sounded to usher men into position; by mid-morning both sides had settled into a state of readiness.

Harold went to squadron after squadron in the shield wall, beseeching his men to give everything for the people of England.

‘Remember the stories of Alfred, told by your fathers. This land has a spirit that could not be subdued by the Danes, was not broken by Hardrada and will not be humbled by this cut-throat, William the Bastard. You are gathered here from all over our land. You fight today for your families and your homes but, most of all, for your freedom. The man you face today is a cruel and vicious warlord. He will strip us of everything we live for, burn our
crops, slaughter our livestock, rape our women and murder our children. We stand between him and his evil ambition. We stand together; our shield wall will never break. Men of England, stand with me until victory is ours!’

Great cheers ran along the English line as the King galloped along in front of his men. Hereward looked at the assembled army and then at the Normans massed on the lower ground below. Somehow, close to 8,000 men had made it to the English cause. Harold’s heroism, resolve and generalship had inspired them to rush to the King’s standard, and they would fight with the ferocity of men protecting their homes.

Over six centuries, since the end of Roman rule, the strength of the Anglo-Saxon army had been forged on the anvil of frequent battles against its ferocious Celtic and Scandinavian neighbours, building a military ethos of the highest calibre. Despite its losses at Stamford Bridge and the absence of housecarls yet to arrive, including those of the treacherous Earls Morcar and Edwin, standing with Harold on Senlac Ridge was the greater part of the finest army in northern Europe – one of the most awesome the world had ever seen.

When the King returned to his standard, Hereward offered him his own encouragement. ‘Only you could have achieved this. Here stand men of Saxon, Danish and Celtic blood, bound together by their belief in you and the England that you represent.’

‘Thank you, Hereward, I am proud to have you at my side. Stay close this day.’ As Harold surveyed the battlefield sweeping down before him from Senlac Ridge, the opposing cavalry and its heavily armed knights were his greatest concern.

By his side, Hereward counted almost 1,500 Norman knights in full armour with lances, axes, maces and swords. He thought of his many battles, hoping to find a key to the encounter. He looked at the ground and the formation of the army, probing to see a feature that had been overlooked, or a nuance that would offer a hidden advantage, but he could see none. Five hundred cavalry hidden in the woods would have been invaluable, but they were not there. Edwin and Morcar, the two northern earls, had remained in their earldoms; a self-seeking act that denied England over 1,000 of its finest men.

Martin, who had taken a brief rest after his reconnaissance mission, rode up and joined Hereward, Alphonso and Einar in a position just behind the King, whose hearthtroop of two squadrons was fanned out in front of him. The four loyal comrades dismounted and Alphonso secured their horses to the rear. It was unlikely that they would be needed; this fight would not be about rapid pursuit or hasty withdrawal, it would be a fight for the ground they stood on – England’s ground.

Hereward turned to his companions. ‘If the battle goes badly, I will stand my ground with the King. If he falls, I will fall with him. Stay for as long as you can be useful to the King, then make haste to your loved ones. Take this to Torfida.’ Hereward handed Einar a small purse of leather, which held a lock of his golden hair. ‘God be with you, my friends.’

‘God be with you, Hereward,’ all three replied in unison.

Preparations in the Norman ranks were equally well advanced.

They numbered over 9,000 and were organized into three army groups: Breton allies to the left on the western side, French and Flemish supporters and mercenaries to the right on the eastern side and the bulk of the force, the Normans, in the centre. William had adopted an unusual pattern of deployment. He sent his archers forward, just out of range of the English bowmen, his infantry arranged in deep columns behind them and his squadrons of cavalry drawn up in the rear. His own command position was central to the last squadron of cavalry, identified by the papal pallium, held aloft by Pope Alexander’s legate to Rouen.

Flying next to the pallium, stiffened by gusting winds from the English Channel to the south, were William’s standard, the Leopard of Normandy, and the standards of all the warlords of Normandy and surrounding territories: Eustace, Count of Boulogne, an opportunist with a brutal reputation; Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances, who led the prayers before the battle; Hugh de Grandmesnil, a warrior of great repute; Hugh de Montfort, a resolute soldier of fortune; William’s half-brother, the ruthless and ambitious Odo, Bishop of Bayeux; and William’s trusted henchmen who would go anywhere for a fight – Walter Gifford, William of Malet, William of Evreux, William Fitzsbern and William Warenne.