Danes, Saxons and Normans; or, Stories of our ancestors

It was shortly after the encounter which terminated in the death of Eadulph, that Edward the Confessor ascended the throne of his ancestors. At that time the fortunes of Siward, as foreigner and Dane, were probably in great peril. The event, however, proved to his advantage. There was some dread of a Danish fleet appearing on the Northumbrian coast; and the new king, in considerable alarm, took counsel with his great men.

"What is to be done?" asked the king.

"It is best," answered the thanes, "that the little devil should be first opposed to the great devil. Let Siward the Dane be sent to rule that part of your realm likely to be invaded by the Danes."

The king listened, and, as he was advised, nominated Siward Earl of Northumberland. Siward, repairing to York, the capital of the North, won the favour of the province by espousing Alfleda, granddaughter of Uchtred, and then governed the inhabitants with an ability and a vigour that excited the admiration of Leofric, and roused the jealousy of Godwin. The Danes, considering, perhaps, that their gigantic countryman would be a formidable antagonist to encounter, refrained from any attempt at invasion, and, moreover, sent messages of peace and friendship to Edward. "We will," said they, "allow you to reign unmolested over your country, and content ourselves with the lands which God has given us."

Years passed over, and Siward was keeping his court at York, and ruling Northumberland with complete success, when the unfortunate conflict between the townsmen of Dover and the train of Eustace of Boulogne brought the quarrel of Edward and Godwin to a crisis. Siward and Leofric were then summoned to the king's aid, and commanded to lead their fighting men against the forces of the refractory earl. Both obeyed, and, at their call, the inhabitants of Northumberland and Mercia took up arms. Hostile, however, as Siward and Leofric were to Godwin, they could not help perceiving that the country was wholly on his side. Indeed, the murmurs of their own soldiers convinced the Earls of Northumberland and Mercia of the utter impolicy of pushing matters to extremity. Generously sacrificing resentment to patriotism, they raised their voices in favour of Godwin's restoration and against Godwin's foes.

Scarcely had Godwin gone to his account, when Siward became aware that his own end was drawing nigh. The Danish earl had just returned from that expedition into Scotland which resulted in the overthrow of Macbeth, when he was prostrated with sickness at York. Feeling that the great destroyer was upon him, Siward became horrified at the prospect of dying in bed, and in night-gear.

"Raise me," he said to those who watched his uneasy couch. "Let me die like a warrior, and not huddled up together like a cow!"

"What wouldest thou, great earl?" asked the attendants.

"Put my coat of mail on my back," said Siward; "place my helmet on my head, my shield on my left arm, and my gilt axe in my right hand, that I may expire as a warrior should."

The command of the dying earl was obeyed. Clad, by his own desire, in all the habiliments of war, and sitting up in his bed, Siward, with calm courage, awaited the last enemy, and died with the same martial dignity which had characterized his life. His remains were laid in the monastery of Galmanho, which he had founded at York; and, as a memorial of his prodigious prowess, there was long afterwards shown a rock of granite which he was said to have split with one blow of his mighty battle-axe.

IX.

HAROLD, THE SAXON KING

When Earl Godwin breathed his last, under circumstances so memorable, his second son, Harold, succeeded to his earldom, and inherited his influence. A robust and active man, of tall, though not gigantic stature, with long fair hair, a pleasing countenance, dignified manners, and popular address – such appears to have been Harold, the son of Godwin.

It was when Hardicanute died so suddenly, at the marriage feast at Lambeth, that Harold began to figure in public, and to take a prominent part in national affairs. At that crisis, Harold was one of the first to raise a standard against the Danes, and he is even said to have contributed to the triumph of the Saxon cause, by inviting many of the Danish chiefs to a banquet, and causing them to be put to the sword while over their cups. But, whatever truth there may be in such a story, it seems that Harold shared in the prosperity of the house of Godwin at the opening of Edward's reign, and that when Godwin, outlawed and exiled, in 1048 escaped to Bruges, Harold, with his brother Leofwin, fled to Bristol, and there took shipping for the Irish coast. When Godwin returned from Bruges, Harold and Leofwin, coming from Ireland, joined their father at the Isle of Wight, and took part in that formidable demonstration which startled King Edward and his Norman courtiers in the halls of Westminster.

After the restoration of Godwin, and the banishment of the Normans, Harold would seem to have been higher in Edward's favour than any of his kinsmen; and after the death of Godwin, Harold was quietly put in possession of the vast earldom south of the Thames which his sire had so long enjoyed. Both as regarded military reputation and territorial power he was now foremost among the Anglo-Saxons, and he immensely increased his fame by the skill he displayed in a war with the refractory Welsh.

The originator of this war was Algar, son of the great Leofric, who, becoming discontented, gave his daughter Aldith in marriage to a Welsh prince named Griffith, and encouraged that crowned Celt to make an incursion into the English territories. During this inroad the city of Hereford was sacked and much mischief done; but Harold, on being sent with an army, speedily put the Welsh to the rout, and forced Griffith to submit. Untaught, however, by his severe experience of the superiority of the English, Griffith once more rebelled; and Harold, marching back to the borders of Wales, caused such terror, that, to pacify him, the Welsh sacrificed Griffith to save themselves, and sent the head of the murdered prince to the English camp, on the point of a spear.

After his victories over the Welsh, Harold returned to London, and found himself hailed by the multitude as a conqueror. His popularity was now immense, and wherever he appeared his name was shouted with enthusiasm.

"Harold! Harold the Earl!" was the cry.

"Since Edward the king has no heirs," was the saying, "no man is so worthy to succeed to the crown."

While such was the popularity of the son of Godwin, and while all rivalry with him was so completely out of the question that Algar died of despair and regret, Harold, with a view of recovering his brother Wolnoth and his nephew Haco, who had been sent as hostages to Duke William, and who were still retained at the court of Rouen, proposed to visit Normandy. On intimating his intention to Edward, however, the king hesitated to grant permission.

"Your journey," said the king, "will certainly bring some evil on yourself, and on your country."

"In what way, O king?" asked Harold in amazement.

"I know Duke William and his crafty mind," replied Edward; "he hates you, and will grant you nothing unless he gain greatly by it. The only way to obtain the hostages from him were to send some one else."

"I fear it is otherwise," said Harold.

"Well," said Edward, "I will not prevent your going; but, if you do go, it will be without my consent."

Not much influenced by Edward's warnings, Harold departed for Normandy. As if going on an excursion for pleasure, he set out, surrounded by his gay comrades, with his hawks and his hounds.

But a circumstance soon occurred to make him serious. Having sailed from one of the ports of Sussex, Harold's vessels were driven by contrary winds towards the mouth of the Somme; and the earl, forced to land on the territories of Guy, Count of Ponthieu, was seized by that feudal personage as a captive, despoiled of all his property, and placed securely under lock and key, in the castle of Beaurain.

One day, when William the Norman was at Rouen, a messenger from Harold arrived hurriedly and in haste, with intelligence of his captivity. William expressed high indignation, and demanded extradition of the Saxon earl with a menace, which was meant to serve for ransom. Guy of Ponthieu, however, demanded a fine estate and a large sum of money, and would listen to no proposal less advantageous to himself. William was, in consequence, obliged to grant what the count demanded; and, the matter having been arranged, Harold was set free and conducted to Rouen.

On reaching the Norman capital, Harold met with a reception which soon effaced the remembrance of his captivity in the stronghold of Count Guy. At the same time William intimated that the hostages were at Harold's disposal; but he pressed the earl to remain for a time as his guest, and see something of the land. Harold, who was bold and confident, accepted the invitation; and having, with his companions, been admitted into the Norman order of knighthood, he began to figure prominently in the festivals and pageants of the Norman court.

While Harold the Saxon was in this position, William the Norman undertook an expedition against the Bretons. Before setting out, the martial duke requested Harold's company; and Harold, consenting without hesitation, went with his Saxon comrades to take part in the war. During this campaign, William treated Harold with the utmost consideration; and the Norman duke and the Saxon earl slept in one tent, ate at the same table, and conducted themselves towards each other like men on terms of the most intimate friendship.

In this expedition against the Bretons, Harold and his Saxon companions bore themselves with a courage which excited high admiration; and, in spite of Edward's prophecy, everything seemed to go smoothly; when one day, as the duke and the earl rode along, side by side, enlivening the way with friendly colloquy, William artfully turned the conversation to his early acquaintance with the King of England, and suddenly revealed the ambitious project which was occupying his mind.

"In the days of my youth," said William, turning on his saddle, playing with his bridle-rein, and looking Harold in the face, "your king and I lived under the same roof like brothers; and he then promised that, if ever he came to be King of England, I should be nominated heir to his crown."

Harold, in perplexed surprise, muttered some words.

"Wherefore, Harold," continued William, "if thou wouldst aid me in realizing this promise, be sure that, if I obtain the kingdom, whatever thou askest thou shalt have. What is thine answer?"

"Be it as thou sayest," murmured Harold, taken by surprise, and finding it impossible to answer otherwise than with some vague words of compliance.

"Then," added William, growing bolder in his proposals, "since thou consentest to serve me, thou must engage to fortify the castle of Dover, to dig there a well of fresh water, and when the time comes, to deliver up the place to my people. Moreover, to make the bond between us the stronger, thou must give thy sister Thyra in marriage to one of my barons; and thou must take to wife my daughter Adeliza. On thy departure, thou must leave me, as guarantee for thy promise, one of the two hostages thou hast come to reclaim, and I will restore him to thee in England when I come there as king."

"I acquiesce in your demands," said Harold, eager to get rid of a subject which every moment became more embarrassing, and, without pursuing the conversation further, the duke and the earl rode on side by side towards Bayeux.

But it soon became apparent that William the Norman was by no means satisfied with the promise he had wrung from his Saxon guest. No sooner had the duke reached Bayeux than he prepared to exact a more solemn and ceremonious pledge; and, having caused such sacred relics as bones of saints to be brought from the churches, placed in a vessel in the council hall of the castle, and covered with a rich cloth of gold, so as to have the appearance of a table, he convoked his barons and prelates on a certain day, and intimated to Harold that his presence would be required.

At the hour appointed, baron and bishop crowded to the council hall; and William, with a sword in his hand and the coronal of Normandy on his brow, took his seat on the throne, caused two small reliquaries to be placed on the cloth of gold, and intimated, by a gesture, his desire that Harold should approach.

"Harold," said the Duke, "I require thee, before this noble assembly, to confirm, by oath, the promises thou hast made to me – namely, to aid me to obtain the kingdom of England after the death of King Edward, to marry my daughter, and to send thy sister, that I may give her to one of my lords."

"I swear," said Harold, extending his hand over the two reliquaries, "to execute my promise as far as lies in my power, if I live, and if God aid me."

"God aid him!" repeated the barons and bishops who stood around.

The ceremony being thus complete, William made a sign; the cloth of gold was raised; and before Harold's eyes lay bones and entire skeletons of saints, upon which he had, without suspecting their presence, so solemnly sworn. With a shudder and a change of countenance, which did not escape notice, he turned away from the sight. But the oath which he had sworn appeared to the Normans far too sacred ever to be broken; and he was allowed to depart for England with his nephew, the son of Sweyn. William accompanied them to the seaside, made them valuable presents, and repaired to Rouen, rejoicing in the thought, that the man most likely to have baffled his aspirations after the crown of England, was bound, by the most solemn oath, to aid him to the utmost.

Meanwhile, Harold's ships went tilting over the waters; and, on reaching England in a mood the reverse of serene, he hastened to London, presented himself to Edward, and related what had passed between the duke and himself. The saintly king heard the tidings with sadness, and expressed himself in words of woe.

"Did I not warn you," he said, after a painful silence, "warn you over and over again, that I knew Duke William, and that thy journey would bring evil on thyself and on thy country?"

"It is true," said Harold.

"Heaven grant," continued Edward, "that these evils happen not in my time!"

And, in truth, there was little danger of Edward living to witness the troubles in store for the land of his fathers. The king's days were now "dwindling to the shortest span." Aware that he was hourly sinking, Edward occupied himself more and more with religious devotions, and manifested much anxiety for the completion of the Abbey of Westminster, which, under his auspices, had risen on Thorney Island in the form of a cross, with a high tower in the centre. Intending to consecrate this edifice with great splendour at the Christmas of 1065, Edward summoned all the nobles and clergy to be present. But before the appointed day he became too weak to leave his chamber.

Edith, the queen, consequently presided at the consecration; and scarcely was the ceremony over, when Harold became aware that his royal brother-in-law could not survive many days. In fact, Edward, stretched on a bed of sickness, and haunted by terrible visions of fiends wandering over England, was looking, almost with impatience, for the hour that was to deliver him from the evils to come. Nor was the patience of the royal saint put to any long or severe trial.

It was Thursday, the 5th of January, 1066, and the king lay in that chamber of the palace of Westminster long afterwards, when known as "The Painted Chamber," associated with his memory. Robert Stigand, Archbishop of Canterbury, with many nobles and prelates, stood by his couch; for Edward was on the eve of going where the weary are at rest; and nobles and prelates were, doubtless, anxious to hear his last will. He was, however, entirely absorbed in melancholy forebodings; and, as passages of Scripture denouncing woe to nations occurred involuntarily to his memory, he repeated them with a wild energy which horrified those who surrounded his couch.

"The Lord has bent his bow," exclaimed the dying king, "the Lord has prepared his sword; he brandishes it like unto a warrior; his wrath is manifested in steel and flame."

"The saints defend us!" muttered those present, terrified at the king's ejaculations.

"Tush!" exclaimed Archbishop Stigand, with a sneer of contempt; "why tremble ye at the dreams of a sick old man?"

In such a frame of mind, Edward the king breathed his last; and it is said that, having been asked whom he wished to succeed to his throne, he named Harold, son of Godwin. But whether or not such was the case, Harold was elected on the day after Edward's funeral, and allowed himself to be crowned at once, in violation of his oath to William the Norman, and in defiance of the claims of Edgar Atheling, grandson of Edmund Ironsides, and heir of the Saxon kings. In order to bind the chiefs of the House of Leofric to his interest, and to render his throne more secure, Harold espoused Aldith, daughter of Earl Algar, and widow of that Griffith whose head the Welsh had sent to him on the point of a spear.

Nevertheless, the position of Harold was encompassed with danger, and the minds of his subjects were filled with gloom and apprehension. As men reflected on the dying words of Edward the king, they recalled to mind old prophecies which increased their alarm. One of these predicted such calamities as the Saxons had never experienced since they left the Elbe; and another, which was more to the point, predicted the conquest of England by a people from France. While vague terrors preyed upon England, the appearance of a comet daunted all hearts, and was regarded, as it seemed to come, as a herald of woe.

"Thou hast then returned," said a monk of the period; "thou hast returned at length, thou who wilt cause so many mothers to weep! Many times have I seen thee shine; but thou lookest to me more terrible now that thou announcest the ruin of my country."

X.

DUKE WILLIAM AND HIS DIFFICULTIES

IT was early one day, about the opening of the year 1066, and the ground was hard with frost, when William the Norman left the palace of Rouen, and crossed the Seine to test some new arrows in the park of Rouvray. While the duke was occupied in stringing that mighty bow which, save himself, no man then living could bend, a messenger from England reached him with tidings of such import, that his colour changed, and his lip quivered with emotion. It was to the effect that Edward the Confessor was dead, and that Harold, son of Godwin, had seized the English crown.

Giving his bow to an attendant, William walked to the margin of the Seine, stepped into his barge, and, without speaking, indicated by a gesture his wish to return to Rouen. On reaching the castle, he entered the great hall, and paced up and down with a restless and excited step, "often," say the chronicles, "changing posture and attitude, and oft loosening and tightening the strings of his mantle." Such, indeed, seemed his agitation, that no member of his household ventured for some time to ask the cause.

Meantime, rumours of the intelligence brought by the messenger from England began to creep about, and a Norman noble, probably William Fitzosborne, the duke's seneschal, and the proudest of Norman magnates, presented himself to learn the actual state of affairs. Fitzosborne, who was Count of Breteuil, and destined one day to higher rank, had such a reputation for hauteur that he was surnamed "The Proud Spirit." Without any of that hesitation exhibited by others, he approached William the Norman, and inquired the cause of his emotion.

"My lord," said he, "pray communicate your news. It is bruited about that the King of England is dead, and that Harold, breaking faith with you, has usurped the crown."

"They say truly who so report," answered the duke; "and my grief is touching the death of Edward, and my anger is touching the wrong done me by Harold."

"Sir," said Fitzosborne, "chafe not at what may be amended. For Edward's death, it is true, there is no remedy; but there is a remedy for the injury done you by Harold. Yours is the right, and you have stout warriors. Strike with courage: the work is already half done."

Genius, however, is generally patient; and William was too crafty to spoil his game by indiscreet haste. He went cautiously and gradually to work; and not till he had twice, in courteous phrase, required Harold to fulfil the treaty so solemnly concluded, did he threaten the Saxon with invasion and punishment. Then, however, he cast hesitation to the winds, and resolved on inflicting a signal chastisement. "I doubt not," he said, "of finding that man a feeble foe, who has proved so faithless a friend."

In the meantime negotiations were vigorously commenced at Rome, and Harold was charged before the pontifical court with perjury and sacrilege. The Saxon king was summoned to defend himself, and endeavoured to escape by refusing to acknowledge the jurisdiction of the court. But this did not serve his purpose. The conclave assembled at the Lateran, under the inspiration of the famous Hildebrand, decided that William should enter England, and bring that kingdom back to the Holy See; and a papal bull, directed against Harold and his adherents, was presented to William, along with a consecrated banner, an agnus of gold, and a ring which contained a hair of St. Peter, set in a diamond of great price.

A council of high Norman nobles was now convened at Rouen; and William, addressing his friends, demanded counsel and aid. There was no difference of opinion. All were ready to take part with their duke in the invasion of England, and each man present delighted his soul with visions of rich manors on the Thames or the Mersey. However, they advised him to consult the general feeling of the community; and, accordingly, the merchants and traders of Normandy, as well as the lords and knights, were summoned to confer with the duke.

Lillebonne was the place appointed for this memorable assembly, and thither came all the wealthiest and most important subjects of Normandy. William, after opening his heart to them, explained his views and craved pecuniary aid, and they then withdrew to deliberate in freedom. The result was not quite satisfactory. The Normans were greatly divided in opinion. Some were anxious to aid the duke with men and money; but others positively objected, declaring that they had already more debts than they could pay.

It was now that William Fitzosborne did better service than a hundred knights could have rendered to his liege lord. Raising his voice above the tumult, he exerted that eloquence for which the Norman nobles were so remarkable.

"Why this confusion and discord?" asked Fitzosborne. "Why dispute thus among ourselves? The duke hath need of us, and he is our lord – "

"William is our lord; but we owe him no aid beyond the seas," interrupted the assembly.

"It is our duty to make offers of aid, rather than to wait his requests," continued Fitzosborne. "He hath need of us now; and if we fail him, and he gains his end, he will remember it to our disadvantage. Let us, then, prove by our acts that we love him, and let us entitle ourselves to his gratitude."

"Doubtless, William is our lord," cried the Normans; "but is it not enough for us to pay him his dues? We owe him no aid beyond the seas. He hath already oppressed us enough with his wars; let him fail in this new enterprise, and our country is undone."

"Well," said Fitzosborne, changing his plan, "let us return to the duke; and I, as knowing the position of each man present, will take upon me to excuse the limited offers of the assembly."

"So be it," was the answer; and the Normans, with Fitzosborne at their head, returned to Duke William's presence.

"Sire," said Fitzosborne, addressing William, "I do not believe that there are in the whole world people more zealous than yours. You know the aids they have given you – the onerous services they have rendered. Well, sire, they will do more. They offer to serve you beyond the seas as they have done here."

"No, no!" cried the Normans, "we did not charge you with such an answer."

"For my own part," continued Fitzosborne, "I will, out of love to you, give sixty well-appointed ships, each charged with fifty fighting men. Forward, then, and spare us in nothing! He who hath hitherto only supplied you with two good mounted soldiers will now supply four."