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

William was now in his forty-third year, and time had left its traces behind. But, bald as he was, and worn with the cares of four decades, the Norman duke had all the vigour, energy, and martial enthusiasm of youth. Never, perhaps, had he appeared more worthy of his high fortunes than when, with some of the relics on which Harold had sworn, around his neck, he stood in view of the great army of which he was the soul.

This display having served its purpose, William hastened to complete the process of arming; and his squires, while handing him his hauberk, in their haste presented him with the backpiece first.

"This is an evil omen," said the lords around.

"Tush!" exclaimed William, laughing their fears to scorn. "Methinks it is rather a good omen: it betokens that the last shall be first – that the duke will be a king."

Having completely armed himself, with the exception of his helmet, William intrusted his standard to Tonstain le Blanc, a young warrior, and sprang upon his magnificent Spanish charger, which the King of Castile had sent him as a gift. Thus armed, and thus mounted, with the consecrated standard waving over his head, he raised his voice to address his soldiers ere they marched upon the foe.

"Normans and warriors," said the duke, "you are now about to encounter your enemies. Fight your best, and spare not. What I gain, you gain; if I conquer, you conquer; if I take the land, you will share it. We shall all be rich. Know, however, that I came here not merely to take that which is my due, but to revenge our whole nation for the felon acts, perjuries, and treasons of these Saxons. In the night of St. Brice they put to death the Danes, both men and women. Afterwards they decimated the companions of my kinsman, Alfred, and put him to death. On then, in God's name, and chastise them for all their misdeeds!"

As William concluded his address, the Norman priests and monks retired to a neighbouring hill to pray for victory; and the Norman warriors, with a shout of "Dieu aide!" began their march to the Saxon camp. In a short time they came in sight of the place where Harold and his men, all on foot around their standard, and strongly posted, stood ready, with their huge axes, to fight to the death.

While such was the position of the hostile armies, a Norman minstrel, named Taillefer, rendered himself prominently conspicuous. Giving the spur to his horse, he rode out in front of the Norman array, and, in a loud voice, raised the song of Charlemagne and Roland, then so famous throughout Christendom. As he proceeded, he played with his sword, tossing the weapon far into the air, and then catching it in his right hand with wondrous dexterity; while the warriors behind vociferously repeated the burthen of his song, and loudly shouted, "Dieu aide!"

When the Normans approached the Saxon intrenchments, their archers began the conflict by letting fly a shower of arrows, and the crossbowmen discharged their bolts. But neither arrows nor bolts did much execution. In fact, most of the shots were rendered useless by the high parapets of the Saxon redoubts, and the archers and bowmen found, with dismay, that their efforts were in vain.

But the infantry, armed with spears, and the cavalry, with their long lances, now advanced, and charging the gates of the redoubts, endeavoured to force an entrance. The Saxons, however, forming a solid mass, encountered their assailants with courage, and swinging with both hands their heavy axes, broke lances into shivers, and cut through coats of mail.

It was in vain that the Normans forming the first division of William's army perseveringly endeavoured to tear up the stakes and penetrate the redoubts. Foiled and dispirited, archers and bowmen, infantry and cavalry, fell back on that column where the duke, in person, commanded.

But William was not to be baffled. Spurring his Spanish charger in among the archers, he ordered them to shoot, not straightforward, but into the air, so that their arrows might fall into the enemy's camp.

"See you not," said the duke, "that your shafts fall harmless against the parapets? Shoot in the air. Let your arrows fall as if from the heavens."

The archers then, advancing in a body, profited by William's suggestion; and so successful proved the manœuvre, that many of the Saxons, and, among others, King Harold, were wounded in the face.

In the meantime, the Norman horse and foot renewed the attack with shouts of "Notre Dame!" "Dieu aide!" and an impetuosity which seemed to promise success. But if the attack was fierce, the resistance was stubborn. Notwithstanding the execution done by arrows and bolts, and their frightful wounds, Harold and his men fought with mighty courage. Driven back from one of the gates to a deep ravine, which was concealed by brushwood and long grass, the Normans found their situation deplorable. Horses and men rolled over each other into the ravine, perishing miserably; and, when William's Spanish charger was killed under him, and the great war-chief for a moment disappeared, alarm seized the invaders.

"The duke is slain!" was the cry; and the Normans, giving way to panic, commenced a retreat.

"No!" exclaimed William, in a voice of thunder, as he disentangled himself from his fallen steed; "I am here. Look at me. I still live, and, with God's help, I will conquer."

And taking off his helmet that he might be the more readily recognised, William threw himself before the fugitives, and threatening some, striking others with his lance, he barred their passage, and ordered the cavalry to return to the attack. But every effort to force the redoubts proved fruitless; still the charge of the Normans was broken on the wall of shields; and, in spite of the fearful odds against them, the Saxons still held gallantly out.

It was now that William determined on a stratagem to lure the Saxons from their intrenchments, and ordered a thousand horse to advance to the redoubts and then retire. His command was skilfully obeyed; and when the Saxons saw their enemies fly as if beaten, they lost the coolness they had hitherto exhibited, and, with their axes hanging from their necks, rushed furiously forth in pursuit.

But brief indeed was their imaginary triumph. Suddenly the Normans halted, faced about, and being joined by another body of cavalry, that had watched the manœuvre, turned fiercely upon the pursuers with sword and lance, and quickly put them to the rout.

Evening was now approaching; and William, availing himself of the confusion and disorder which the success of his stratagem had created among the Saxons, once more assailed the redoubts, and this time with success. In rushed horse and foot, hewing down all who opposed them. In vain the Saxons struggled desperately, overthrowing cavalry and infantry, and continued the combat hand to hand and foot to foot. Their numbers rapidly diminished; and at length the king and his two brothers were left almost without aid to defend the standard.

No hope now remained for the Saxons, and soon all was over. Harold, previously wounded in the eye, fell to rise no more. Leofwine shared his brother's fate and died by his side; and Gurth, courageously facing the foe, maintained a contest single-handed against a host of knightly adversaries. But William, pushing forward, mace in hand, struck the Saxon hero a blow of irresistible violence, and Gurth fell on the mangled corpses of his kinsmen and countrymen.

Ere this the sun had set, and still the conflict was continued; and the Saxons, vain as were their efforts, maintained an irregular struggle till darkness rendered it impossible to know friend from foe, except by the difference of language. The vanquished islanders then fled in the direction of London. But when the moon rose, the victors fiercely urged the pursuit. The Norman cavalry, flushed with triumph, granted no quarter. Thousands of Saxons, dispersed and despairing, fell by the weapons of pursuers, and thousands more died on the roads of wounds and fatigue.

Meanwhile, William ordered the consecrated standard to be set up where that of the Saxons had fallen, and, pitching his tent on the field of battle, passed that October night almost within hearing of the groans of the dying.

XIX.

THE BODY OF HAROLD

NO sooner did Sunday morning dawn than William, having first evinced his gratitude to Heaven for the victory gained, applied himself to ascertain the extent of his loss. Having vowed to erect on the field of battle an abbey, to be dedicated to St. Martin, the patron saint of the warriors of Gaul, the Conqueror drew up his troops, and called over the names of all who had crossed the sea, from a list made at St. Valery.

While this roll was being called over, many of the wives and mothers of the Saxons who had armed in the neighbourhood of Hastings to fight for King Harold appeared on the field to search for and bury the bodies of their husbands and sons. William immediately caused the corpses of the men who had fallen on his side to be buried, and gave the Saxons leave to do the same for their countrymen.

For some time, however, no one had the courage to mention the propriety of giving Christian burial to the Saxon king; and the body of Harold lay on the field without being claimed or sought for. At length Githa, the widow of Godwin, sent to ask the Conqueror's permission to render the last honours to her son, but William sternly refused.

"The mother," said the messengers, "would even give the weight of the body in gold."

"Nevertheless," said William, "the man, false to his word and to his religion, shall have no other sepulchre than the sands of the shore."

William, however, relented. It happened that Harold had founded and enriched the abbey of Waltham, and that the abbot felt himself in duty bound to obtain Christian burial for such a benefactor. Accordingly he deputed Osgod and Ailrik, two Saxon monks, to demand permission to transfer the body of Harold to their church; and the Conqueror granted the permission they asked.

But Osgod and Ailrik found their mission somewhat difficult to fulfil. So disfigured, in fact, were most of the dead with wounds and bruises, that one could hardly be known from another. In vain the monks sought among the mass of slain, stripped as they were of armour and clothing. The monks of Waltham could not recognise the corpse of him whom they sought, and, in their difficulty, they resolved to invoke female aid.

At that time there was living, probably in retirement, a Saxon woman known as Edith the Fair. This woman, who was remarkable for her beauty, and especially for the gracefulness of her neck, which chroniclers have compared to the swan's, had, before Harold's coronation and his marriage with Aldith, been entertained by him as a mistress; and, on being applied to, she consented to assist the monks in their search. Better acquainted than they were with the features of the man she had loved, Edith was successful in discovering the corpse.

The body of Harold having thus – thanks to the zeal and exertions of the monks – been found, was, with those of his brothers, Gurth and Leofwine, placed at the disposal of their mother, the widowed Githa. With her consent they were buried in the abbey of Waltham. The Conqueror sent William Mallet, one of his knights, to see the corpse honourably interred; and at the east end of the choir, in a tomb long pointed out as that containing the remains of the Saxon king, were inscribed the words —

"HAROLD INFELIX."

"But here," says Sir Richard Baker, "Giraldus Cambrensis tells a strange story, that Harold was not slain in the battle, but only wounded and lost his left eye, and then escaped by flight to Chester, where he afterwards led a holy anchorite's life in the cell of St. James, fast by St. John's Church."

XX.

THE CONQUEROR AND THE KENTISHMEN

After his victory at Hastings, William remained for some time on the field, waiting for the men of the country to appear at his camp and make their submission. Finding, however, that nobody came, he marched along the sea coast, took Dover, and then advanced by the great Roman road towards London.

While passing through Kent, the conquerors, for a time, pursued their way without interruption. Suddenly, however, at a place where the road, approaching the Thames, ran through a forest, they found their passage disputed by a large body of Kentishmen. Each man carried in his hand a green bough, and at a distance they presented the appearance of a wood in motion.

"This," said the Normans, crossing themselves, "is magic – the work of Satan."

On drawing near, however, the Kentishmen threw the green boughs to the ground, raised their banner, and drew their swords; and William, aware that the men of Kent were not foes to be despised, asked with what intent they came against him in such a fashion.

"We come," cried the men of Kent, "to fight for our liberty, and for the laws we have enjoyed under King Edward."

"Well," answered William, whose object it now was, if possible, to conciliate, "ye shall have your ancient customs and your laws which ye demand, so that ye acknowledge me king of England."

The Kentishmen, on hearing this, consented to lay down their arms, having concluded a treaty by which they agreed to offer no further resistance, on condition that they should be as free as they had before been. William sent forward five hundred horsemen towards London; and learning that the citizens were likely to stand on their defence, he resolved to turn towards the west, and passed the Thames at Wallingford.

On reaching Wallingford, which had been regarded by the Saxons as a stronghold of the first importance, William was struck with the capacity of the place, and eager to secure it as one of his strongholds. On this point there was no difficulty. In fact, Wallingford was in possession of a Saxon thane named Wigod, who had neither the will nor the power to resist, but who had an only daughter named Aldith, with no insuperable objection to become the bride of a Norman knight. The Conqueror immediately provided the fair Aldith with a husband, in the person of Robert D'Oyley, one of his favourite warriors; and the marriage ceremony having been performed without any unnecessary delay, D'Oyley was left, in the company of his bride and his father-in-law, to make the castle as strong as possible; while the Conqueror, marching to Berkhampstead, cut off all communication between London and the north, and continued so to hem in the city that the inhabitants became every day more apprehensive of being exposed to the horrors of famine.

XXI.

EDGAR ATHELING

News of the Norman victory at Hastings speedily reached London; and the city became the scene of commotion and debate. So strong, however, appeared the necessity for doing something decisive, that men calmed themselves to consider their position; and, by way of dealing with the crisis, they resolved on placing the Confessor's crown on the head of Edgar Atheling, the Confessor's kinsman, and the undoubted heir of the Saxon kings.

Atheling was grandson of Edmund Ironsides, and a native of Hungary. In fact, it seems that when Canute the Dane, in 1017, made himself master of England, he found in the kingdom two sons of Ironsides, who bore the names of Edmund and Edward. Wishing, it is said, to have the Saxon princes put to death, but apprehensive of the consequences of ordering their execution, Canute sent them to the King of Sweden, with a request that they might be secretly made away with. Not caring, however, to have the blood of two innocent boys to answer for, the royal Swede sent them to Hungary; and the king of that country, after receiving them with reluctance, reared them with kindness. As time passed on, Edmund died without heirs; but Edward, known as The Exile, espousing Agatha, daughter of an Emperor of Germany, became father of a handsome and fair-haired boy, known as Edgar Atheling, and two girls, named Margaret and Christina.

During the reigns of Harold Harefoot and Hardicanute, the son of Ironsides remained forgotten in exile. But the Confessor, in his old age, finding himself childless, and knowing that his end was drawing nigh, turned his thoughts towards his expatriated kinsman, and despatched Aldred, Archbishop of York, to escort the heir of Alfred from the German court. The result was, that Edward the Exile, bringing with him his wife and three children, returned to the country of his ancestors, with high hopes of wearing the crown. But not long after arriving in England he went the way of all flesh, leaving his son much too young to assert his own rights, and without adherents sufficiently influential to cope successfully with the wealthy and popular chief of the House of Godwin.

At the time when the Confessor drew his last breath, in the Painted Chamber, Edgar Atheling was a boy of ten; and Harold had very little difficulty in excluding him from the throne. It has been asserted, indeed, that, from the earliest period, minors had been set aside, as a matter of course, by the Saxon customs; and that the Atheling's nonage positively disqualified him from wearing the crown. Nevertheless, the youth, the beauty, the hereditary claims of the boy, won him many friends; and he was much beloved by the people, who, in their loyal affection, called him their darling.

"He is young and handsome," said they, "and descended from the true race, the best race of the country."

It would seem that the Atheling's claims caused Harold considerable uneasiness. In fact, historians state that the son of Godwin was kept in constant dread "of anything being contrived against him in favour of Edgar by those who had a great affection for the ancient royal family." However, Harold, to keep them quiet, showed the boy great respect, gave him the earldom of Oxford, and "took care of his education," says one historian, "as if he would have it thought that he intended to resign the crown to him when he should be of fit age to govern."

But whatever may have been Harold's motives or intentions, no sooner did he fall at Hastings than the popular cry rose in Edgar's favour. Opinions, however, were divided as to the person most worthy of being king. Edwin and Morkar, the grandsons of Leofric, claimed the honour for one of themselves; and men influenced by the papal bull, stood up for Duke William. But both Stigand, Archbishop of Canterbury, and Aldred, Archbishop of York, declared strongly for the Atheling; and at length, after much hesitation and much dispute, the boy was publicly proclaimed.

Such was the stage at which affairs had arrived in London, when William, from his camp at Berkhampstead, found a way of communicating with Ansgar, the standard-bearer of the city, an officer whom, in 1051, he had seen at Edward's court; and when Ansgar, assembling the chief citizens, without informing them of William's message to himself, impressed upon them the expediency of negotiating with the invaders.

"Honourable brothers," said Ansgar, "our resources are nearly exhausted. The city is threatened with assault, and no army comes to our aid."

"True," murmured the citizens.

"Such," continued Ansgar, "is our situation; but when strength is exhausted, when courage can do no more, artifice and stratagem still remain. I advise you to resort to them."

"In what way?" asked the citizens.

"The enemy," answered Ansgar, "is not yet aware of our miserable position: let us profit by that circumstance, and send them fair words by a man capable of deceiving them, who will feign to convey your submission, and, in sign of peace, will lay his hand in theirs if required."

"Yes," cried the citizens: "we will, in that case, be able to obtain a suspension of hostilities, and protract negotiations until the arrival of succours."

After this scene, in which Ansgar skilfully acted his part, his counsel was enthusiastically adopted. But the messenger sent to delude William returned to London devoted to the Norman duke's cause, and gave so flattering a report of the Conqueror, that the citizens became eager to acknowledge such a man as King of England. The feeling proved marvellously contagious, and London was soon under the influence of one of those popular outbursts which nothing can resist.

"What should be done?" asked Ansgar.

"Let the keys of the city be carried to Duke William," was the answer.

The warriors and prelates who surrounded Edgar Atheling were probably somewhat surprised at this sudden resolution, and they were certainly in no position to restrain or counteract it. They therefore yielded to the current; and the young king, accompanied by the two archbishops, Stigand and Aldred, by Wulstan, Bishop of Worcester, and by the chief citizens, proceeded to Berkhampstead to make their submission. On presenting themselves to the Conqueror they swore fidelity, gave hostages, and received his promise to be gentle and clement. William regarded the grandson of Ironsides with interest, kissed the boy tenderly, and spoke to him with kindness. Doubtless, in the eye of a prince of Edgar Atheling's age, a dog and a pony would have seemed more to be desired than the crown and throne of England; nor can it be said that, in after years, when his valour and his capacity had been proved, he ever looked back with excessive regret to the crown he had lost and the throne from which he had been excluded.

XXII.

CORONATION OF THE CONQUEROR

After Edgar Atheling and the Saxon chiefs and prelates had made their submission to the conqueror of Hastings, and given hostages for their fidelity, William – having previously sent forward a strong body of soldiers to construct a fortress in the heart of London – left Berkhampstead, and marched towards the wealthy city on the Thames, ere long to become the capital of England.

It seemed as if the progress of the Normans would now be easy. Most men of rank and worldly discretion, especially the bishops – whose influence was strong – believed that the national cause could not be maintained, and were inclined to support Duke William as a matter of duty.

"It is needful," men said to each other, "to fall in with the times, and not to oppose the will of God, by whom the powers of the world are raised up."

But all Saxons did not take this view; and while the Normans were on their way from Berkhampstead to London, an incident occurred which gave William an idea of the hostile spirit by which many of the natives were animated. On approaching the ancient abbey of St. Alban's he found, with surprise, that numbers of huge trees had been cut down, and so disposed as to intercept the march of his army. William immediately sent for the abbot, whose name was Frithrik, and demanded the reason of this attempt to intercept his passage.

"Why," asked the Conqueror, "hast thou thus cut down thy woods?"

"I have done my duty," answered the abbot, boldly; "and had all of my order done the same, as they ought to have done, thou wouldst not have advanced so far into our country."

After having advanced near London, William, pondering the propriety of assuming the crown, held a council of war, ostensibly to discuss the means of promptly completing the conquest, but in reality to get nearer the object on which his heart had so long been set.

"It appears," said some of William's friends, addressing their chief, "that, in order to mitigate resistance, it is politic that thou shouldst assume the title of King of the English."

"No," said William, feigning an indifference which he was far from feeling; "I demand, at least, some delay. I have not come to England for my own interest alone, but for that of the whole Norman nation. And besides, if it be the will of God that I should become king, the time has not yet arrived. Too many countries and too many men have yet to be subjected."

"Yes; it is not yet time to create a king," said the Norman nobles, interpreting William's scruples literally.

"This is too modest of Duke William," said Aimery de Thouars, a captain of auxiliaries, rising and speaking with much energy. "It is too modest of him to appeal to soldiers, whether or no they will have their lord a king. Soldiers have nothing to do with questions of this nature; and our discussions only serve to retard that which, as a matter of feeling, we all so ardently desire."

After the speech of Aimery de Thouars, the Norman nobles felt bound to support the opinion he had expressed; and it was unanimously resolved that William should be crowned before proceeding farther with the work of the conquest. Accordingly, he entered London, took up his residence at the Tower, and ordered the necessary preparations to be made for the ceremony.