XVII Harold’s Host
As Harold, after his victory over the Norwegians, left York to hasten to London, he summoned the men of the provinces through which he passed to arm in defence of their country. The Anglo-Saxons obeyed the summons with the utmost possible celerity, and bands of armed men were soon on their way to the capital. But Harold’s conduct ruined all. With a rashness of which even Tostig would hardly, under such circumstances, have been guilty, he resolved to venture on a battle before the great Anglo-Saxon nobles and their fighting-men came up; and, accompanied by his brothers, Gurth and Leofwine, he left the capital at the head of an army composed mainly of Kentishmen and Londoners, utterly inferior both in numbers and discipline to the force arrayed under the banner of his potent foe.
Elate with the success of his arms at Stamford Bridge, and probably deluding himself with the idea that he could conquer William as he had conquered Hardrada, Harold marched with fierce rapidity till he was within seven miles of the Norman camp. But convinced, at that stage, of the impossibility of coming on William unawares, he changed his tactics, halted near the village then known as Epiton, took possession of some hilly ground, and fortified his position with ditches, palisades, ramparts of slates, and willow hurdles. Thus strongly intrenched, he resolved to stand on the defensive.
Meanwhile, some spies, sent to make observations on the hostile army, and bring intelligence of the disposition and force of the Normans, returned to the camp, and gave their report.
“There are more priests,” said the spies, “in Duke William’s camp, than there are fighting men on the English side.”
“Ah,” said Harold, with a smile, “you have mistaken warriors for priests, because the Normans shave their beards, and wear their hair short. Those whom you saw in such numbers are not priests, but brave soldiers, who will soon show us what they are worth.”
“It seems to us,” said some of the Saxon chiefs, on whom the report of the spies, doubtless, was not without effect, “that we should act prudently in avoiding a battle for the present, and retreating towards London, ravaging the country as we go, and thus starving out the foreigners.”
“I cannot ravage the country which has been committed to my care,” answered Harold. “By my faith, that were indeed treason; and I prefer taking the chances of battle with my courage, my good cause, and the few men I have.”
But ere long the Saxon chiefs had reason to doubt the goodness of Harold’s cause. While this conversation as to the expediency of a retreat was taking place, a monk from William arrived with a message for Harold, and found his way to the presence of the Saxon king.
“William, Duke of Normandy,” said the monk, addressing Harold, “requires thee to do one of three things: either to surrender to him, the crown of England; or to submit your quarrel to the arbitration of the pope; or to refer its decision to the chances of a single combat.”
“And my answer,” said Harold, briefly, “is, that I will not resign the crown; I will not refer the matter to the pope; and a single combat I will not fight.”
“Then,” said the monk, solemnly, “Duke William denounces thee as perjurer and liar; and all who support thee are excommunicated. The papal bull is in the Norman tent.”
The mention of excommunication produced an instantaneous effect on the Saxon chiefs, and they looked at each other like men suddenly seized with superstitious terror.
“This is a business of great danger,” they murmured.
“Whatever the danger may be, we ought to fight,” said a thane; “for here is not a question of receiving a new lord as if our king were dead; the matter in hand is very different. William of Normandy has given our lands to his barons and his people, most of whom have already rendered him homage for them. They come not only to ruin us, but to ruin our descendants also, and to take from us the country of our ancestors.”
“It is true,” cried the Saxons, recovering their courage. “Let us neither make peace, truce, nor treaty with the invader.”
“Let us swear,” cried all, “to drive out the Normans, or die in the attempt.”
An oath was accordingly taken by the Saxon chiefs. But when their enthusiasm evaporated, the thought of fighting for national existence under the auspices of a man branded as “perjurer and liar” troubled every conscience. Even Harold’s brothers could not conceal their uneasiness, and Gurth frankly and honestly expressed his sentiments.
“Harold,” said Gurth, “let me persuade you not to be present in the battle, but to return to London and seek fresh reinforcements, while we sustain the Norman’s attack.”
“And why?” asked Harold.
“Thou canst not deny,” replied Gurth, “that, whether on compulsion or willingly, thou hast sworn an oath to Duke William upon the relics of saints. Why risk a combat with a perjury against thee? For us, who have taken no oath, the war is just: we defend our country. Leave us, then, to fight the battle. If we retreat, thou canst aid us; if we fall, thou canst avenge us.”
“My duty,” said Harold, “forbids me to remain apart while others risk their lives.”
The night of Friday, the 13th of October, had now come, and by the Saxons little doubt was entertained that the Norman duke would attack them on the morrow. Nor was their anticipation incorrect. Indeed, William had intimated to his army that next day would be a day of battle; and, while the Norman warriors prepared their arms, Norman monks and priests prayed, and chanted litanies, and confessed the soldiers, and administered the sacrament.
The Saxons passed the night in a far different and much less devout manner. It seems that the 14th of October was the day of Harold’s nativity, and that the Saxons, eager to celebrate such an occasion, or hailing it as a fair excuse for carousing, dedicated the night to joviality. Around their fires wine and ale flowed in abundance, and men, grouped in large circles, sang national ballads, and filled and emptied horns and flagons with a reckless indifference to the probability that next morning their ideas would be confused and their nerves disordered.
And thus, almost face to face with the Normans, and soon to be hand to hand, the Saxons, under King Harold’s standard, beheld the break of that day on which, against fearful odds, they were to fight a battle for the sovereignty of England.