Trent at Newark. News had reached the locals of the great victory at Stamford Bridge, and the King was greeted with loud cheers as he approached the walls of the burgh. He acknowledged the gifts of food from the local burghers, but passed straight through, hoping to camp further south on the road to London.
‘These Mercians seem genuine in their affection for you, sire.’
‘It is never the people who make life difficult for kings, Hereward. It is their leaders who plot and scheme; it is their ambitions that are at the root of mischief. All the people want is peace and food in their bellies.’
Hereward’s admiration for his king, a monarch not of royal blood but nevertheless a great leader, grew by the day. ‘Sire, do you think that a kingdom can ever be stronger than the tribal loyalties of its people?’
‘Yes, I hope so. As in Roman times, or under Alfred, people will readily lend their allegiance to something far greater than their tribe. If their leaders bring them peace and prosperity, they will follow them.’
‘Torfida and I often talk about the Greeks and the Romans and how they believed that people could govern themselves according to principles enshrined in laws and codes of honour.’
‘That is my dream for England, Hereward. We are a new people, mere infants compared to the civilizations of antiquity. But England is a rich land with strong people of many races; perhaps we can create a way of life that will be admired like those of Greece and Rome.’
‘That is a laudable ambition, my Lord, but it needs men like you to achieve it.’
‘But it also needs men like you, Hereward, and women like Torfida. Great civilizations are built by people of intelligence, wisdom and courage, not just by kings.’
Hereward longed to tell Torfida about the King’s leadership and how well he carried the Talisman. Soon he would have the opportunity he craved; the King had sent word to Glastonbury that their families should join them in London. He had also sent a messenger to Winchester to summon Edith Swan-Neck. Harold knew that it would be an opportunity for them to say farewell to those who would face the impending challenge from Duke William.
Dusk was fast approaching when Harold’s scouts returned with news that there was a suitable clearing ahead for a night camp. The scouts were not alone. A captain of the housecarls of Earl Gyrth, accompanied by two sergeants-at-arms, had met them on the road. Their horses had been ridden hard for many hours and Harold and his entourage guessed immediately what their news would be.
‘Sire… William, Duke of Normandy, landed a large invasion force at Pevensey two days ago. There was no resistance and they are already on the rampage, looting, burning and desecrating wherever they go. They are executing the priests; whole villages of menfolk are being murdered, the women raped, even boys as young as twelve are being cut down.’
The King visibly flinched at the news. ‘Thank you for your report, Captain. How many are there in William’s force?’
‘Sire, Lord Gyrth’s scouts are counting now, but an elderly local man, who served with King Edward’s housecarls, estimated about ten thousand: at least three thousand cavalry and six thousand infantry.’
There was a stunned silence at the size of the Duke’s invasion force. It confirmed the King’s most pessimistic prediction.
‘Captain, rest your horses and get some sleep. Hereward, send Martin Lightfoot to see what he can tell us of the Normans’ plans.’
Hereward gave Martin detailed instructions about what was needed. The King ordered fresh horses to be brought up so that he and his personal bodyguard of two squadrons could push on to London. He left instructions for his force from Stamford Bridge to come on as quickly as it could and for the entire army to assemble in London in five days’ time, six at the most.
Before Harold arrived in London, he went to Waltham Abbey to pray; it was a special place for the King. It contained the Holy Rood, a flint cross, found, it was rumoured, in an ancient ruin by a tenant of Harold’s in the Somerset village of Montacute. Two teams of oxen were sent to take the cross to Glastonbury Abbey but — again, according to local legend — the oxen refused to travel north and carried the cross eastwards across the whole of southern England to the ancient Saxon settlement of Waltham in Essex. Harold had built a fine church to house the relic and endowed an abbey and a community of monks. The church had been consecrated by Harold in 1060 and, since then, pilgrims had flocked from all over Europe to pray to the Holy Rood. Now, a king in a dire plight was one of them. He was accompanied by Edith Swan-Neck and spent most of the afternoon praying and listening to the plainchant of the assembled community. In the evening, Abbot Aethelsinge said a private mass for them at the high altar.
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
