could fight on even ground. Nevertheless, Harold’s army was still holding firm after two hours of vicious fighting. Harold and Hereward led by example; first on the left flank, then on the right. Both men were in the thick of the relentless struggle, as wave after wave of Norman destriers broke against the barricade of Englishmen. The defenders, although diminished in number, had lost none of their redoubtable spirit nor their renowned discipline. The sun was now low in the sky. The scales were tipping towards Harold; the courage of his housecarls was buying him the time he needed.
Then the Duke pulled off a masterstroke. Throughout the day he had been disappointed that his archers had been far less effective than he had hoped, so he tried a new tactic. He summoned the captains of his elite cavalry squadrons and his master bowmen and described to them a complex synchronized attack, where precise timing would be critical. He had made an important mental calculation about the speed of his cavalry and the length of time his arrows would be in the air.
If he got his arithmetic right, it could strike a mortal blow to the heart of the English line.
He ordered his archers to form up 100 yards behind his crossbowmen and for both to deploy in small units so that his cavalry squadrons could make their charge between their ranks. Next he ordered his squadrons to charge at full gallop and, as they passed his archers, they were to loose off the first of two rapid volleys high into the air against the English shield wall. By the time the cavalry reached the crossbowmen, they would be at full tilt. At that moment, the crossbowmen would shoot a single volley of bolts at a low trajectory. This would coincide with the English raising their shields in the testudo to protect them against the first hail of arrows from overhead, catching them in a withering cross-shoot of arrows and bolts. Usually, the testudo would deal with such a two-pronged attack with ease. However, with the Norman cavalry descending on them in overwhelming numbers, the testudo would have to break to allow the housecarls to deploy their spears against the destriers. If, at that exact moment, the second volley of arrows arrived from above, there would be slaughter — especially when, within seconds, the cavalry fell upon them.
William’s calculations were murderously precise; the timing of the Norman archers, bowmen and cavalry was perfect and Harold’s shield wall was thrown into disarray. At the vital moment in the battle, William had produced a stroke of military genius.
English reinforcements rushed forward to try and seal the devastated shield wall, exhausting Harold’s reserves. For the first time, rather than reinforcing gaps, his personal hearthtroop was heavily engaged. Two Godwinsons fell within moments of one another: Earl Leofwine took an arrow in the eye and Earl Gyrth was cut down by a formidable Norman knight who caught him in open ground.
The tide had turned.
Hereward looked at the distant trees and saw that the sun had just fallen behind the tall branches of the canopy. It was perhaps four thirty in the afternoon, but dusk had not come soon enough for the English; neither would reinforcements. The King had been right: if the day had been perhaps an hour shorter, or if 500 more housecarls had arrived from London, the outcome would have been different. William’s ploy would still have been effective, but almost certainly not decisive. The English would have had the numbers to regroup, leaving the Normans with no alternative but to take flight to the coast in search of their ships.
As their position worsened to the point of desperation, the English Fyrd melted away. William’s strategy of attrition had taken all day, but it had worked. Many of Harold’s surviving housecarls began to form a final redoubt around their King. No more than 1,000 Englishmen stood between the Normans and the greatest prize in northern Europe.
In the ever-deepening gloom, the ensuing slaughter of the Anglo-Saxon military and aristocratic elite lasted over an hour. No quarter was offered, or sought, as the protective ring around the King became smaller and smaller and the pile of corpses grew higher and higher.
Eventually, the Norman destriers were encouraged to rake away the fallen English with their hooves, so that more could be killed. Squads were despatched by the Norman sergeants of infantry to clear the ground of dead to allow yet more carnage. Harold stood at the epicentre of it all, valiantly challenging his housecarls to even greater efforts and yet more courageous resistance. Around him were the strongest and bravest of his men, determined to make the Normans pay the highest possible price for their victory. Hereward stood beside his King, as he had promised he would, matching every blow of Harold’s with one of his own, inspiring his men and writing his name into legend.
Harold remained unharmed. Hereward had been less fortunate, having taken a crossbow bolt in his thigh and one in the shoulder. He had also taken a sword slash across his chest, from which blood was seeping through his hauberk. Despite Hereward’s insistence that they make their way to safety should the battle appear lost, Martin, Einar and Alphonso remained close by.
Alphonso spoke first as the circle became tighter and tighter around the King.
‘Hereward, the day is lost. The English are finished. You must leave. We can regroup in the North and fight another day.’
‘Not while the King stands, Alphonso. He won’t leave the field and if he is to perish, then I will die by his side — ’
Martin interjected. ‘Let’s get the King away. We and his hearthtroop can fight our way out. If needs be, Einar can carry him out!’
Einar needed no second invitation and was already making for the King. He would have readily knocked him cold and thrown him over his shoulder to ensure his safety.
‘Hold!’ Hereward bellowed at his friend. ‘The King has chosen his ground. There is no retreat; I stand here with him.’
‘Then we stand with you.’
Duke William was circling the melee from a distance of about 100 yards, his Baculus dripping crimson from the punishment it had meted out. He had been heavily involved in the fighting and was now on his third mount of the day. He summoned four of his most powerful knights: Eustace of Boulogne, Hugh of Ponthieu, Walter Gifford and Hugh de Montfort.
‘The English are finished. Bring me the body of Harold, then the rest will scatter.’
The four collected discarded lances from the battlefield, raised their maces and set off at a gallop into the boiling scrum of fighting men. They made straight for the King, who was trying to seal breaches in the ring of housecarls. As the knights’ destriers bludgeoned their way towards him, Hereward was alert to the danger and brought Eustace of Boulogne to the ground by scything away the front legs of his mount with the Great Axe of Goteborg. Horse and rider hit Hereward hard as they fell, pinning him to the ground. Walter Gifford grasped the opportunity and plunged his lance through the shoulder of Hereward’s hauberk, a blow that exited below his collarbone and stuck firmly into the ground beneath him. Hereward, still trapped under the horse, quickly lost consciousness.
The knights made for the King. He had become completely isolated from his bodyguards as the massed Norman cavalry engulfed the English defenders. Surrounded by four ferocious knights, three on horseback, he stood little chance.
Hereward’s companions had a simple choice: to attempt to protect the King or to save their friend and mentor. They did not hesitate and were at Hereward’s side in an instant. While Martin lifted and pulled Hereward’s shoulders, Einar and Alphonso used their shields and spears to lever the weight of the stricken destrier, freeing him from under the animal. Mercifully, he was unconscious, so they could act without regard for pain. Einar used his great strength to break off the head of the lance and pull out its shaft, while Alphonso dragged out the arrows, tearing flesh as he did so.
The day was almost done and it was all but dark. They took their chance to escape in the gloom and the growing hysteria of the victorious Normans. Einar hauled Hereward on to his shoulder, picked up his weapons and, with Martin and Alphonso providing protection from would-be assailants, they made for the distant undergrowth, where Alphonso had tethered their horses.
Despite a prolonged and valiant resistance, his housecarls dead or facing their own demise in small pockets around the last redoubt, the four Norman assasins showed Harold no pity. After bringing him to exhaustion by their onslaught, they taunted him with their lances, piercing his flesh as a hag would stick pins in a clay effigy. They smashed his head and body with their maces, and then impaled him on their lances as if they were skewering a wild pig. Finally, while he still lived, they hacked him to pieces with their swords.
Harold’s gruesome death did not have the effect anticipated by Duke William. Its savagery roused the
