CHAPTER VI.
The rest of that day, and the whole of the next, were consumed by both
armaments in the completion of their preparations.
William was willing to delay the engagement as long as he could; for
he was not without hope that Harold might abandon his formidable
position, and become the assailing party; and, moreover, he wished to
have full time for his prelates and priests to inflame to the utmost,
by their representations of William's moderation in his embassy, and
Harold's presumptuous guilt in rejection, the fiery fanaticism of all
enlisted under the gonfanon of the Church.
On the other hand, every delay was of advantage to Harold, in giving
him leisure to render his entrenchments yet more effectual, and to
allow time for such reinforcements as his orders had enjoined, or the
patriotism of the country might arouse; but, alas! those
reinforcements were scanty and insignificant; a few stragglers in the
immediate neighborhood arrived, but no aid came from London, no
indignant country poured forth a swarming population. In fact, the
very fame of Harold, and the good fortune that had hitherto attended
his arms, contributed to the stupid lethargy of the people. That he
who had just subdued the terrible Norsemen, with the mighty Hardrada
at their head, should succumb to those dainty "Frenchmen," as they
chose to call the Normans; of whom, in their insular ignorance of the
continent, they knew but little, and whom they had seen flying in all
directions at the return of Godwin; was a preposterous demand on the
imagination.
Nor was this all: in London, there had already formed a cabal in
favour of the Atheling. The claims of birth can never be so wholly
set aside, but what, even for the most unworthy heir of an ancient
line, some adherents will be found. The prudent traders thought it
best not to engage actively on behalf of the reigning King, in his
present combat with the Norman pretender; a large number of would-be
statesmen thought it best for the country to remain for the present
neutral. Grant the worst--grant that Harold were defeated or slain;
would it not be wise to reserve their strength to support the
Atheling? William might have some personal cause of quarrel against
Harold, but he could have none against Edgar; he might depose the son
of Godwin, but could he dare to depose the descendant of Cerdic, the
natural heir of Edward? There is reason to think that Stigand, and a
large party of the Saxon Churchmen, headed this faction.
But the main causes for defection were not in adherence to one chief
or to another. They were to be found in selfish inertness, in
stubborn conceit, in the long peace, and the enervate superstition
which had relaxed the sinews of the old Saxon manhood; in that
indifference to things ancient, which contempt for old names and races
engendered; that timorous spirit of calculation, which the over-regard
for wealth had fostered; which made men averse to leave trade and farm
for the perils of the field, and jeopardise their possessions if the
foreigner should prevail.
Accustomed already to kings of a foreign race, and having fared well
under Canute, there were many who said, "What matters who sits on the
throne? the king must be equally bound by our laws." Then too was
heard the favourite argument of all slothful minds: "Time enough yet!
one battle lost is not England won. Marry, we shall turn out fast
eno' if Harold be beaten."
Add to all these causes for apathy and desertion, the haughty
jealousies of the several populations not yet wholly fused into one
empire. The Northumbrian Danes, untaught even by their recent escape
from the Norwegian, regarded with ungrateful coldness a war limited at
present to the southern coasts; and the vast territory under Mercia
was, with more excuse, equally supine; while their two young Earls,
too new in their command to have much sway with their subject
populations, had they been in their capitals, had now arrived in
London; and there lingered, making head, doubtless, against the
intrigues in favour of the Atheling;--so little had Harold's marriage
with Aldyth brought him, at the hour of his dreadest need, the power
for which happiness had been resigned!
Nor must we put out of account, in summing the causes which at this
awful crisis weakened the arm of England, the curse of slavery amongst
the theowes, which left the lowest part of the population wholly
without interest in the defense of the land. Too late--too late for
all but unavailing slaughter, the spirit of the country rose amidst
the violated pledges, but under the iron heel, of the Norman Master!
Had that spirit put forth all its might for one day with Harold, where
had been the centuries of bondage! Oh, shame to the absent--All
blessed those present! There was no hope for England out of the
scanty lines of the immortal army encamped on the field of Hastings.
There, long on earth, and vain vaunts of poor pride, shall be kept the
roll of the robber-invaders. In what roll are your names, holy Heroes
of the Soil? Yes, may the prayer of the Virgin Queen be registered on
high; and assoiled of all sin, O ghosts of the glorious Dead, may ye
rise from your graves at the trump of the angel; and your names, lost
on earth, shine radiant and stainless amidst the Hierarchy of Heaven!
Dull came the shades of evening, and pale through the rolling clouds
glimmered the rising stars; when,--all prepared, all arrayed,--Harold
sat with Haco and Gurth, in his tent; and before them stood a man,
half French by origin, who had just returned from the Norman camp.
"So thou didst mingle with the men undiscovered?" said the King.
"No, not undiscovered, my lord. I fell in with a knight, whose name I
have since heard as that of Mallet de Graville, who wilily seemed to
believe in what I stated, and who gave me meat and drink, with
debonnair courtesy. Then said he abruptly,--'Spy from Harold, thou
hast come to see the strength of the Norman. Thou shalt have thy
will--follow me.' Therewith he led me, all startled I own, through
the lines; and, O King, I should deem them indeed countless as the
sands, and resistless as the waves, but that, strange as it may seem
to thee, I saw more monks than warriors."
"How! thou jestest!" said Gurth, surprised.
"No; for thousands by thousands, they were praying and kneeling; and
their heads were all shaven with the tonsure of priests."
"Priests are they not," cried Harold, with his calm smile, "but
doughty warriors and dauntless knights." Then he continued his
questions to the spy; and his smile vanished at the accounts, not only
of the numbers of the force, but their vast provision of missiles, and
the almost incredible proportion of their cavalry.
As soon as the spy had been dismissed, the King turned to his kinsmen.
"What think you?" he said; "shall we judge ourselves of the foe? The
night will be dark anon--our steeds are fleet--and not shod with iron
like the Normans;--the sward noiseless--What think you?"
"A merry conceit," cried the blithe Leofwine. "I should like much to
see the boar in his den, ere he taste of my spear-point."
"And I," said Gurth, "do feel so restless a fever in my veins that I
would fain cool it by the night air. Let us go: I know all the ways
of the country; for hither have I come often with hawk and hound. But
let us wait yet till the night is more hushed and deep."
The clouds had gathered over the whole surface of the skies, and there
hung sullen; and the mists were cold and grey on the lower grounds,
when the four Saxon chiefs set forth on their secret and perilous
enterprise.
"Knights and riders took they none,
Squires and varlets of foot not one;
All unarmed of weapon and weed,
Save the shield, and spear, and the sword at need." [258]
Passing their own sentinels, they entered a wood, Gurth leading the
way, and catching glimpses, through the irregular path, of the blazing
lights, that shone red over the pause of the Norman war.
William had moved on his army to within about two miles from the
farthest outpost of the Saxon, and contracted his lines into compact
space; the reconnoiterers were thus enabled, by the light of the links
and watchfires, to form no inaccurate notion of the formidable foe
whom the morrow was to meet. The ground [259] on which they stood was
high, and in the deep shadow of the wood; with one of the large dykes
common to the Saxon boundaries in front, so that, even if discovered,
a barrier not easily passed lay between them and the foe.
In regular lines and streets extended huts of branches for the meaner
soldiers, leading up, in serried rows but broad vistas, to the tents
of the knights, and the gaudier pavilions of the counts and prelates.
There, were to be seen the flags of Bretagne and Anjou, of Burgundy,
of Flanders, even the ensign of France, which the volunteers from that
country had assumed; and right in the midst of this Capital of War,
the gorgeous pavilion of William himself, with a dragon of gold before
it, surmounting the staff, from which blazed the Papal gonfanon. In
every division they heard the anvils of the armourers, the measured
tread of the sentries, the neigh and snort of innumerable steeds. And
along the lines, between hut and tent, they saw tall shapes passing to
and from the forge and smithy, bearing mail, and swords, and shafts.
No sound of revel, no laugh of wassail was heard in the consecrated
camp; all was astir, but with the grave and earnest preparations of
thoughtful men. As the four Saxons halted silent, each might have
heard, through the remoter din, the other's painful breathing.
At length, from two tents, placed to the right and left of the Duke's
pavilion, there came a sweet tinkling sound, as of deep silver bells.
At that note there was an evident and universal commotion throughout
the armament. The roar of the hammers ceased; and from every green
hut and every grey tent, swarmed the host. Now, rows of living men
lined the camp-streets, leaving still a free, though narrow passage in
the midst. And, by the blaze of more than a thousand torches, the
Saxons saw processions of priests, in their robes and aubes, with
censer and rood, coming down the various avenues. As the priests
paused, the warriors knelt; and there was a low murmur as if of
confession, and the sign of lifted hands, as if in absolution and
blessing. Suddenly, from the outskirts of the camp, and full in
sight, emerged, from one of the cross lanes, Odo of Bayeux himself, in
his white surplice, and the cross in his right hand. Yea, even to the
meanest and lowliest soldiers of the armament, whether taken from
honest craft and peaceful calling, or the outpourings of Europe's
sinks and sewers, catamarans from the Alps, and cut-throats from the
Rhine,--yea, even among the vilest and the meanest, came the anointed
brother of the great Duke, the haughtiest prelate in Christendom,
whose heart even then was fixed on the Pontiff's throne--there he
came, to absolve, and to shrive, and to bless. And the red watchfires
streamed on his proud face and spotless robes, as the Children of
Wrath knelt around the Delegate of Peace.
Harold's hand clenched firm on the arm of Gurth, and his old scorn of
the monk broke forth in his bitter smile and his muttered words. But
Gurth's face was sad and awed.
And now, as the huts and the canvas thus gave up the living, they
could indeed behold the enormous disparity of numbers with which it
was their doom to contend, and, over those numbers, that dread
intensity of zeal, that sublimity of fanaticism, which from one end of
that war-town to the other, consecrated injustice, gave the heroism of
the martyr to ambition, and blended the whisper of lusting avarice
with the self-applauses of the saint!
Not a word said the four Saxons. But as the priestly procession
glided to the farther quarters of the armament, as the soldiers in
their neighbourhood disappeared within their lodgments, and the
torches moved from them to the more distant vistas of the camp, like
lines of retreating stars, Gurth heaved a heavy sigh, and turned his
horse's head from the scene.
But scarce had they gained the centre of the wood, than there rose, as
from the heart of the armament, a swell of solemn voices. For the
night had now come to the third watch [260], in which, according to
the belief of the age, angel and fiend were alike astir, and that
church-division of time was marked and hallowed by a monastic hymn.
Inexpressibly grave, solemn, and mournful came the strain through the
drooping boughs, and the heavy darkness of the air; and it continued
to thrill in the ears of the riders till they had passed the wood, and
the cheerful watchfires from their own heights broke upon them to
guide their way. They rode rapidly, but still in silence, past their
sentries; and, ascending the slopes, where the force lay thick, how
different were the sounds that smote them! Round the large fires the
men grouped in great circles, with the ale-horns and flagons passing
merrily from hand to hand; shouts of drink-hael and was-hael, bursts
of gay laughter, snatches of old songs, old as the days of Athelstan,
--varying, where the Anglo-Danes lay, into the far more animated and
kindling poetry of the Pirate North,--still spoke of the heathen time
when War was a joy, and Valhalla was the heaven.
"By my faith," said Leofwine brightening; "these are sounds and sights
that do a man's heart good, after those doleful ditties, and the long
faces of the shavelings. I vow by St. Alban, that I felt my veins
curdling into ice-bolts, when that dirge came through the woodholt.
Hollo, Sexwolf, my tall man, lift us up that full horn of thine, and
keep thyself within the pins, Master Wassailer; we must have steady
feet and cool heads to-morrow."
Sexwolf, who, with a band of Harold's veterans, was at full carousal,
started up at the young Earl's greetings, and looked lovingly into his
smiling face as he reached him the horn.
"Heed what my brother bids thee, Sexwolf," said Harold severely; "the
hands that draw shafts against us to-morrow will not tremble with the
night's wassail."
"Nor ours either, my lord the King," said Sexwolf, boldly; "our heads
can bear both drink and blows,--and--(sinking his voice into a
whisper) the rumour runs that the odds are so against us, that I would
not, for all thy fair brother's earldoms, have our men other than
blithe tonight."
Harold answered not, but moved on, and coming then within full sight
of the bold Saxons of Kent, the unmixed sons of the Saxon soil, and
the special favourers of the House of Godwin, so affectionate, hearty,
and cordial was their joyous shout of his name, that he felt his
kingly heart leap within him. Dismounting, he entered the circle, and
with the august frankness of a noble chief, nobly popular, gave to all
cheering smile and animating word. That done, he said more gravely:
"In less than an hour, all wassail must cease,--my bodes will come
round; and then sound sleep, my brave merry men, and lusty rising with
the lark!"
"As you will, as you will, dear our King," cried Vebba, as spokesman
for the soldiers. "Fear us not--life and death, we are yours."
"Life and death yours, and freedom's," cried the Kent men.
Coming now towards the royal tent beside the standard, the discipline
was more perfect, and the hush decorous. For round that standard were
both the special body-guard of the King, and the volunteers from
London and Middlesex; men more intelligent than the bulk of the army,
and more gravely aware, therefore, of the might of the Norman sword.
Harold entered his tent, and threw himself on his couch, in deep
reverie; his brothers and Haco watched him silently. At length, Gurth
approached; and, with a reverence rare in the familiar intercourse
between the two, knelt at his brother's side, and taking Harold's hand
in his, looked him full in the face, his eyes moist with tears, and
said thus:
"Oh, Harold! never prayer have I asked of thee, that thou hast not
granted: grant me this! sorest of all, it may be, to grant, but most
fitting of all for me to press. Think not, O beloved brother, O
honoured King, think not that it is with slighting reverence, that I
lay rough hand on the wound deepest at thy heart. But, however
surprised or compelled, sure it is that thou didst make oath to
William, and upon the relics of saints; avoid this battle, for I see
that thought is now within thy soul; that thought haunted thee in the
words of the monk to-day; in the sight of that awful camp to-night;--
avoid this battle! and do not thyself stand in arms against the man to
whom the oath was pledged!"
"Gurth, Gurth!" exclaimed Harold, pale and writhing.
"We," continued his brother, "we at least have taken no oath, no
perjury is charged against us; vainly the thunders of the Vatican are
launched on our heads. Our war is just: we but defend our country.
Leave us, then, to fight to-morrow; thou retire towards London and
raise fresh armies; if we win, the danger is past; if we lose, thou
wilt avenge us. And England is not lost while thou survivest."
"Gurth, Gurth!" again exclaimed Harold, in a voice piercing in its
pathos of reproach.
"Gurth counsels well," said Haco, abruptly; "there can be no doubt of
the wisdom of his words. Let the King's kinsmen lead the troops; let
the King himself with his guard hasten to London and ravage and lay
waste the country as he retreats by the way [261]; so that even if
William beat us, all supplies will fail him; he will be in a land
without forage, and victory here will aid him nought; for you, my
liege, will have a force equal to his own, ere he can march to the
gates of London."
"Faith and troth, the young Haco speaks like a greybeard; he hath not
lived in Rouen for nought," quoth Leofwine. "Hear him, my Harold, and
leave us to shave the Normans yet more closely than the barber hath
already shorn."
Harold turned ear and eye to each of the speakers, and, as Leofwine
closed, he smiled.
"Ye have chid me well, kinsmen, for a thought that had entered into my
mind ere ye spake"--
Gurth interrupted the King, and said anxiously:
"To retreat with the whole army upon London, and refuse to meet the
Norman till with numbers more fairly matched!"
"That had been my thought," said Harold, surprised.
"Such for a moment, too, was mine," said Gurth, sadly; "but it is too
late. Such a measure, now, would have all the disgrace of flight, and
bring none of the profits of retreat. The ban of the Church would get
wind; our priests, awed and alarmed, might wield it against us; the
whole population would be damped and disheartened; rivals to the crown
might start up; the realm be divided. No, it is impossible!"
"Impossible," said Harold, calmly. "And if the army cannot retreat,
of all men to stand firm, surely it is the captain and the King. I,
Gurth, leave others to dare the fate from which I fly! I give weight
to the impious curse of the Pope, by shrinking from its idle blast! I
confirm and ratify the oath, from which all law must absolve me, by
forsaking the cause of the land, which I purify myself when I guard!
I leave to others the agony of the martyrdom or the glory of the
conquest! Gurth, thou art more cruel than the Norman! And I, son of
Sweyn, I ravage the land committed to my charge, and despoil the
fields which I cannot keep! Oh, Haco, that indeed were to be the
traitor and the recreant! No, whatever the sin of my oath, never will
I believe that Heaven can punish millions for the error of one man.
Let the bones of the dead war against us; in life, they were men like
ourselves, and no saints in the calendar so holy as the freemen who
fight for their hearths and their altars. Nor do I see aught to alarm
us even in these grave human odds. We have but to keep fast these
entrenchments; preserve, man by man, our invincible line; and the
waves will but split on our rock: ere the sun set to-morrow, we shall
see the tide ebb, leaving, as waifs, but the dead of the baffled
invader."
"Fare ye well, loving kinsmen; kiss me, my brothers; kiss me on the
cheek, my Haco. Go now to your tents. Sleep in peace and wake with
the trumpet to the gladness of noble war!"
Slowly the Earls left the King; slowest of all the lingering Gurth;
and when all were gone, and Harold was alone, he threw round a rapid,
troubled glance, and then, hurrying to the simple imageless crucifix
that stood on its pedestal at the farther end of the tent, he fell on
his knees, and faltered out, while his breast heaved, and his frame
shook with the travail of his passion:
"If my sin be beyond a pardon, my oath without recall, on me, on me, O
Lord of Hosts, on me alone the doom. Not on them, not on them--not on
England!"
