Part 1
Near York, September 24th 1066
Men rode in silence, unable to engage in the common chatter of an army on the march as we pounded along the great Roman Road that ran up the heart of England like a spine. I found myself riding near to the man running my kingdom and I found that I was not envious of his position; we had all feared the Normans, knowing their outlandish claims for their Duke would lead to an inevitable invasion. And Harold had gathered that fyrd and waited over the summer for the Normans to arrive,
And yet they never came. High summer came and went and men started to beg the King to return to their homes, to tend the harvest. And seeing no enemy Harold had acquiesced to their requests. And then the news that stunned everyone - the great Viking raid of the North. There are very few left alive today who witnessed the event that permanently altered the shape of our country and the story that is now told bears little resemblance to what really happens. Those who come to see me to ask about the distant past refuse to believe that the cause of the raid was simple greed.
The King was riding with his brothers and 2 eldest sons and regardless of the situation was still riding straight in the saddle and did not look phased. Despite wanting to hate him, I had found myself admiring the man’s confidence and easy charm. Now, I realise that I never stood a chance of convincing anyone that Harold should not have been King in 1066.
Harold was a tall, broadly built man with a powerful frame. He had an open and honest face that was quick to smile. He had a mound of shaggy looking fair hair and piercing set of blue eyes. And it was these eyes that turned to look at me and cause a faint flicker of amusement to cross his face.
“Ætheling. How are you finding your first taste of war?” Harold always called me Ætheling. At first I had bridled and taken offence - certain that he was mocking me. But I had come to realise that he actually meant it as a sign of respect.
“I had not expected war to hurt my arse so much” I shifted uncomfortably in my saddle. It was not that I was not used to riding a horse, for I had been able to do that for as long as I can remember. It was spending 8 days and nights in the saddle that was my undoing.
“Or my balls, for that matter.” I added as a somewhat unnecessary afterthought.
Harold laughed. I think he liked my answer and on top of that, I think he liked me. To this day men cannot believe that we would or could like each other. But it was the truth. As Harold laughed, so did his brother and younger son, Eadmund. His elder son however, just glared at me, the corners of his mouth curled with distaste giving him a sneering, mocking expression.
Godwine didn’t like me. Not then, not ever. He had inherited his father’s height but little else. Whereas Harold was a broad, powerful face man, Godwine was wiry and thin. He had short, cropped brown hair and dark brown eyes that appeared to me to be in sunken in his face and whenever he looked at me they shone with malevolence and resentment. His face was etched in a permanent scowl that did not improve when he smiled and was not helped by his crooked nose.
At the time, I did not understand the reason for his dislike but it was there from the start. During the summer Godwine and Eadmund had attempted to beat me one evening when they were bored. They wanted to show me that in my time away - their family was the power in England, not mine. It was then I gave Godwine his crooked nose as I beat him to a pulp whilst Eadmund and I fought each to a standstill. With Eadmund? We had developed a grudging and mutual respect. With Godwine? It was mutual loathing.
I later came to understand it was because Godwine feared me. Although Harold had been chosen by the witan, Godwine was worried about the future. As Harold’s eldest he had his families’ best claim to succeed as the next King. Yet I was a threat; I still held the claim of my family, I had started to be noticed for my skill as a warrior - even though I was untested and most importantly men liked me.
All of this was irrelevant however as Harold inclined his head, telling me to ride forward with him out of earshot of the others. I lazily urged my horse to increase its pace slightly and angled it off the main road and into the tall lush grass that was creeping over the outskirts of the distinctive path, disturbing a number of butterflies that had stop to rest in the hot late summer sun and who fluttered up in a blaze of colour. Pausing a few moments to be certain we were out of earshot Harold turned his head towards me and smiled.
“And what do you think of our current plan?” he asked me, waiting passively for my response. I searched for some trap in the question but could see none, although I was unsure why he was asking my opinion. He lead, not me.
“It seems sound enough. The Vikings are at their weakest between landing and establishing a foothold. History teaches us that. We trap them at this point and destroy them. Simple” I eventually found my voice and confidence.
Harold gave a small nod without thinking.
“You’ll find that war is never that simple, but I agree Ætheling. Though, I would since it was my plan after all!’ Harold gave me a broad smile. I grinned back. ‘My son is inclined to agree with you as well.”
“Godwine?” I asked in astonishment. Nothing I’d seen from the pig so far had suggested sound military thinking on his part. The brief frown on Harold’s face that was the response to my question gave me the answer before he spoke.
“No. Eadmund. Godwine advises caution.” Harold smiled wryly “It has its place of course, but not here, not now.”
We rode on in silence. Harold clearly pondering something, I still confused by the nature of the conversation. Now, I realise Harold was doing what all good leaders should; listening to the advice of his men and thegns. He did not have to follow it of course, but he listened; and for that he earned the men’s respect. It was a lesson I would have to learn the hard way.
“When we fight, Godwine will command the right flank. You will assist him.” I was startled by the King’s words as I had been watching 2 hares chase each through the field.
“What?” was the only inadequate response I could muster.
“Assist. You know. Help. Give advice. Follow orders. I thought Father Æthelbald had taught you English!”
I just stared blankly at Harold. He had to know Godwine hated me and I him. It made no sense to get us to work together. But it was a sign of Harold’s intelligence. If he made us fight together, we would have to become dependent on each other and it would tie my fate to that of his son.
“I... but... of course” I stumbled my acceptance of what was actually a high honour. Two boys, 17 and 16 were to command the right of the shield wall... and everyone knew Godwine was no fighter... so that left... me.
“And Eadgar?” The use of my name rather than Ætheling gave me cause to pause, especially as Harold’s face had hardened. “I am you King, whether you like it or not. And you will give me the respect I am owed.”
He had noticed that I alone did not call him lord. My small act of defiance, so clever, cunning and successful I thought. I was wrong.
Shamefaced I looked at the floor. “Yes Lord.”
And in silence we rode back to the column of mounted men, wearily drawing close to our inevitable confrontation with the Norseman.
Wyrd bið ful aræd
Outside York, September 25th, 1066
The clouds started to gather over the city of York, breaking the spell of late summer sun that had followed our progress. The sky took on a dark, foreboding, menacing look that reflected the mood of our assembled horsemen. We sat impassively looking down at the city and the smears of smoke that ringed it. Harold was deep in conversation with his brothers - Gyrth and Leofwine and a host of the country’s great lords sat around anxiously awaiting some kind of decision from the King. I was sat on my horse with Father Æthelbald stood beside me. He had accompanied the army to give it religious guidance and support before battle, which awaited us before York.
For the Norse were ready and waiting.
I have often wondered what might have been if Harold’s original plan had come to fruition. Since discovering of the Norse arrival in the North, Harold had organised his response with phenomenal speed. He had assembled the core of our army and marched them North in 8 days. It should have taken closer to 2 weeks. The Norse should have been spread out across the country looting and pillaging and our army should have fallen upon them likes wolves on the sheep. But there they were. An unbroken shield wall barring the way to York and more men gathered in one place than I had seen. There would be no easy victory that day.
“Impressive, don’t you think?” Father Æthelbald asked me, his voice quiet with resigned admiration. He knew this was the 1st full shield wall I had seen.
“I suppose.” I tried to mask my fear. The last rays on the sun, peaking through the gaps in the clouds reflected of the mail and weapons of the thousands of men down below. The banners that had been hanging limply started to flutter in the air. There were all kinds of symbols to show the great lords of Norway that had come. There were all kinds of Dragons, lions, flowers, wolves, eagles, axes and boats starting to flutter in the wind. But the centre of the Norse line was dominated by the largest banner I had ever seen; men called it the Landøyðan or Land waster. The flag was roughly triangular, with a rounded outside edge on which there hung a series of tassels. In the top left of the banner flew with wings outspread a raven as black as night. It was the banner of Harald Hardrada - one of the most feared men in Europe, who was supposed to have never lost a battle when the raven banner flew.
“Eadgar - your eyes are sharper than mine - what is that red banner, the one near the raven?” Father Æthelbald squinted into the distance trying to make out the smaller banner that was almost hidden by the raven banner.
“It looks like a white warrior on a red background with a raised ax...’ I paused mid sentence to look over at the banner behind the King. It was the same. ‘It’s the King’s banner.” I finished lamely.
“So Tostig has joined Hardrada.” Father Æthelbald sighed. The fall from grace of Harold’s younger brother the previous summer had been dramatic and for a time - hinted at civil war. During the course of this summer Tostig and a few followers and raided their way up the east coast of England, but were more of a nuisance than a real problem. But it seemed there had been a greater menace all along.
“That boy was always an impulsive fool. How can he betray our people like this?” Father Æthelbald started to raise his voice as his anger grew; drawing curious glances from the men around us. I merely shrugged. It was not the first time in our history that the ruling family had attempted to destroy itself. If I was not living proof of this fact, nothing else was!
“Come on Father, mount up.” I had noticed the movement from the Norse lines by the central banners and had half a feeling I knew what was coming. Father Æthelbald was still busy muttering to himself about the indignities of Tostig’s betrayal and so did not notice, nor object to my telling him what to do. My inclination was right. A small group of horseman was riding forward from the Norse lines and Harold followed by his small retinue had moved forward to meet them. I was curious to see what happened and decided to follow. Halfway between leaving the rest of the English army and the meeting between the 2 Kings, Father Æthelbald finally noticed what we were doing.
“Wait! Eadgar! Stop! We cannot be part of these talks! We have no right!” His voice carried a high note of panic at the thought of me gate crashing the talks.
“No one’s told me that we can’t go Father. And after all... I am the Ætheling!” I gave him a wicked grin. He was entirely correct, of course. I had no right to attend, but although I was suitable chastised by Harold the day before, I still had the pride and arrogance of youth. So we kept moving and stopped behind Harold and waited for the Norse delegation. And then my jaw dropped; for I saw Harald Hardrada up close for the first time.
He had dismounted and was leading his large black horse by the reins. Despite that he was nearly as tall as Father Æthelbald still sat on his horse. He had a thick, muscular frame which filled out the chainmail armour he was wearing. He wore no helmet and his long fair hair fell loose around his back; his beard was thick and fell down his chest and both were streaked with grey. Strangely, he seemed to have one eyebrow raised in mock amusement and it took me some time to realise that this seemed to be a permanent condition. He stopped walking and folded his arms, which were crisscrossed with a lattice of scar tissue that showed the years of fighting and wounds he had taken. His dark grey eyes peered out like 2 slabs of granite and gave his face a dark and brooding look. Despite being 51 years old it was clear that he was still a formidable warrior. There was an uncomfortable pause as Harold and Harald waited for each other to make the first move.
Harold dismounted and moved towards Hardrada, who was a clear head taller than Harold, one of the tallest men I had met. Hardrada gave a broad smile, showing that he was missing a range of teeth.
“My Lord. It is so nice of you to come and join us. We have prepared ourselves to honour your arrival, as you can see!” Hardrada swept his hand behind to show the ranks of massed Norseman. He spoke English well, but his Northern accent was clear and distinct in every word he spoke.
“You do seem to have gone to a lot of trouble Lord, but you did not have to go to all this effort. I would’ve quite happily met your men as I found them.”
Hardrada laughed at that.
“I’m sure you would, but your way would’ve been a lot less fun!”
Harold raised an eyebrow. From what I had learnt of him, I guessed that he was trying not to smile.
“True as that may be, I have to ask Lord, what exactly do you and your men think you’re doing on my land?’ Harold paused to look around dramatically ‘I do not think you are busy picking wild flowers.”
“We might be’ Hardrada laughed again ‘no... But of course. We are merely here at the request of our mutual friend, my Lord.”
“Our mutual friend? You have lost me I am afraid. I was not aware that we had any mutual friends.” Harold kept his face passive as he gave a carefully considered reply. Everyone knew who Hardrada meant for he had moved to the front of the waiting Norse men. He was slightly shorter than Harold with darker hair but still had a similar appearance. It was Tostig.
“The rightful Ealdorman of Northumbria, of course. Tostig. I believe you have met.” Hardrada’s eyes narrowed and his face hardened. The crux of the negotiation had now started.
“My brother forfeited his title through his misrule and arrogance. But if he is willing to apologise to his thegns and learn from that, I am more than willing to give him his title back.” Harold stared directly at Tostig whilst he spoke now, his face an unreadable mask of composure.
“And what do I get for my help?”
“What do you want beyond the warm, fuzzy feeling you get for helping a friend?”
“How about England?” Hardrada asked with a mischievous grin
“Well. I can offer you about.... 6 feet of England. Though maybe in your case I would need to stretch to 7 feet!”
Both men laughed at that.
“You are more than welcome to try my friend, but I think you have more important issues to deal with than me. I have news of William.”
Harold’s mask slipped. His face showed confusion, anger and a touch of fear.
“I have a hard time believing that.” He regained his composure quickly.
“You move fast my friend. But my ships? Move faster. Especially with the North Easterly wind. William has sailed and will land in this country soon. So you are more than welcome to try and give me my 7 feet of England, but I ask you, is it worth the risk?” Hardrada’s eyes narrowed and he grinned in triumph. He spoke the truth, even if we did not all know it yet, and because of that he held all the cards.
It took a further 30 minutes of discussion before an agreement was reached. Neither Harald nor Tostig would get land. But they would receive silver and gold. Plenty of it, before the year was done. Harald had come at Tostig’s urging, but all we believed he really wanted was gold for his wars in Denmark - like the Vikings of old.
So one threat was dealt with and now the English army turned back on itself to march south to the fight we had been waiting for all summer. To a fateful meeting on the south coast with Duke William of Normandy.
Wyrd bið ful aræd