But why does Harold’s countenance betray signs of anxiety? William has deemed the hour ripe for displaying the iron hand beneath the velvet glove. He now declares that Edward has bequeathed him the English crown, and bids Harold swear to assist him in securing it. The Englishman knows not what to do. An oath will be demanded, and this he must give, or death or life-long imprisonment will be his fate. Yet he knows full well that once in England he will forswear the oath, and ascend the throne which his countrymen deem him worthy to fill. The oath, he argues, can be of none effect, for he must swear or perish.
His decision is made. A crucifix lies on a cloth of gold, and Harold is bidden to place his hand on it and swear to aid his captor to obtain the kingdom of England after the death of Edward. Reluctantly he does so, and then the cloth of gold is removed, and beneath it are discovered all the sacred relics which William has collected from a score of churches. Harold grows pale at the sight; his strong limbs tremble, and his heart fails him. He has sworn to befriend the Norman duke by an oath of the most terrible solemnity. Even the Normans standing by cry, “God help him.”
THE EVE OF THE INVASION.
Homeward speeds Harold, and as he crosses the Channel his terror gives way to wrath at the knavery practised upon him. Speedily he banishes the hateful memory of his enforced oath; he must be up and doing, for the aged king lies on his deathbed. With his dying breath Edward declares that Harold is the most worthy to reign, and the chiefs of the land concur in his choice. Edward is buried with the utmost solemnity in his great new church at Westminster, where you may see his shrine to this day. Then, amidst the loud shouts of the English nobles who throng the minster, Harold is elected king. Forthwith he takes up the reins of office, and his subjects rejoice daily in his wisdom, justice, and unsparing devotion to the good of his country.
But what of William, the rejected candidate for the throne? He is in his park near Rouen when the trembling messenger breaks the news. His face grows clouded; he strings and unstrings his bow. Suddenly he hands it to an attendant, and hurries to his castle. In the great hall he strides to and fro, sits down and rises again, unable to remain still in any place, none daring to approach him lest the tempest of his rage should burst on them. At length a privileged baron addresses the brooding duke. “Sire,” says he, “why should you conceal from us your news? It is commonly reported that the King of England is dead, and that Harold, breaking faith with you, has seized the kingdom.” “They say true,” replies the duke; “my grief and anger are caused by Edward’s death and Harold’s wrong.” “Sire,” returns the courtier, “for Edward’s death there is no remedy, but for Harold’s wrong there is. Strike boldly; well begun is half done.”
At once William made his resolve, and began to battle with the myriad difficulties which beset him. He interviewed his barons, and wrung from them their reluctant consent to the enterprise and their grudging promises of aid, and persuaded the Pope to send him a consecrated banner and a bull recognizing him King of England. Then far and wide he published his proclamation of war, promising liberal pay and the plunder of England to all who would strike in his cause. Forthwith from every part of France knights, spearmen, and cross-bowmen flocked to him. The bulk of them were hardy adventurers, actuated by every kind of greed and covetousness. During the autumn of 1065 and the spring of the following year Normandy was as busy as a hive of bees. The woodmen felled the forests; the shipwrights wrought at the seaports; every armourer’s shop rang with the blows of artisans fashioning coats of mail, spears, and swords. Speedily all was ready for the invasion of England.
Meanwhile, what was happening in that threatened land? While the great armament of the Norman was wind-bound in port, a vast Viking host under Harold Hardrada, King of Norway, and Tostig, the English king’s brother, had doubled Spurn Head, and was sailing up the Humber and into the Ouse, bound for York. Why, you ask, should Harold’s own brother take arms against him when William of Normandy was arraying a mighty host for his undoing? Tostig had been Earl of Northumbria, and had ruled his earldom with harshness and injustice. He had forced peace on a land of feuds and outrages by taking life and by maiming limb. Loud had been the outcry against him, and Tostig had been driven from Northumbria by his incensed subjects. Harold had supported the claim of a rival; and now Tostig, at the instigation of his brother-in-law, Duke William, had persuaded the Norse king to join him in a descent upon North England. Harold, whom he had not forgiven, was to be taken between two fires, and victory seemed sure.
Harold had mustered his forces on the southern shore, and during the summer lay in wait for the coming of the Norman. Summer passed, and autumn arrived when the news reached him that the Vikings were in the Ouse. Believing that William would not sail until the spring, Harold set out for York to smite the Northern host before the Norman was ready to attack. With wonderful speed his troops marched northward, and York was reached on the fourth day after his departure from London.