The next compartment in the Tapestry exhibits to us William giving audience to a messenger who announces to him the approach of Harold. The legend is, HIC NUNTIATUM EST WILLELMO DE HAROLD—Here news is brought to William respecting Harold.
Whilst these movements were going on, the inhabitants of the southern shore of Sussex were suffering severely. Not only were their cattle taken from the folds, and their recently replenished granaries emptied, but their dwellings were wantonly destroyed. Perhaps the Saxons may have provoked the vengeance of the foe, for they were not men to take quietly the spoiling of their goods. In the Tapestry we see a soldier setting fire to a house (one being the representative of many), from which a female and child are escaping—escaping from present destruction to be cast, with winter before them, houseless, friendless, and without food, upon the wide world. The sufferings of the battle field form but a small part of the horrors of war. This compartment of the work bears the inscription, HIC DOMUS INCENDITUR—Here a house is set fire to. Some outlined figures in the margin of this part of the work doubtless refer to those distressing immoralities which too often attend the march of armies.
Whilst the two armies lay within a few miles of each other several messages passed between the commanders. William was too good a soldier to risk a battle if he could avoid it. He therefore sent a tonsured monk to Harold, reminding him of his oath, and calling upon him to deliver up the kingdom. Harold, flushed with recent victory, was with difficulty restrained from cutting down the messenger; as it was, he sent him away with insults. When his rage had subsided he saw his folly, and sent an envoy, acquainted with the language of France, to duke William, offering to make him a pecuniary recompense if he would recross the sea, telling him however, if he did not, he would give him battle on the following Saturday.
Saturday, the 1st of October, was Harold’s birth day. He always regarded it as his fortunate day; and he was anxious if he did enter into mortal conflict with a desperate foe, that it should be when his propitious star was in the ascendant. Like another of England’s heroes—Oliver Cromwell—the day of his birth was to prove the day of his death.
A battle now being imminent, Gurth, the brother of Harold, was exceedingly anxious that the king should retire from the host and give the command to him. Gurth had taken no oath to William, and therefore had not the punishment of perjury to fear. Besides, if he were slain, England would still have her king; and army after army could be raised, if need be, to resist the pretensions of any invader. Harold refused to adopt the wise counsel of his brother. Though a brave man, he had not the self-command of William, nor the same power of taking an enlarged view of a subject.
The day before the battle, Harold and Gurth rode out early in the morning to descry the enemy. “They rode on, viewing and examining the ground, till, from a hill where they stood, they could see the Norman host, who were near. They saw a great many huts made of branches of trees, tents well equipped, pavilions, and gonfanons; and they heard horses neighing, and beheld the glittering of armour. They stood a long while without speaking”—and at length returned in silence to their tent. They had seen enough to awaken their apprehensions, and to make them anxious for further information. Harold, therefore, sent out two spies to reconnoitre. They fell into the hands of the Normans, who brought them to William. He used them well, and ordered them to be conducted through the host. On their return they reported that the Normans, whom they had noticed to be close shaven and cropt, were an army of priests and mass-sayers rather than knights. Harold, who knew the habits of the Normans, replied, “These are valiant knights, bold and brave warriors, though they bear not beards and mustaches as we do.”
Notwithstanding the ill success of his former representations, William persevered in negotiation. He lost no time by it, and if he did not succeed in his immediate object, he induced his observers to believe, that one who was so bent upon the investigation of his claims must have right upon his side.
On the same day that he entertained the spies of Harold, he sent a monk, learned and wise, offering Harold one of three things—that he should resign the kingdom, that he should submit to the judgment of the Pope, or meet him singly and fight body for body. Harold declined every alternative.
Next day—the day before the battle—William attempted to obtain a personal interview with Harold. Harold refused to meet him. By the messenger who brought Harold’s negative to the proposal for a meeting, William sent him word that if he would retire he would give him all Northumberland, and whatever belonged to the kingdom beyond the Humber; to his brother Gurth he promised the lands of Godwin their father. Harold rejected this also: Northumberland was nothing worth; it was chiefly peopled by Danes, and was liable to constant invasion. William, when king, could not govern Northumberland. As a matter, not of feeling, not of revenge, but of cool, calculating state policy, he swept it of every living thing—he made it a desert, and such it continued for a century after his time.
At the same time that William sent his last message, he charged the clerk who took it, in case of refusal, to sow the seeds of terror and dissatisfaction among the English. “Tell them,” said he, “that all who come with Harold, or support him in this affair, are excommunicated by the Apostle and his clergy.” This was a javelin skilfully thrown. “At this excommunication the English were much troubled; they feared it greatly, and the battle still more.”