So far the wily Norman duke had succeeded, and he was now resolved to make assurance doubly sure. In both instances he had won. And now we see the third act of this "eventful history" revealing duke William seated upon his throne in the castle of Bayeux; he is surrounded by his nobles. Harold, who is ushered into his presence, has not a friend amongst the number. William does not yet want "his pound of flesh;" but he is resolved to test the validity of the bond he has possessed himself of. He objects not to the signature, but wishes others to be witness that it is the handwriting of Harold—this admitted, he is willing to await the time of payment, and lock it up in that great iron-safe—his heart. Not content with living witnesses, this ancient Shylock summoned the dead to add solemnity to the oath he was about to administer. Had the bones of Godwin been in Normandy, there is but little doubt William would have dug them up as dumb witnesses. They were not; so he collected all the bones of the reputed saints that could be found in the neighbouring churches. He summoned the priests to strip their shrines; a bone or a body was all one to William; a tooth or a toe-nail came not amiss to the Norman—all were emptied into the great vessel he had prepared for their reception; and how each church would pick out its own again concerned not the son of Robert the Devil.
"Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips;
Finger of birth-strangled babe,
Ditch-delivered by a drab."
So that "the charm was firm and good," was all the duke cared for; and when the relics were ready, the unsuspecting Saxon earl was called in. How the Norman thieves, who had been kicked out of England, and been witness to what was prepared and covered carefully up against Harold's coming, must have grinned when they saw the son of Godwin enter. William sat upon a throne, holding a drawn sword in his hand. A crucifix was placed upon the cloth of gold that covered the relics, and concealed them entirely from the eyes of Harold; the whole formed, no doubt, to resemble a table, when the duke, bowing to the Saxon, began thus: "Harold, I require of thee, before this noble assembly, to confirm by oath the promises thou hast made to me, to aid me to obtain the kingdom of England after the death of Edward, to marry my daughter Adeliza, and to send thy sister, that I may wed her to one of my barons." Harold swore to do all—he had no alternative—so he "grinned and bided his time," no more meaning to keep his promise than a man would to send a fifty pound note by return of post to the address of the ruffian who had met him on a lonely moor at midnight, and presented a pistol to his ear. When Harold had sworn, the assembled nobles exclaimed, "God aid him!" The third act was then over, and again the curtain fell; the figure of William was seen near the foot-lights, the cloth of gold lying at his feet, and Harold looking on the relics on which he had unconsciously sworn. Well might the Saxon shudder. William had shown himself worthy of the name his father had borne. We want but the thunder and the lightning, the red fire and the grey spirits, to outdo all that the presiding genius of scenic horrors ever invented. Were not the motives so deep, devilish, and villanous, we might sit as spectators, and enjoy the horrors; but when we know that the whole was real—that the motive was serious—that the death's head and cross bones were real representatives of the red warm human blood that was doomed to flow, ere the terrible tragedy ended; we turn away, like Harold, pale and trembling; and as we retreat, we look round in affright, and are still followed by the skeletons of the dead.
From a land filled with such plots and pitfalls, Harold was glad to escape under any promise or at any price, and though he brought away his nephew with him, he was compelled to leave his younger brother in the hands of the Norman.
Harold swearing on the Relics of the Saints.
The duke of Normandy was a man who boggled at nothing, so long as it aided him in accomplishing his ends. Whether he attempted to win a kingdom or a wife, he considered all means fair that he could avail himself of. Thus, after having for some time courted Matilda, daughter of Baldwin, earl of Flanders, and found himself objected to by the father on account of his birth, and by the maiden because she was already in love with another, he hit upon the strangest stratagem that a lover ever had recourse to, to make his way into a fair lady's affections. Weary of sighing and suing, of continued entreaty which was only met by successive rejections, he resolved boldly to win the inner fortress by battering down the outward walls, and carrying by force that citadel, the lady's heart, which he had so long besieged. Any other lover would have been content with carrying off his fair captive. Duke William acted very differently. He began by beating his prisoner into compliance, leaving it to herself to decide between another thrashing and surrendering at once; neither did he take her in her dishabille, but waited until the lady was very neatly attired; and lest he should kill her in the strange way he took of displaying his affection, he first permitted her to attend mass. This over, he began his suit in downright earnest. He waylaid her in the street of Bruges, and after rolling her very lovingly in the dirt, and making her, as a lady might say, a perfect fright, he then by way of finish, and as a proof of the strength of his affection, administered to her a few good solid hearty cuffs, and without either stopping to pick her up or wishing her good-bye, he mounted his horse and galloped off. This new mode of wooing had its desired effect. Matilda had often been threatened by Love, but never before had he visited her in such a substantial shape. She little dreamed that the fluttering of his purple pinions after such soft hoverings, and gentle breathings, would end in downright hard blows from his clenched fists, but finding such was the case, she went home, rubbed her bruises, changed her attire, and got married as quickly as possible.
Matilda herself, taking a lesson out of the same book, resolved that the lover who had so long stood between herself and William's affections, should not escape scathless, after what she had suffered for his sake; and, although it was long after her marriage, she obtained possession of the estates of the Saxon nobleman, Brihtric, who had had the misfortune to be sent ambassador to her father's court when she first fell in love with him; and the pretty tigress, now finding that her claws were full-grown, in revenge for the slight she had endured, and the thrashing she had borne, after having robbed him of all he possessed, threw him into prison, and was the cause of his death. A frail fair maiden, the niece of a Kentish nobleman, whom Matilda suspected of conquering the heart of her husband while he was conquering England, it is believed fared little better in her hands, but that she caused her to be mutilated like Elgiva of old, and either ham-strung her, or slit open the beautiful mouth which had won the Conqueror from his allegiance to his savage lady. For this cruel deed, Matilda is said to have received another beating from her husband, and this time from a bridle which he brought in his hand for the purpose.[15]
When Harold returned to England, he presented himself before king Edward, and made him acquainted with all that had occurred between duke William and himself in Normandy. The king became pale and pensive, and said, "Did I not forewarn thee that I knew this William, and that thy journey would bring great evils both upon thyself and upon thy nation? Heaven grant that they happen not in my time." These words, which are given both by Eadmar and Roger of Hovedon, although they prove that it was far from the wish of Edward that duke William should be his successor, still leave the matter doubtful, whether or not in his younger years he had rashly promised to leave him the crown at his death. William, however, had already obtained a great advantage. An oath, sworn upon relics, no matter under what circumstances, was sure, if violated, to be visited with the fullest vengeance of the ecclesiastical power; and we have already shown that England at this time was looked upon with an unfavourable eye by the church of Rome. The rumour of the oath which Harold had taken was soon made known in England. "Gloomy reports flew from mouth to mouth; fears and alarms spread abroad, without any positive cause for alarm; predictions were dug up from the graves of the saints of the old time. One of these prophesied calamities such as the Saxons had never experienced since their departure from the banks of the Elbe; another announced the invasion of a people from France, who would subject the English people, and abase their glory in the dust for ever. All these rumours, hitherto unheeded or unknown, perhaps indeed purposely forged at the time, were now thoroughly credited."[16]
In addition to all these imaginary terrors, and before the monarch was borne to his tomb, a large comet became visible in England. The greatest Danish army that ever landed upon our island never spread such consternation as was produced by this fiery messenger. Such a phenomenon as this was but wanted to crown their superstitious horrors. The people assembled to gaze on it with pale and terror-stricken countenances in the streets of the towns and villages. In their eyes it denoted death, desolation, famine, invasion, slaughter, and "all the ills which flesh is heir to." A monk of Malmesbury, who professed the study of astronomy, gave utterance to the following ominous declaration:—"Thou hast, then, returned at length; thou that wilt cause so many mothers to weep! many years have I seen thee shine; but thou seemest to me more terrible now, that thou announcest the ruin of my country."